The Collector's diary

I kept a low profile for a while. I could not forget what Nalela did to me.
I cursed her each time I remembered it. Not so much for the money she stole from me - but, first; for the disgrace of me borrowing money from my subordinate.


The Pilot, to use while we were out there at Bakassi; secondly, for making me look stupid that I did not know girls were rubbing cocaine on their breasts and obliging men to suck them so that they are drugged and pass out, then the roguewould take advantage of the helpless man in that situation and fleece him of hard earned money; thirdly, because I could have died as I am sure they don’t mind the dose of cocaine that they use.

The girls of nowadays are devils. They can kill. Imagine that I had taken alcohol up to the maximum, and cocaine is added to it. One could have died - just like that.

Where do they get such drugs from? What is the difference between an armed robber and a girl armed with cocaine to knock-out her prey? I decided that I will not suck any breasts again in my life. After all, I had enough from my beloved mother to whom I would have sent such money as was stolen by Nalelaand would never regret.

One afternoon, after about two weeks of a sort of hibernation, I called my closest friend, Lex, and we went out after work. We had been away from one another for almost three to four weeks.

We went to our usual watering hole that late afternoon where we were joined by other friends. The stories were unending and all of us laughed as we knocked down bottles after bottles of beer.

At about 10.00pm, we all decided that the fun should continue. We crossed over to town and went to one of the hottest nightclubs – where Lex had taken me to when I had returned from abroad. The place was a true picture of itself since that last time.

One of the club attendants led us to a table with low upholstered seats. I usually prefer sitting on the high stools at the bar where I can have a view of the entire nightclub hall.

But since we were about six of us - a real stag party - we decided to sit in the cubicle that we were ushered into. We ordered a bottle of whisky and three bottles of soft drink and a bucket of ice.

The reigning Nija music boomed as if the night club would explode and the DJ, as usual, was singing and mixing it with what is called ‘atalaku’ so loudly, as if he wanted to drown the musicwith his voice.

We were still telling stories and laughing when a girl suddenly appeared in front of me, touched me on the knee and asked me to dance with her.
A popular song was booming through the speakers; “Baby I go give you money, so teh you go call me police...”

I obliged taking permission from my friends. At the same time, other girls had come and were asking them for a dance. My girl took my hand and led me to the floor.

When we got to the floor and started dancing, she looked at me, then,she said: “I thought as much. You are the bushfaller I danced with last time. Remember I put my number in your pocket and when you came back here you took but my friend.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I was trying to be smart.
“Yes, you are the same person, the last time you wore a red tight-fitting T-shirt. And your friend, dancing there,” she indicated with her mouth, “was with you.”
“Ok, I am.” I succumbed.

We danced on as she came into me, sending her leg in between my legs;she held my waist as I held her by the shoulders.
“Can I come and sit with you?” she asked at the end of the sound track.
“Of course,” I said.

Blanche came and sat by me. The dancing partners of the other friends also did. We ordered another whisky and drank until all of us each went with their partners.

Blanche and I were both high and we left the car,wobbled from one end to the other, climbed the stairs and got into the room.The whisky seemed to have pumped blood into my muscles, including where you know.

We undressed and got into bed. We fondled each other in the right places and were both tense. As I raised myself and was about to get into her Jerusalem, Blanche withdrew from the kissing, parted her legs and putting her hand on my head, she pushed me until my mouth was on her navel.

Ha! This one must have rubbed cocaine but on her navel, I thought. I shot up like a spring to kiss her on her mouth and she pushed my head again down and groaned: “I want it down there,” pointing at her intersection.
“I cannot do that,” I protested.

“Don’t you like going down-town? I like the kissing but down there,” she insisted.

I shot up again and grabbing her armsdid some kind of forced entry.
“No! No! No! She kept objecting until I reached cloud seven and collapsed and let go her arms.

She pushed me off her. Got up, dressed up sighing in the process until when she was done, she eyed me angrily, grabbed the change of about FCFA 4,800 I had left on the bedside cupboard, stormed out of the room and banged the door.
The Collector