FATE

Fate By: J.Ifeme Elo

“Mister, this is the last stop.” The conductor’s growls in Pidgin English and taps his shoulder rather unkindly.
He shudders awake. He saw her again, Farida; so young, and so beautiful. It was ten years ago but he still gets these flashes of the last intimate moment they shared; the naïve promise of commitment; the caress of eager hands; their first and final kiss before she disappeared. It took weeks for him to gather they fled to England because her father became a target for the then military regime for sympathizing with dissident democrats, and exile was the safest choice. Over the years, he had wondered why it had to be her, why it had to be then, and above all, why he had to love her so much that her departure shut down a complete half of him. Today’s flashes ended with the conversation he had with his mother just days after Farida’s disappearance.

“It is fate, my son,” she had assured him, “you have to accept it and move on. Concentrate on going to the university, and it will be over before you know it.”
“Fate?” he had retorted defiantly, “then fate must be cruel, very cruel.”
“No.” she had smiled knowingly. “Fate is always refreshing life. That can be bitter sometimes though, because we are animals of habit and won’t let the divine job be done. It’s for both of your good. Go on and discover life, but learn to keep your heart safer.”
And that is exactly what he had done all his university years; left Lagos to Port Harcourt, then Port Harcourt, upon graduation, to pick up a job as a marketer at BILZOR Ventures, in Abuja, and has been doing fine.

“I will come down at Lugbe,” he tries establishing his presence in the present.
The conductor peers at him and roars. It takes him a few seconds to figure out that is his laugh, and the driver joins in, creating a maddening cacophony of laughter.
“Mister, where have you been?” the driver demands in a voice that could have belonged to his wife, “we passed Lugbe about thirty kilometers ago.”

He started sleeping the moment he boarded the bus at the Wuse terminal, thanks to his late night binge with a few friends. He had decided not to drive because he didn’t get enough sleep, and still battles hangover. But all he could have done was to inform the conductor of his destination, he thinks; now he has to go all the way back.

“Please, where do I catch another bus back?” he asks politely while choking with frustration.
The conductor still is entertaining himself, and wouldn’t reply. The driver points at a bus-stop across the road. “Just stand there, and if you don’t close your eyes you will see a bus going back.”
As he crosses the road, he holds down the urge to tell the driver how miserable his voice is, and then remind the conductor he is two weeks overdue for another bath.

The shed at the bus-stop is more of a plastic billboard with a roof. He is not sure how long the next bus will take to arrive, so he settles in the shed to avoid the sun. Suddenly, a tall dark lady in a light blue gown that fits like she was born with it appears from behind the shed, sending his heart into several skips. He hasn’t seen any woman this beautiful in a while.

And like it has always happened, the flicker of Farida’s image hits his eyes before reality takes hold. In the past that had giving him cold feet but now he is learning to deal with it. He has enjoyed the company of quite a number of girls, and started clubbing to break-off the hold of her troubling memories. If he is going to settle down, like he is now contemplating, he has to deal with it even further, he tells himself.

The lady nods cordially as she joins him under the shed, and he returns the gesture. This could just be that woman, he thinks. She is just the complete match of his dream woman.
The lady’s cell phone beeps and she picks up the call. He watches from the corner. She smiles as she talks. Beautiful smile, too, he thinks, he has to talk to her once she is through.

A dude in T-shirt and faded jeans joins them at the shed. And just then a bus arrives and stops before them. He feels a pang of disappointment at the turn of events. As they board the bus he steps up at the lady with the intention sharing a seat with her, but the dude in T-shirt who hasn’t taken his eyes off the lady has similar intention, and beats him to it. The bus is almost empty without them. He settles on the opposite seat on the other row and watches the dude with some envy and a spray of anger.

Thirty minutes has passed and the girl is still on the call. The dude in T-shirt is sweating. Then the bus conductor calls out a destination and the bus slows to a stop, and the dude in T-shirt jumps to his feet and lurches disappointedly to the exit without looking back.
As the bus moves on, he begins to wonder if fate has just said something he missed. Fate, or is fate trying to tell him something?

The girl says good bye, ends the long call and stealthily glances at him.
Yes, that is it! The girl is for him after all. He starts to think of a nice way to start a conversation before joining her. The next passenger is three seats away. There is no better time to swoop. He gets on his feet.

