July 22, 2024

Strokes of Pink: Episode 1


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Strokes of Pink: Episode 1

Written by Funke Ajomale
On this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I was sitting with a couple of bloggers at the launch of a new life style website. The atmosphere was beaming with excitement, people were hugging each other, laughing and celebrating the reason for the gathering, the latest lifestyle website in town, at least for the next 24 hours before someone else launches theirs.

I was there as a guest not exactly one who fits the purpose of the event entirely because I don’t run a fashion blog neither do I write for anyone as well, I pride myself of being a fashion enthusiast, I should be at least be interested in this sort of gathering.

As it is typical of Nigerians, everyone arrived late, less is not expected from a bunch of Nigerian girls, we like to dress up for every event and make an entrance hence our lateness, I always like to be an early bird personally.

Hey! Don’t get me wrong, not that I don’t like to make an entrance, I am just one of the “send-less” ones. Yes, I make an effort to dress up sometimes but I am what you would call, effortlessly stylish or more humbly put, I have my days.

The event didn’t start proper until after an hour and thirty minutes of our arrival, all that was on my mind where the beautiful clothes to be displayed by the designers who are here to exhibit their works.

I could not afford the plate of finger food been served due to the economy of my wallet. The whole razzmatazz had taken a lot of time, I was almost getting bored that I wanted to continue to bask in the euphoria of clothes, stylists, the general ambience of fashion, I banished all thoughts of sadness inside me, leaving only happy thoughts to rule my mind.

The host came up to start the event while food was been served. My mind was trying to go to a million and one places but I won’t let it. She introduced herself and played a short video to introduce the website, after which it was time to introduce ourselves and say what we did, I had nothing fancy to say like everyone else and to make matters worse I’m not exactly audible most times, my tongue ties and I would have to pick my words or talk really slow so people can hear me, else I would just module my words together and talk real fast like I have hot yam in my mouth.

It got to my turn and all that could come out of my mouth was I am… my name is Ada Lawson, I am a faaassshion stylist.

They all had the okay we heard the last part look and quickly moved on to the next person , no applauds or further questions or comments. It made me feel little, mediocre and out of place. What happened to “Hi everyone , my name is Ada Lawson ,I am a senior marketing executive at a media and communications firm, a fashion writer and a style advisor “

Those were over and the next bonding game was “if you were a colour, what would it be”? That was easy I would be RED not because its my favourite colour or anything close, I think the only clothing Item I have in red is a pair of leggings . I would love a red shoe or a pair ruby red of earrings but just never came around to buying any. Why would it even be red when I don’t have a red shoe, neither do I have sets of red earrings, I questioned myself over and over again.

Again, I think red because of the other twist in me asides from the frail and soft petit girl people see , which is the strong , confident , sexy , fierce , courageous, ambitious , independent, opinionated with very strong sexual opinions . To me sex is a necessity. It’s an important part of human’s life to function.

I had never been asked that question before and so while the others answered, pink , pink, pink, yellow, blue , blue, white , purple …. , like children who had just been offered ice-cream , I took a few seconds to examine my person and the person I could be not the half timid , petit, light skinned girl with full nappy hair and large brown eyes that everyone saw or the girl with the B cup boobs with ass and hips to fit , the boys saw.

I am stronger and taller inside.

The event was over and it was time to exchange cards, shake hands , hug, give pecks and say good bye. My friends were worried about getting a cheap cab or a free ride to Yaba because the location of the event was in one of the corners of Victoria Island where it was always lonely and quiet on Sundays , you would probably have to do a three to five minutes work to get a taxi on the adjoining street . I let them do the worry while I worried about my phone that won’t stop ringing. I was in no mood to pick up because I was in no mood to get upset, I have to maintain my happy mood.

Still lost in my thoughts, hey Ada, my friend said as she dragged a twist from my hair, I have been calling you, we got a free ride, she said. “Oh great!” I said with a faint smile.

As we walked towards the car, I thought to turn off my phone so no one asks why I haven’t been picking my calls, but it felt saner to put it on silent mode.

Finally the calls stopped and then a text; “Hey where are you? Have been trying to reach you but you are not picking. I’m free for the evening; could you come by the house on your way home?“

I was going to say no, but something in me needed to go end this and get some closure. I stared at the text for minutes not sure if to reply or just ignore.

Finally, I found the strength to type “ok” . I looked up and we were back in Yaba. All I wanted to do was sleep away the disgust and rage I felt in me, but I had to go put an end to the cause of the troubles. The girls noticed I had been quiet and by myself but the thought to ignore as I might be having one of my moments.

Got into my room, it pretty much looked like I wrestled in it, dragged myself to pick up the mess I made with my cloths. Stood in front of my wardrobe scanning for what to wear, I just wanted an easy breezy one-piece outfit, I found a leaf green play suit to match with the metallic flats I got from a store on university road two days ago.

I took off the dress I had on, wore the play suit and flats, I looked in the mirror said to myself, “Yea that’s it, all I need do is pack this hair in a bun , wash my face and wear a lipstick, red most definitely.

I was ready to go and I thought to look at the mirror again this time I took a long hard look at me and this time I saw a broken girl, broken and battered with strokes from head to feet. All my made-up excitement to hide my inner sadness all went down like a pack of cards, the darkness descended on me, enveloped me, its all coming back, I’m back to who I really am, what I have always been dealing with.

This morning I was raped, raped by the one I love, Raped of my love, trust and emotions.

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Written by
Dr. Deolu Oniranu-Bubble

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