Manuchi sat on a paving stone close to the Year One class, thinking about all her lecturer, and particularly what Mr. Wunnor, had said in class. The lecture for her became boring when Mr. Wunnor announced that Mr. Columbus is a homosexual. Mr. Columbus was a friend she met at a Conference held in Port Harcourt. He was the facilitator of the non-fiction class she attended. He is not at the tall side but almost at the fat side, always not properly dressed. His hair had this multi-color look that made him appear completely weird.
Often times, during lecture, he would either want to use Manuchi as a figure for instance, or he would persuade her into saying something. In all the days of the conference lectures, Mr Columbus would appreciate something in Manuchi, either the style of her gown or her painted face, but above all, he had his attention on her hair style. This was what made Manuchi keep her almost tattered hair all through the conference: he had liked it that way.
Even though he smoked a lot and sometimes appeared disgusting because of his unkempt beards, Manuchi still figured out something to like him for, and that was his manner of speaking. He had requested a photo with her at the end of the conference, but Manuchi shied away, because she couldn’t withstand the looks on her course mates’ faces. She regretted this action of hers when she got home and reminded herself that she would never see him again. She had barely relieved herself of those emotions before Mr. Owunnor pronounced him “gay” today in class.
“How could he have done that!” Manuchi said aloud. “A man . . ., that’s why I hate their specie, I hate Mr. Columbus for this. And I also dislike Mr Owunnor for letting me know this”.
“What again?” Obusor interrupted her thoughts. “Must you be quiet and lonely at all times?”
“Hmmm,” she took a deep breath. “I just finished a lecture now.” Manuchi responded.
“Did you actually do that? To your father I mean,” Obuzor asked with a scary tone.
“Why do you all come to me for questioning? You think I don’t have a conscience? Why can’t you ask my father if he actually did that to my mother ?
“Ehm em, Manuchi please.”
“Ple…please what! Manuchi snapped, then continued. “I come from a polygamous home, and I am the favorite child of my father; he gives me virtually all that I need at the expense of any woman in his life. The problem I have with him began when my step-mother molded him like a paraffin wax in a histopathology laboratory. He had been engulfed so much that he no longer took notice of the insults my step-mother showered daily on my mother.
“My four elder brothers took after my mother’s tranquil attitude, that’s why none of them appeared in the play last month. For the thirty-three years of my parents marriage, despite all the shouting and screaming from both parties, it has never been recorded that any of them raised a finger on the other. This has been my mother’s pride until that intruder came between them.”
(to be continued…)