“Lugbe!” the conductor calls out, and the bus slows to a stops.
Like a child caught with his finger a few inches from a honey jar, he quickly rearranges himself and heads to the exit. At the door he looks over his shoulder and the lady gives him that I-know-what-you-are-up-to smile ladies are good at.

Outside, he sighs ruefully. There is always another time.
The young lady’s name is Bennie Kola, and she is blaming what has just happened on the irrelevant call she just received; Joe should not have chosen now of all times to call, besides they both know whatever they have has gone frozen cold. She kind of liked the guy that just got off the bus. She could have pushed that punk on T-shirt off the bus if she was not raised better. Suddenly she notices a cell phone on the seat the guy just vacated. First she is frantic, and then she smiles. There is still a tie after all. She picks up the cell phone and scrolls through. She needs to find a way of returning it to him. A thought hits her, and she scrolls to his dialed calls: George, George, Doc, Ibrahim, Don, Chuks, Mary, and a dozen other names. The received calls: Frank, Uju,George, Atanga, Beatrice, and on.

She dials George. The line is picked at the forth ring.
“Hey, Dave, I was just going to call; what’s up with you…” the thick male voice on the other side rushes in rather guiltily.
Oh, so his name is Dave, she thinks, and retorts pleasantly: “Sorry, this is not Dave; I am Bennie. The owner of this cell phone forgot it on one of the seats and got down, I was a co-passenger.”
“Good God, are there still people this nice? You must be an angel. He is my friend, but I am presently not in town.” There a little hesitation from the voice, “but you could reach him on his office line on Monday, if you don’t mind.”
“That is fine.”
“Alright then, I will send the number in text right away.”
She is about to hang.
“Bany…”
“No, Bennie.”
“Oh. Good. I won’t be corrected again. Thanks for going through this for Dave. I hope you are as beautiful as your deed, and voice.”
What is she supposed say to that? “That is not a question, is it?”
“Actually, it is.” He laughs heartily.
“That is the part you have to find out for yourself.” She says genially
“Okay, I know what that means: you are beautiful. Thanks Bennie.” He sounds so exited he could have been there, not six hundred miles away. “First thing in the morning, that is when to get Dave, he has fast moving wheels not legs.”
She laughs. Nice guy. The call ends and she waits for the text message.

