I was 25 and had just started my third year living in Angola. I was working as an English teacher as part of a cultural exchange program run by the Angolan government. I had been assigned to a small town in Zaire, one of Angola’s eighteen provinces.
For the first year, there had been one other native English speaker in the town, a guy named Philip from South Africa who was part of the same program and lived in the government-provided apartment right next door to mine.
But he returned to South Africa, and I was anxious to see who would replace him. While it was easy enough to take a bus to the city on the weekends and meet up with other expats from surrounding cities, during the week, it was just Philip and I, and we ended up hanging out nearly every day.
In the three weeks since he had left, I felt acutely more alone.
So when I received word that Philip’s replacement would be arriving at the beginning of August, I was both pleased and apprehensive.
It had crossed my mind that, while I got along well enough with most people, there was no guarantee that this new person would be someone I actually enjoy spending time with. But I needn’t have worried.
*
I distinctly remember the first moment I laid eyes upon Nana Adjei. I was just stepping out of my apartment, on my way to the grocery store, as she was being led to hers by our liaison from the education ministry, Bento.
Nana had the same wide-eyed look that I must have had when I was being shown everything for the first time. Bento smiled when she saw me and rushed over to introduce us.
“Ahhh, Lanre, I am pleased to introduce Nana. She is our new teacher for junior high school. She is from Ghana. Nana, Lanre is your neighbor. He is part of the same program and teaches at our high school.”
I gave my best smile and reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Nana, I’m Lanre. I’m from Nigeria. I’ve been here for a year now.” As soon as I smiled at her, she immediately smiled back, and it was only then that I truly appreciated how beautiful she was.
From a distance, she was non-descript: average height, with straight, black hair that was pulled back, wearing eye-glasses and dressed very professionally in khaki dress trousers and a white blouse. But now that we were face-to-face, I could see that she was strikingly pretty.
She had dark eyes and her skin was shiny dark. And though her professional attire disguised it somewhat, I could tell up close that she was very fit and well-proportioned, with defined hips and what looked to be reasonably large breasts underneath the blouse.
She smiled at me with a kind of warm, genuine smile that conveyed immense relief at learning that there was at least one person in town whom she could have an actual conversation with.
As she reached out to shake my hand, still smiling, she said “Lanre, it’s a pleasure. I’m Nana, Nana Adjei…from Ghana.” She had that kind of educated, upper-class English accent that made her sound like a BBC newsreader.
It’s amazing how an accent can impact your perception of a person. I thought Nana was pretty before she even opened her mouth, but something about hearing her speak instantly elevated her beauty in my eyes. I was immediately smitten, or, as she would later put it, I ‘fancied her from get go.’
Later that day, after Bento had left and I had given Nana some time to unpack and settle in, I knocked on her door. She answered almost immediately and smiled brightly when she saw that it was me.
She invited me in and, before we knew it, several hours had passed. She told me all about herself and I did the same. I also told her just about everything I knew about the town, about the job, about things to do on the weekends and where to shop for food and other necessities.
I learned a lot in that initial conversation. For instance, I knew, almost immediately, that we would get along just fine. She was smart, witty and easy to talk to and she seemed to warm to me quickly as well.
The other key bit of information that I gleaned very quickly was that she was in a very committed, long-term relationship. She had just recently become engaged. Her one-room apartment was already littered with pictures of her with her fiance, Kwesi, a good-looking guy who was apparently training to be a barrister.
He was a couple of years older than her, and the two of them had lived together for over two years. Nana planned to return to the apartment they shared after her year in Angola, and to begin medical school. She wanted to spend a year in Angola to get some cultural exposure.
In a way, learning all about Kwesi from the beginning made things much simpler. As attractive as Nana was, she was clearly off limits, and so we skipped right past the sexual tension stage and moved straight into the friend zone.
By the next week, it already felt like we were old friends and we were hanging out together nearly every day, watching TV, eating meals together after work, and jogging together when the weather cooperated.
In fact, we spent so much time together, and it was such a small town, that the students at my school (and even many of the teachers), just assumed that we were a couple. Many asked what my girlfriend’s name was. I had to explain repeatedly that Nana was just a friend and a fellow English teacher.
I got the sense that most of the students didn’t believe me.
*
As the weeks wore on, I could tell that the separation from Kwesi was wearing on her. I had developed friendships with some expats in neighbouring towns, who I often spent time with, particularly on the weekends when I would often take a bus to the city on Saturday and not come back until late Sunday. But Nana hadn’t yet developed a social network and was more of a homebody anyway.
She preferred to stay up on time in the city. And as a result, she was spending a lot more time alone than she was used to.
One night, as we were hanging out in her apartment, she confided to me that what she missed most was regular physical contact.
She quickly clarified that she didn’t necessarily mean sexual contact – though she missed that too – but things like hugging, cuddling, holding hands, all the things she used to do with Kwesi every day. At that point, sensing she wanted it, I reached out and hugged her. She immediately hugged back, gripping me pretty tightly.
After about ten seconds of silent hugging, just long enough for things to start feeling awkward, she pulled away and looked up at me.
“Lanre, that was lovely. Exactly what I needed. But I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I love Kwesi and I’m never going to cheat on him.” Seeing the look of protest on my face, she quickly added, “and I know that’s not what you were trying to do just now…it’s just…I would like…I would like to hug some more if it’s okay with you…and I…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or think that I want anything more than that.”
I shook my head, “of course not.”
She continued, “it’s just, I really miss human contact and I trust you and…oh god…I’m probably making you feel so uncomfortable.”
I reached in and hugged her again. “Don’t be silly. I get it. We can hug or cuddle or whatever you need. I promise to behave myself. Just friends. I promise.” As I pulled away, she smiled warmly at me and reached for my hand.
“Thank you for being so great. I really lucked out having you next door.” With that she pushed me back against her pillows and leaned in, resting her head on my chest. I stretched my arm around her and we lay there, watching TV, looking for all intents and purposes like a real couple.
I dozed off with her in my arms and woke, at little disoriented, a few hours later. By that time it was after midnight. Nana was asleep too, her head still on my chest.
I tried to gently move out from underneath her, planning to head back to my apartment, but the movement woke her up and she looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes.
“Why don’t you stay?” she asked groggily. “I sleep so much better when I’m not alone. Please. Just tonight?”
“Okay,” I said “just let me go brush my teeth and change into something more comfortable.”
When I came back about ten minutes later, now in a t-shirt and some pyjama trousers, I knocked and Nana opened the door for me. My eyes were immediately drawn to her.
She too was wearing a pair of plaid pyjama trousers, but that wasn’t what caught my eye. For a top, she was wearing only a small t-shirt that fit snugly over her breasts. With no bra on underneath, the contours of her ample breasts were apparent, as were the protrusions caused by her nipples. She must have noticed me staring at her chest because she said, “I hope you don’t find this too immodest. I just can’t sleep in a bra.”
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