LAGOS CUPID DOES NOT HAVE YOUR TIME

Let me tell you the first rule of every vacation.
Always make proper toilet arrangements. Especially if you’re going to do some sightseeing. Learn from my experience.

I was on a 2-week vacation to Lagos. It was my first visit to that city; I stayed with my friends Funke and Titiola. Since they went to work on weekdays, I was left to entertain myself. Every morning, after my friends left, I’d stroll down the streets near their apartment in Surulere, As a small town Calabar girl, I found the city and its people both fascinating and intimidating.

Once I got to Marsha bus stop, I’d turn back. On my way home, I would stop at Iya Sikirat’s buka for lunch. I was determined to eat every Yoruba delicacy before the end of my trip and my friends had assured me that this Iya was the best cook ever. I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

Then one Thursday, two days before my vacation ended, I went for my usual stroll. That morning however, I was very hungry. So, I stopped at Iya’s place first and ate ofada rice and its sauce. It was so delicious! But the pepper enh—the pepper was out of this world. I still finished every grain of rice and almost licked the leaves sef.

I left afterwards and was peacefully strolling along Adelabu street, when my tummy began to rumble. Guluguluglulu. You know, that find-a-toilet-right-now kind of rumble. I knew I wouldn’t make it back to the house in that condition.

Panicking, I looked around and spotted a nearby fast-food outlet. I dashed into the place. There was a girl at the counter.

“Please, where’s your toilet?” I asked.

She must have sensed my urgency, because she smiled and quickly pointed to a door on her left. I murmured a ‘thank you’ and virtually ran there. As soon as I stepped inside, I realised with a sinking feeling that all the doors to the three stalls were shut. Hoping against hope, I began to knock on each door.

“Occupied,” came the reply after each knock.
By now, my bowels were singing, “…Let it go….let it goooo.”

So, looking left and right, I scurried across the corridor into the men’s bathroom, went past the urinals and made a beeline for the very last stall. Not wanting to sit on a public toilet, I grabbed the roll of tissue, laid out swaths of it on the floor and went to work.

I was busy relishing the pleasure of emptying my stomach, when I heard someone say in a deep baritone, “What tha…..?! Damn! I’m sorry.”

My head snapped up and my mouth fell open. In my hurry-hurry, I’d forgotten to close the door to the stall. That’s how the guy wanted to use the toilet and stumbled upon me, squatting on the floor, busy with my ministry.

Dah!
Have you ever had that really strong feeling that just this once in life, the ground would open up and swallow you, just so you don’t die of embarrassment? That feeling was false; the ground refused to open.

I hurriedly wiped myself, dumped the waste in the toilet and flushed. As I stepped out of the stall, I saw a guy standing at the sink, his back to me. He looked up in the mirror and his eyes caught mine.

Gentle brown eyes, sharp haircut, beard gang. He wasn’t too tall, but tall enough. I looked away and hurried towards the door.

“Hey. I’m Kenechuwku. Nice to meet you,” he said, stopping me in my tracks.

Shuu! Who is this one, I thought. Why hadn’t he left? Did he want to humiliate me?

“Won’t you tell me your name? It’s the least you can do, considering the moment we just shared,” he said, chuckling.

I turned and stared at him. Suddenly, I saw how ridiculous the entire situation was. I began to laugh hard, tears streamed down the corner of my eye. He joined in, laughter revealing the dimple in his left cheek.

“Please,” he said, when the laughs dwindled to smiles. “Have lunch with me. I’d like to hear the story of how you ended up in the men’s bathroom.”

It’s been three years since then—three years of an interesting love and laughter-filled relationship.

The End.