Dave didn’t have much of a weekend after he discovered his cell phone was missing. His mood didn’t allow him spend a good time with George’s family, George was out of town. The loss of his cell phone means he has to sit all day at the office for his clients to call on the fixed line, and he is not exactly cut out for sitting down long at a place. He had a lot of thoughts about the girl he met on the bus, too; she was stunningly beautiful.
The telephone phone rings for the fifth time this morning. He punches the speaker phone.
“Hello, Wilzor Ventures,” he says at the phone, with his back still relaxed on the chair.
“Hello, my name is Bennie, am I on to Dave?”
“Yes, this is Dave: how may I help you?”
“We were on the same bus on Saturday.”
What is happening? He quickly yanks the phone from the cradle.
“Yes. How are… you…?” He utters anxiously.
“You forgot your cell phone on the seat, and I have it. Can you come and get it?”
“Sure, sure, just tell me where to come”
“Plot 1127 Suez crescent, LOZENGE CONSULTANT S; my name is Bennie Kola, I will be here till 8:30am.”
Hey, that is too impersonal. He jots it down. His time says 8:09am, so he has twenty minutes to meet her.
“I am so grateful, Bennie Kola, I will meet you right away.”
He drops the telephone phone to leave, and his director is right at the door.
“Mr. David Bhano, have you been refusing to pick my calls?”
“No sir, I lost my cell phone. I was just contemplating a recovery pack when someone called that she has it.”
“Come to my office now.”
Twelve minutes later, he rushes out to his car to meet Bennie Kola. There is something about calling people to his office first thing in the morning, for no good reason, that makes Chief Timo T. Ubong feel like he truly owns WILZOR VENTURES, and every of his employees have to live with that wound in his personality. Usually the reasons for the calls are as pointless as: “Now, David Bhano, what is my dream for WILZOR VENTURE?”
In minutes his Mazda 626 is nosing through narrow gaps in the traffic. His time says 8:34am. Plot 1127 Suez crescent has a major signboard announcing LOZENGE CONSULTANTS. A blue Toyota Corolla with LOZENGE CONSULTANTS emblazoned on its sides drives out as he pulls into the parking lot. Inside, a smallish lady in her late thirties perches on a chair behind a large desk.
“Good morning.” he has no time to waste, “I am Dave, and please, can I see Bennie Kola?”
“Sorry, she just left the office. You probably missed her on your way in.”
“That is sad.” And he means it.
“Mr. Dave, she’s been expecting you since morning, but she left a parcel for you. Just hold on.”
She picks the intercom and dials a number, and whispers a few words into the mouth piece and drops. Seconds later, the only door leading to the inner offices opens and another young lady emerges with a parcel, which contains his cell phone. Suddenly the lady stops, causing him to take a closer look.
“Farida?” he utters, for a moment he fears he will freeze in shock.
“David.” She is rooted to the spot, otherwise she is perfectly normal.
He is looking straight into the same eyes that have held him bound for years. Besides looking more beautiful and rather sophisticated, not much has changed; somehow his flashes followed her maturity closely, and that is hard to believe.
“Where on earth have you been? It’s been ten years, ten! ”
“We have been in the UK; we came back five months ago.”
Her smile is so brilliant he could bask in it. “Wow, this is refreshing.” He frowns at a portrait on the wall behind her. “How come I missed that?”
“Oh,” she says as she turns around, “my dad. He owns the place, and I work for him. We are into business consulting.”
“I see. That’s good. I thought I smelt a female scent in the name Lozenge; was that his daughter’s idea?”
“No, no, he has a wife, doesn’t he? She laughs.
He still can’t believe this is happening even though he has visualized their eventual meeting in a hundred scenes. He looks down to her body, the left hand holding the parcel containing his cell phone, and freezes.
“You are married?”
She looks around frantically, still smiling, “can we talk over lunch, today?”
He heaves a deep sigh and nods calmly.
“One o’clock. Is that okay with you?”
He nods again like a deprived child.
She hands him the parcel and trots off immediately.
Dave recalls the words of his mother. “Fate is always refreshing life. That can be bitter sometimes though, because we are animals of habit and won’t let the divine job be done. It’s for both of your good.”
Fate, this is the second time it’s throwing spanner into his works. What is it actually trying to refresh? Why is he led here to be humiliated? If he can’t have Farida, why bring her back?
He feels so weak, tired and lonely, he could hear all the zips and zaps transmitted in his brain.
The last five hours flew past so fast because he lost interest in time. Eventually his alarm beeped at one o’clock. Farida has finally returned but not to him, and what is he doing about it? Having lunch with her for what for good measure? This is crazy.

He watches as she toys with a large piece of onion in her plate of rice, she has eaten nothing so far; he hasn’t touched his food either, because his mind is still dazed, or his appetite totally gone. Deep inside he knows he will never love another woman like he loved and still loves her. He is willing to do whatever it takes to have her back, ready to scratch and bite to keep her to himself. But he is not sure how to start this fight yet.
“So,” he waits till she looks up at him. “How did it happen?”
She smiles, tears suddenly filling her eyes and slowly tumbling down her cheeks. She slowly rests her elbows on the table and starts to roll the ring around her slim finger. He tries to look away from that but can’t.
“That night, after we met, dad came home really troubled. He asked us all; mom, Jase and I to head immediately to a new car he brought with him, that it was a matter of life and death, that the military government was after his life. We drove right to the border and found our first sanctuary in Benin Republic. The next morning I went to shop since I left without any personal effects, and…’ she heaves a sigh.
“Then you met him.” He feels a trifle silly chipping in that, but shouldn’t he be hysterical by now? Farida has always been the very patient kind, to get along with her you must not hurry or pester her, or you’ll get nothing, and he notices this has not changed.

She draws in a lungful of air and slowly slips the ring from her finger and places it on the centre of the table, “David, this ring has represented you for over ten years.” She is looking straight into his eyes.
“How do you mean? That there is no man in your life?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but I never stopped believing you are the man for me, and that you will be waiting, somehow. When my cousin handed me this cell phone this morning and said it’s for a Dave she doesn’t know yet, I knelt down and prayed because I was suddenly tired, really tired waiting.”
“So am I, Farida. So am I.” he says breathlessly.
And their hands meet across the table.
We are full of feelings, but fate is has no feeling; we are full of plans and fate is often spoiling, but one thing is clear: fate is a perfect timer. Always aiming, always hitting, and always rearranging our arrangements.
She said, “Fate is always refreshing life.”