He grew up in the same neighbourhood with them, but he did not have much regard for anyone of them, except the West Indian girl. And since she left for London, he had kept to himself. She was the only one he welcomed wholeheartedly.

Chris had a good job and among the highest paid young Nigerians in Nigeria. But he never dated any Nigerian girl. And the mother was worried if he would even marry any of the Nigerian girls who visited their family. He would smile and nod at them and then ignore them to concentrate on his books and writings. He was always writing and even forgot his breakfast so many times, because he was enraptured in his utopia.

'Have you talked to Chris?" His mother asked Layi his close buddy and fellow writer.
"Over what, Mama?" Layi asked.
"Your friend has no girlfriend," she said.
Layi laughed out in amusement.
"Mama! What of all the girls who are visiting him?"
"He is not serious with anyone of them. He even laughs at them," she said.
Layi regarded the aging mother of his bosom friend and sighed. Poor widow. And Chris was her only son.
"Mama. Do you blame him? He wants to befriend them, but he told me that he was disappointed."
"Why?"
"He said, they are a clueless generation. You know he is very liberal. But, most of these girls have never taken any interest in his writings. They are only excited when he is playing with them and taking them out. But, none has ever asked how he has been faring in his writings. All they want is good time. We discuss about our short stories, novels, plays and scripts for TV and we comfort each other when we receive our rejection slips from publishers. But, none of these girls even care about our innermost struggles. They love success, but they are not interested in our sacrifices for success. Mama, these clueless girls don't know what we are going through. We are just tolerating them. They are not adding any value to our lives," Layi explained.
He wanted to say more, but as he saw Chris coming out of the bedroom, he paused.
"Layi, are you ready?" Chris asked.
He was dressed in an simple white tunic and blue denim trousers with skin shoes.
"Yes, Chris," Layi replied.
Layi was wearing a native Yoruba dress of buba and sokoto with leather slippers.
"Won't you eat?" She asked as she regarded them.
They could pass for two brothers as they both stood tall and slender with fair complexion.
But Layi was not Igbo.
"Mammy, when we return. We are already late for the show," Chris said.
They soon left and she relaxed to read the only book she could read, the Holy Bible in Igbo language.

Chris and Layi took a taxicab to the National Museum in Onikan on the Lagos Island, where they joined the audience of the live performance of a dance drama at the Museum Kitchen. Then, at the end of the play, they decided to stroll around Onikan.
"Your mother is worried about your lack of interest in serious relationship with our girls," Layi said.
Chris hissed.
"I told her everything. That we are bored of the company of these girls," Layi said.
"Girls that I cannot even tolerate for ten hours and she wants me to settle with one of them for life?" Chris said. "When I cannot even discuss my research on Leo Tolstoy's Resurrection with them and none of them has ever sat down to share my most precious moments with me as I develop and write my fiction? All they want is good time. And always telling you about their selfish interests. None of them even asked me the outcome of my journey to Enugu for the meeting with Fourth Dimension Books. And when I showed th Shifte publishing contract to Anne, she only nodded and reminded me of taking her to Night Shift. I felt like slapping her. The slowpoke," Chris said and hissed.

Clueless generation? Hmmm, , Chris seems to be searching for girls in the wrong place, please direct him to nairaland.

I hope Chris' view is not the author's view. We could sue Chris for male chauvinism.
_{I hear someone hiss, "da kain tin dey for Naija?"}

Part of the motivation for writing is a desire to express one's deepest thoughts and be understood or accepted.