It was about two years ago, precisely in November. In one of my trips to Abuja, the Nigerian capital city, I was impatiently standing along one of the major roads situated in the territory awaiting a cab that would convey me to my destination when a black Honda SUV Jeep with tilted glasses drove by and applied its brakes right before my presence.
Since I stood alone and ostensibly in a lonely arena, instantly, I presumed I had eventually fell victim of the monster called kidnapping, thus my heart got choked in my tummy not until the windscreen at the driver side was lowered only to catch the sight of a very pretty and gorgeous light-skinned lady who seemed to be in her late forties. From my keen observation, she was the only one in the car.
Although I was yet to realize her mission, at this point I needn’t be informed that she was up to something intriguing; hence, I thought it wise to relax my mind while the show lasts.
“Hello handsome!” she cheerily exclaimed from the car which was parked at about 1.5 metres away from where I stood.
Considering the greeting pattern, there was conspicuously no further need to engage a soothsayer because even a dummy could thereof comprehend the essence of the scene created by her majesty. Notwithstanding, I pretended I didn’t hear her speak.
Sure, I looked cute and so did she. I was clad in black jean trousers, red-check T-shirt, golden shoes and a golden wrist-watch to match, coupled with a red baseball cap. On her part, she put on a blue dress spotted with white, transparent sunshade glasses and gorgeously retouched black hairs; but I could not at the time figure out her foot-wears. Probably, she was attracted to my cuteness.
She dished out a dazzling smile without minding my nonchalant attitude. “Please, can I have a word with you?” she tendered, still seated in the car.
I yet overlooked the request, stood still at my original position and stylishly fixed my gaze on her.
She smiled again, gently kept the door open and majestically walked towards me.
She was plump and about 5.4-foot tall. The sophisticated jewellery she wore made her appear not unlike one of the political stalwarts that resided in White House, U.S.A. She was seemingly taller than me owing to the high-heeled white sandals she was wearing. But, one unique and amazing thing about her appearance was that she wasn’t wearing any make-up from head to toe; she was just natural to my liking.
When she got nearer to me, she removed her spectacles with her left hand. “Hi!” she said, stretching out her right arm for a handshake.
This time, she was standing about twenty centimeters (20cm) away as she held her glasses in her hand.
I ignored the offer and she calmly withdrew her arm. “Please, I don’t know you from Adam.” I managed to utter. “And as you can see, I am very much in haste.” I supplemented.
She smiled. “You must be Fred, I presume?” she uttered as she wore a smiling countenance.
I was therein deeply perturbed to my bone barrow on hearing her mention my name, though I managed to gather myself.
“Never mind.” She urged, gesticulating as I looked at her in silent awe.
“Please, who are you?” I inquired, seemed so curious.
“I can see curiosity boldly written all over you.” she observed. “Well, I am Sandra.”
I was attentive, hoping to hear further introductions and anything that could be of interest to me.
“I reside here.” she added, referring to Abuja. “And you?”
“I thought you already know about me?” I tendered submissively.
She smiled. “Please, excuse me.” She said, turned and stepped towards her car.
When she got to the Jeep, she dipped her hand into a bluish handbag kept on the other front seat and brought out a complimentary card. Thereof, she retraced her steps back to me. “This is my card.” she told me, stretching out her right arm. “Please, try and call me later in the day.” She added in a jiffy.
I hesitantly collected the material, immediately looked at it and equally glanced at her face once more.
She reciprocated with a more dazzling smile. “Please Fred,” she said. “Try and call me, okay?”
I nodded. “I will try.” I managed to respond as I was once again wondered over where she culled my name from.
“Please, where are you up to?” she enquired. “Can I give you a lift?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks.’ I said. “I can find my way.”
“Alright.” she surrendered. “Good luck!’ she wished, turned and walked to her car.
When she entered into the car and jammed the door, she waved at me with her left hand and instantly placed her right thumb on her ear thereby reminding me not to forget to call her as she earlier requested.
I eventually smiled and waved at her too.
She equally smiled, wind up the glass and zoomed off.
“See me, see wahala.” I thought the moment she left my presence.
Later in the day, at 1:30pm to be precise, I called the number inscribed on the complimentary card. My plan was to return to Owerri that very day, so I needed not procrastinate as regards when to call her line. “Hello madam.” I greeted as soon as she took the call. “This is Fred.” I supplemented.
“I know.” She replied, meaning she already had my phone number.
“So, you already have my number?” I thought aloud. “Please, how did you get it?” I inquired as I became more anxious.
“Can we meet at blossom hot spot?” she said, ignoring my enquiry. “The joint is located at Maitama road.”
Since she already had some basic vital information about me, I needn’t hesitate in knowing more about her person. “Time?” I obliged.
“Will 4pm be okay by you?”
“Alright.” I responded. “I will be there by four.”
“See you then.” She uttered, cut the call.
To be continued, please!
But, if you were in my shoes, would you have attended the proposed meeting at the so-called Blossom Hot-Spot? Think about it!
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