Last Friday In School

It was on Friday afternoon and the sun was scorching. Emran was in haste to catch up with others crowding down to the religious ground to observe their obligatory Juma'at service. He had already put on his Arab-money dress with his black shade glasses already on his face. He knew he was late already, that was indisputable. And the only way not to miss the sermon of the service to be delivered by the oratory, tall, handsome and fairly bearded, but quite simple Imam was to get his calculation right by fast-tracking his walking.

Seven feet covered away from his room he could hear someone calling. Unknown lanky man dressed in a light-blue and well-starched long sleeve shirt from the adjacent side was running towards his direction, calling. ''hey, bro, bro," the guy called. Emran looked back because he could feel the proximity of the wave of the calling scampering down his curious auricles.

"you call me?" he asked with curiousness. "yes." He moved closer to him and they both exchanged warm pleasantries. "Are you Emran?

"Yes." He nodded his head in response with a luring smile. People called him Emran-his pseudonym. And sometimes they shadowed the preceding Nod, since it did not have such a significant semantic effect on the name. So, for this guy to have called him by his full name, he must have known him very well.

"Howdy. I am Turain, but you can call me T-Touch. Can you share some minutes with me? I want to discuss a deal with you" the guy asked and his plea was clear like a forty-five year old man's plea to the juris to dismiss the divorce suit filed by his tired wife. "A deal?" Emran asked. "Yes, a good deal" replied the guy.

He wondered what someone he never knew nor met before might want to discuss with him. He wanted to give T-Touch some minutes but remembered he was already late for the Juma'at prayer. And any heedless waste of time could make him miss his prospective target of that mesmerizing sermon that usually held everybody into silence and piety. After some seconds of thought, he responded the guy:

"You know what, I am already late for today's Jum'ah service. Maybe you can have my number and call me at exactly 3pm." He said. “or you can come to my room Barawayo Block 22 Room 75 at 3:30pm. I should have returned from mosque and retreated back to my room.” “ok. No deal. You sure pass." said T-Touch with simple smile that could come from someone who has certainly met his fortune. His pidgin was fluent and accurate. He should be one of those Lagos guy. "confam confam. You get mouth" Emran replied.

"Na you get mouth ooo. Post-modern alfa" T-Touch replied jokingly, even though his comment was trailed by keen seriousness, before they departed. Emran was known for his sophisticated and peculiar way of dressing. Hardly would you see him without his black shade with him. He had married it with all his wears.

***

It was 3:20pm and the sun was still scorching like end-side of hell-fire. Emran was sweating profusely. He just returned back to his room. Tired, he sat on his bed and leaned on the close wall like a clueless man who just makes a narrow escape from the scary den of the ritualists. He was thinking of next thing to do: cook the remained rice or make farina? He was puzzled, lost in the thought of better morrow- of how everything good would come. He was serious with his thought, because there was not distraction. Such thought was said to be good for a young man like him ‘going into the world.’ As his father usually advised. He was the only one in the room, alone.

 . . .And a call came in.

“hello oo. Is that Emran?" the caller enquired

“yes. Please who is this?" he asked

“T-Touch, the guy that. . ."

"oh, I am sorry dude. How are you now?" He cut in, though he already knew the caller was the guy he met while going to mosque. The voice didn't change- broad and clear. His voice was so macho.

"You dey room?" the caller asked

"yeah, I dey. Na room I dey. I dey expect youna"

"ok. Give me five minutes"

*****

There was a knock at the door and a broad voice came in through the window: "please, is Emran in the room?"yeah, come in bro."  They both greeted each other through handshake and shoulder contact- a greeting that was common among the campus guys. They said the bizarre greeting emanated from campus occultism among the over-zealous students, precisely the Red Axe group then. The group was renowned for its perennial cause of vices and violence, while its arch-members were known for their notorious act of killing and raping of the ladies. But with time, the greeting established itself as a general mode of pleasantry exchange, especially among the campus ‘big boyz’.  By then, Red Axe had lost its age-long influence due to massive attack on many of its members by the angry students during the last most violent fracas the school ever witnessed.

"So, wetin dey go?" asked Emran "Nothing much jare. I hear say you dey do modelling.

"Modeling? " his tone was a reflection of surprise. “Who told you that? I never did one in my life.” "Eh eh. Na people dey talk shey you dey do am. Well, I know sey you fit for modelling. You tall and get fine poses. You think sey I never see your pics before?" He asked with a light amusement that will come when a man wants to lure an erring boy to punishment cake. Emran smiled also, but his mind was that of bewilderment. He was bewildered and his face was a reflection of that!

That was not the first time people would think him of modelling. He was once told that his postures in some of his pictures were resemblant of models during their photo-shot. He had been asked many a time if he ever helped companies model their product or was doing modelling business, and he would say NO. T-Touch's purported 'deal' was another manifestation of him perceived as an established model who might have been fetching his fortunes.

He broke into a sudden laughter after many streams of thought flowing. His laughter was practical of his wit-play. Perhaps, what he was thinking before was getting the job for the first time or let it go. ‘Modelling is a big fish’ as someone once told him. It's a way of becoming a super star with lofty endorsements. "You get product wey you want me model?" He interrogated.

"yeah. There is a new unisex cloth powered by G-lux, and the company will do you well"

"You know what, get another person. It is what I never did in my life and if I do it, I may fail. Besides, my conscience will kill me, because it is antithetical to the ideology of my Faith. I am a Muslim, a devoted and practicing one.” He declared with harmless smiles.

T-Touch was not only surprised but looked somehow downcast. He sprawled and looked Emran as a disappointed father would look his unfortunate child charged of drug smuggling and paraded in public. “But you feel do am now. Or, ok. No problem. We go still see sha." His voice was a signpost of disappointment. Emran saw him through the exit door and bade farewell to each other. He felt a touch of harming someone, but what could he do? A young man who had never considered modelling in his life.

The following week, Emran was ready to leave. He went to his department to submit his undergraduate project work. He was done with first academic Degree. The bird flew back to its nest and the rest became history.