The Buxom Tale - Power of thoughts

It was some minutes to 6pm, 13th of February 2009 and I wasn’t just fagged but famished at the same time. This was due largely to the fact that I was seated on a make-shift wooden scaffold, 14ft high, (about 3 times my height) for close to five hours, fixing a trunk line on the concrete decking of the BATV (Bauchi State Television) studio room. I had been in this state for the past week and the work load was insidiously seeping strength from me. When I got to the hotel I was staying, I went for my room key and headed straight for my room as was my custom. On this day, I was even more determined to turn in early to vivify and get my energy batteries recharged for the next day’s work which I dreaded would be very much the same if not more. On the way to the door, I was already dreaming of the gentle cuddle of a million droplets of water from the shower cascading refreshingly down my body. My steps hastened at the thought as I couldn’t wait to unwind. As I was just about getting to the door, I observed another person standing at the entrance of the room door next to mine. It was a lady browsing her phone in a casual outfit that made me surmise she was the occupant of the room or a friend to the occupant. Courtesy and politesse compelled me to greet her and on doing so, I got a response, an echo of my salutation, by a voice with such mellifluous grace that it must have been on the key of B Minor; a soprano no doubt.

I entered the room and was about to settle in when the thoughts came knocking on my mind’s door. “What if she’s a cocotte?” I discarded the thought saying “Nah! She looks too decent to be.” The thought didn’t go away. It seemed to emphasize saying “what if?” then, I consciously began to rehearse how to say no nicely, you know, the cool guy kind of way. Just like the bus drivers in Kaduna would print on the bumper of their cars “sorry baby, no time for love”. I laughed at these thoughts and actions and prepped for the much awaited shower. I then went on to putter for about an hour or so after the shower before deciding to go browse at a café in town to top up my information reserve. This was also in a bid to have the room sprayed with insecticide so those little winged “mercenaries” will get their due after what they did to me the day before.

I got ready to go out and thought perhaps to practice a little on my horn – oh, did I mention I play the trumpet? Well, I just did. Now, not having my Silent Brass device with me meant I had to mute and muffle so as not to be a nuisance to everybody. I love my privacy and solitude a lot and I seem to see the world through that filter of my personality. Just some minutes into my practice session, I was interrupted by the clanging of a metal sheet, a knock on my door. I had been in that same room for a week thereabout and this was the first time I was hearing a knock on the door. Surprised? Of course I was. Then I thought to myself “thank God, the manager finally remembered that I needed the room sprayed.” then again I thought “hope they have not come to tell me my horn is disturbing?” so I made an attempt to keep the horn out of plain sight as well as buy time to get a second knock. Well, to my surprise, there wasn’t anyone at the door when I did open it. “Boy, you’re really making much ado about nothing” I said to myself as I closed the door to continue my practice. “Wait!” Came calling the voice which wasn’t that of the manager, the bellboy or my limo driver. It was, well, yes, the sonorous one I described earlier. On appearing, there she was. The buxom wonder, eclipsing the rest of the hallway viewable from my door ajar as it was at the moment.

For the first time, I understood the concept of the computer and how in many ways it mimics the workings of the human brain because in that fraction of a second, I processed information equivalent to the messages I had heard from as far back as crèche, Sunday school, elementary school, high school and college. I'm sure last Sunday’s service and my morning devotion weren’t absent from the data processed. She stood there like a nightmare playing out in real life, arms length from my face, lingerie peeping from under her blouse, the transparent scarf on her keeping malice with the very parts of her head and shoulders they were supposed to cover. Her fair skin radiated the sunlight that wasn’t there and her smile would have given the present Miss World a run for her money whilst permanently solving the NEPA problem of Nigeria . Then came her voice that once again assailed my musically astute ears as it said “good evening,” and she made a move to come in as though we were well acquainted. Reading through my barricade of the door, “I just want to ask you something” were her words as she paused before another attempt to try to enter the room.

I can’t overstate the processing speed of the mind. In this minuscule space of time, the little red guy, the one that sits on your shoulders whispering the grandest of ideas (yeah, the one with a forked tail and horns) came saying “go ahead, she just wants to talk. What’s the harm in that?” His counterpart, the one with the wings wearing a maxi and a halo for a cap, interjected “bros, you just had a shower, and you are in a room with only one window with security bars to keep anything from coming in (or in this case, going out!). Besides, for her to come in, you’ll be backing away from the only other exit – the door, which she would have covered in every sense of the word!

My rejoinder, which I tried to give so she wouldn’t notice the quivering vibrato from a mixture of fury and fear, came with a baritone voice that wasn’t natural but a processed outcome of sudden cold from nowhere (you know the way you sound early in the morning right?) “Am sorry, I can’t let you in without knowing what you want to talk to me about.” That was my response (given with a conscious effort to restrain my right hand that was more than ready to emboss her face with my palm print – on both cheeks!) To which she said “okay!” in both rage and disgust at such a naïve good-looking guy.. “Bull’s eye” screamed the little shoulder-sitting-winged guy as the other one disappeared in defeat.

My rehearsal paid off. I didn’t try to be Samson to this you know who. When I started to think perhaps I was too mean and unsocial, I remembered that the Word had spoken of appearances of evil and given her size, she indeed was more than an appearance. You see, I grew up surrounded by five powerful nuclear definitions of feminine beauty. She didn’t stand a chance given that I have one chubby-beautiful African queen for a twin sister, an ebony dark tan diva as a younger precious one, a sylph princess who is more streamlined than a silver spoon as my immediate elder and a fruitful married age-defying-mother of children as the eldest and firstborn of my mum who by the way, is a summary of all the aforementioned.

Days later, my thoughts of concern that perhaps I was rather impolite gave way, lending credence to my action when the porter attested to her being just was I thought she was. As this time happened to be the valentine period, she had come to camp at the hotel to be the perfect description of the woman alluded to in Proverbs 6:26. This made my door to receive more knocks during the cause of the week, (and at odd times too) from men who mistook my room for the altar of sacrifice where they would be reduced to a loaf of bread!

Anyway, I don’t believe I’ve seen the last of such occurrences and I have this much to say to later ones, should they come, “Ode-e-shi!” I just can’t give in now. (“Haba!” after all that’s been built and with the glory ahead? No way!) We are just starting and the future is too invaluable to be traded for anything on this side of eternity. It pays to think in the positive and see opportunities in every problem – even opportunities to tell God “I love you…alone” with our actions.

If you share this passion, please pass this on to someone you think will be amused and inspired by this story - the buxom tale, and let me know what you think about it anyway.

Cheers!!!

- 'Bayor Emmanuel Martins