*Few Days After the Breakout*

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I had never seen a bold woman until that Monday morning. 
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She walked with much confidence, self-importance as if she had the power to zip off the world. 
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As she alighted from the plane with grace, swaying her hips, she caught the eyes of some admirers planted on her sensual body. She ignored them, looking straight to where I stood. She had hoped to see me, waiting, in the airport until her arrival--- so that both of us could hang around, have some fun, unwind, before picking our way back home.
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Where I stood, waiting, watching, in my mind, I deplored something she did a few minutes ago. I knew if I had the guts I would tell her she should have acknowledged, at least, by a wave of the hand, the praises of her admirers. Some of whom shouted in Igbo language "Omalicha Nwa" as if that language would mostly, likely get her attention.
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Hardly had I criticized her flamboyance than I saw her almost running to embrace me.
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I understood her excitement because she had not set her eyes on me for a decade. The feeling of re-uniting, after a decade, with someone you called ‘a second self’ was always a complete ecstasy. And it was evident by the way she jumped on me like the little child who had dearly missed his mother for so long.
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I almost felt embarrassed by the way she made known her overwhelming happiness.  As a shy guy, I looked around to be sure those admirers were not stalking us as she planted a kiss on my forehead. I knew some people could be desperate. It didn't escape my mind that one of the admirers, [ who had now fallen in love]  could do something funny thereafter. 
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Discharging one of my duties as a good lover and wanting to escape the public view, I quickly took her luggage at my left hand, locking my right hand to her's ---advancing out of the airport.

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Taking a few steps forward, I heard someone calling after us, shouting. The loudness of the voice was thick. I looked back and saw he was few strides to where we now stood. My imagination began its work. Is he one of those touts or flight attendants? Why is he after us in such tension? Could he do anything funny?

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Chioma, too, stood in anticipation of what the young man would do. She hoped he was not one of those admirers she just ignored. As she waited, one of those involuntary actions of nature came. She sneezed and the droplets fell on me. She quickly apologized. “I am so sorry”

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The young man had increased his strides, almost running towards us. I knew I had no strength to defend Chioma if he did anything stupid and I hadn’t sight security men. However, we were taught not to fight with brawn but brain; with a pen, not palms. But would the brain or pen help me if the young man fights us? Fight? WHAT did we do?  

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“Mr. Damian, if I am right, this is your woman?” The young man asked, panting.

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“How did he know my name for God’s sake?” My surprise suggested.

“Yes. You are right” I said.

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“Her international passport fell off her bag. I picked it for her” he handed it over to me but gave her the look that says ‘what a proud girl’

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I was stunned by his action as much as my woman was. Though my shock had to subside when I realized two things: the young man called me by the name he saw written boldly at my back: *Damian De Writer* and he gave me the passport instead of her because she ignored their admiration at her.

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We appreciated him and left for the nearest lounge. Just as we entered, after a reasonable distance, we suddenly stopped hearing the deafening sound of the airplanes.
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As we discussed, I learned she was now a good communicator. Unlike when we were in the University of Ibadan--that time-- she was incurably reticent. I was the one that continually told her in those years that _a closed mouth is a closed destiny’_ But she seemed to be indifferent to my warnings then, tagging herself _a ‘reserved fellow_
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But look at her now. She spoke with such eloquence as Ngozi Adichie, the Nigerian outspoken writer. If this was how the Western world transformed people, for the first time, I disclosed my intention of traveling to China.
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"Oh. Never. If China is your dream country to travel to now, I beg you, re-think." She said, sipping wine from her glass. She had bought this wine from one Chinese shop--- before setting out to travel-- so that I would enjoy, but she didn't know I had been a teetotaler since she left. 
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"Why did you say that?" I asked, my eyes plucking out in astonishment.
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"Enjoy your drink first. I will tell you" Somehow I felt the impact of her boldness. You couldn't imagine the way she replied to me. I saw forthrightness in each of her words.
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"I don't drink. I stopped drinking almost as immediately as you left the country" I said.
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She chuckled. And then broke out laughing hysterically. She thought I was joking because why we were at University I was a drunk. They called me _Hemingway the Drunk_  This nickname was a result of my habitual drinking and writing. I remember one day, I overheard one of my course mates, telling his companion that he couldn't imagine how a drunk could create something as difficult as _fitting words together_ to make a book. 
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" You may want to tell me more about this because I can't imagine it. You have stopped drinking?. Uh...uh" She said, overcome with surprise.
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I will tell you. Sure. But, please, lest I forget, I want to know why you discouraged my intention of traveling to..." She cuts me in mid-sentence.
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"Forget it. My coming back to Nigeria was unintentional. Do you think I planned to come back any time soon.? To this zoo? No. No. No. Something unusual propelled it." She strokes her fingertips through her blonde hair, scratching, as she spoke. Maybe one of those ghosts in Women's hairs had started disturbing. 
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"What was that?" My heart leaped a bit. 
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"My father who was a junior doctor in a hospital somewhere at Wuhan" she made strong eyes at me as she spoke and this made me a bit uneasy.  She continued "Informed us that there was a disease breakout in the country--and that we needed to travel back to Nigeria---where he thought would be safe before the pandemic spreads like wild fire" 
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Chioma knew how to make difficult situations seem less frightening. I wondered if it was the same disease breakout I heard on CNN. Because the CNN made it look like the world would experience the third Apocalypse. And here was Chioma, untroubled, telling the story as if it was a mere disease breakout that wouldn't kill a rat.
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Anyway, I knew I was going to quarantine myself after leaving Chioma--no matter how aglow our love is, no matter how she made me feel nothing was happening. 
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What if she had contracted the disease from China? And, God forbid, had transmitted it to me. ?
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I couldn't wait to go to a test. After our meeting, giving her some excuse, I dashed off to the nearest hospital, though, with my mind still envisioning the dazzling beauty of this princess, particularly, the colorful dimples on her face. 
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This is fiction.�
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Stay Safe, Damian. Hope you are enjoying the lockdown?�
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Damian Chiemezie

Writer/ Transformational Speaker/ Publisher.

@God-is-with-you

@Fear-not

*Covid-19-This-Too-Shall-Pass*