OMOGE 3

His shoes were polished to perfection, the worn leather had been given a generous layer of polish before being buffed and shined, from the outside nobody could tell he had been wearing the exact same shoe to work for the past ten years. The shoe was completely worn out inside and John had to wear two pairs of socks for a little comfort. But he did it, and every day he walked the same route to his job as a waiter. He walked in the same main road that people with Range Rovers and Jeeps drove in and he watched them pass him, every single day. He watched as the models developed and became even more shiny and expensive and he was still the same man, walking the same route. Other days he hated it, other days he told himself that it was part of the functionality of life; others afforded the expensive lifestyle while others were born to serve them. He was born to serve. He spoke clear and correct English and knew where to put the Ls and the Rs, his service was prompt and he managed to give all that dined at the outdoor restaurant a worthwhile experience. John was good at being a waiter. Whether or not he was satisfied was highly debatable so he just woke up every morning and polished his shoes.

That particular morning he passed by the lodge next to his establishment and was met with a familiar face. Sugar daddy was rushing into his car hastily still in the same clothes he wore the previous night. John looked around he noted that the girl wasn’t with Sugar daddy. He walked a little slower to try and see more but indeed, sugar daddy was on his own. Maybe he had dispatched her before dawn. John shrugged and continued walking to work. His life was boring but not boring enough to stand there watching a rich man drive off to get richer.

Gilbert was not having a good day. He had been woken up by the icy wind blowing on his then frozen buttocks in the strange lodge. His head felt like somebody had attached weights as heavy as his grandmother to it and he was already defeated by exhaustion and embarrassment. He may have felt like he was twenty when downing the whiskey but now he knew he was not. In that moment he was an old man, an old man in desperate need of water, aspirin and salvation from his hang over. His metabolism wasn’t as quick and efficient as it used to be. Now he needed to eat right, brush his teeth, he needed to do a little exercise and actually moisturise his skin. Youth was a blessing, you didn’t know that until you were a single man on the prowl who only showed his NRC and passport to his lawyers or the airport officials. He kept his age a secret and in all honesty, who really cared? He wasn’t a paedophile. He wasn’t an old man, but what happened to him the previous night was a disgrace. He wasn’t going to see or call that girl until he had an efficient plan to equalise. Nobody made a fool of Gilbert, The Gilbert. He was just tired so his body and mind were defeated. The original Gilbert would have shown Omoge why his ex-girlfriends still wanted him. But the whiskey Gilbert just wanted an orgasm and sleep. He didn’t want to call her but he was curious about what she thought of him. Did she think he was weak? A pervert? What was Omoge thinking?

Omoge sighed and tried on the red suede boot in size six. It fit her foot perfectly. She instantly made up her mind to get them. It was the least she could do for herself. The image of Gilbert with his eyes tightly shut as he ejaculated was burned in her mind. Such a silly man. The way he fell asleep like an old dog was hilarious, she would have laughed if it wasn’t accompanied with the memory of his raw butt cheeks. She had no idea how old he was, but without his clothes on it was evident that he had left his twenties a long time ago. How he didn’t even feel an ounce of shame was beyond her. The wad of cash he threw her direction turned out to be worth a small fortune. She didn’t know what to do with it so she immediately deposited it into her little savings account. On her walk back she withdrew some of it and decided to reward herself with anything she wanted from the store she normally couldn’t afford. The red suede boots would be it. Her little reward and remembrance of Gilbert, the sleeping fool in sumo undies.

Omoge hadn’t always been this flippant about men and their behaviour. There was a time when everything any man did unsettled her and offended her. She didn’t understand why they had to be so abrasive, careless, malicious and sometimes plain old stupid. But with time she understood that they were simply men. Their love for breasts, rumps and thighs extended beyond their food choices and a woman was a meal too. She also realised that few were harmful if you took things at face value and didn’t think too much into it or get yourself wrapped into them. A heart break and many experiences with players and she was now able to just zone out, even when a foolish man was ejaculating on her belly. If it meant he’d shut up and leave her alone the trauma was worth it and it didn’t hurt that her account was now fatter.

Omoge checked her phone as she got out of the store. No calls or messages from Gilbert or her boyfriend who had been missing in action. She had typed a break up message and kept it in her drafts but kept failing to send it. With the empowerment that comes with new shoes, she went to the message and pressed send. Her heart seemed to be in free fall until she saw the delivery report. It was done. Mbo was cool, he was tall, loud and he made her feel alive. She was going to miss him. They were close friends before they became friends with benefits, then they became the kind of inseparable couple that everyone avoids. The way they communicated with glances and knew each other made people in their company feel out of place and maybe even a little jealous. She hadn’t been in love before him so she had no idea what it was, but when she was with him in her little room just fooling around and laughing at random things, she knew she was in love. In a way Mbo had taught her how to be close to someone, how to bond and how to create capacity for love. Gradually he taught her how it was to cry over love, to be jealous, to drunk call and be a crazy person. He turned her from a girl to a woman and he didn’t even notice. That was the thing. He didn’t notice, he never noticed her development and the things she cared about. So steadily, spending time together became a task on a to do list and their relationship became a title, a sort of insurance policy to show the world that they would end up together if all else failed. Their relationship had been an empty shell long before she sent the message, but she’d miss him. Who else was going to help her with her laptop, listen to agonising exaggerated stories about her periods and sit on her back when she had cramps? Where else was she going to find somebody she was comfortable doing and saying nothing around? All else could be replaced but she was going to miss him. Omoge’s favourite moments was when he just stayed in after they made love and they’d just talk or make funny videos on her laptop before he went downstairs to boil rice. She smiled when she thought of how cool his butt looked when he was naked.

“Having a good day aren’t we??” the familiar voice said.

Omoge looked up and found Gilbert standing there, trying to look composed but looking as uneasy and as perplexed as she felt. Wasn’t this chapter supposed to be closed?