AFTERTHOUGHTS

The British are too damn clean.
I am between my house and the train station in Wigan. My focus is riveted on the ground. I am searching for a single piece of paper. The pavements have been swept clean. In Nigeria pieces of paper on the road are left a while before being swept off if ever. Damn!
In my hand is a copy of the times and one of the stories - GIRL 23, WINS ONE MILLION IN LOTTERY in the inside of the front page. A very familiar face is attached to the story. That is what has me outside in the cold searching. Searching for what would definitely be my way out of outstanding bills and fees.
Pedestrians cast suspicious looks whenever I dive for pieces of paper blown across the pavements by the wind. I couldn’t be bothered. I don’t think they would understand if I explained anyway. I have been out here one hour and still haven't seen what I am searching for. Oh God oh God
A man, mid forty-ish comes out of one of the buildings at the side of the road. He is balding, with a stocky appearance that makes him look short. A green hi-viz vest covers most of his bulk. What really grabs my attention though is what he has in his hands. An iron rod with pinchers at one end and some sort of trigger handle. With this funny contraption and an expressionless face, he traps pieces of paper and releases them into a large polythene bag which he has in his other hand.
I stop. I have never been one who hung on to hope when faced with stark reality. I hold the newspaper before me and peer hard at the pretty face that stare back at me. The face of a millionaire. Oh God no.
It was a month ago I saw that face for the first and, regretfully, last time.
That day was my second day in Manchester and I was can-barely-walk hungry.
I had just finished a class which I had gone in for without breakfast or lunch. An hour of lectures took days to end. I just wanted out. I made it to the bus stop in front of the school...well not in front really but beside one of the buildings. I sat down on the vacant iron bench. One of the mysteries of the British I am still trying to unravel - a thousand people at a bus stop, waiting for the bus and everyone ignores the bench. Back in Nigeria, people who have no business at the bus stop would sit on it just for the heck of it; that is if it hadn’t become the bed of some crazy destitute and all that would happen when the government ever decides that people do need benches at bus stops.
I was the only one on the bench anyhow and thankful for it for this one day. I wanted to get a bus that was headed for Victoria train station and hop on a train to Wigan where I live. A solitary ten pound note rested in my pockets. I fingered it to make sure it was still there. If someone had been watching me closely all morning, I would be described as the guy who keeps putting a hand into his right trouser pockets. I couldn't afford to lose that money. It would mean a long walk across town to the train station. My chances of making it would be worse than that of a desert explorer, stranded in the Sahara with a bottle of water. Such people were trained for such eventualities. I never asked for this when the plane that brought me into Britain landed in Heathrow.
Now you will begin to wonder - and I wouldn’t blame you for it – why, in God's name, did I have ten pounds in my pocket and dying from hunger? Surely I could grab a bite and still have change left for the bus fare. If you have ever been to a foreign country with a foreign language and no guide, you will be better placed to understand my explanation. The English colonized Nigeria and the official lingua franca of Nigeria is English so I should have no problem with communication right? Wrong! What was I to answer when asked 'howyad'n mae?' and 'whadyuwan luv?' when I go into a store to buy something. All this, always said with lightning speed. It would eventually come down to sign language and I always ended up taking more of the attendant's time than they deemed profitable per customer.
Once I was confused as to which bus to take within Manchester. There was this middle aged lady at a bus stop waiting, apparently, for a bus. The reason I walked up to her was because she looked like she was Indian or something. Hopefully she would get across to me.
'Madam' I asked. She turned to meet my gaze, ready to answer my query. 'Could you please tell me what bus goes to Oxford road?'
'Oh ithinkutaetheonethagoesta......'
My sincere apologies for asking.
I thanked her for her help. She smiled sweetly in response. I heaved a heavy sigh and strolled to Oxford road.
So, shops, restaurants and the lot were no go areas unless it was absolutely necessary.
So there you go. Back to the bus stop beside the school building where I sat, hungry and waiting for a bus with ten pounds in my pocket.
There were lots of girls around but I only had eyes for the name 'Victoria' and it had to be boldly written at the front of the bus. I must have looked at the ground for a moment - to rest my heavy head perhaps - because her shoes, Nikes really, were what I first saw of her. They were white, neatly laced and partly covered by the frills of a bell bottom jeans trouser. If it were back in Nigeria, I would assume it to be someone I knew. Being just days old in Britain, there was hardly a chance of that so....what the h..... I jerked my head upwards. A mulatto girl, early twenties, tall and pretty - very pretty, stared back at me.
'Can I si ere?' She pointed at the empty part of the bench beside me. I got that and shifted to make space for her. She sat down. I usually make small talk with pretty ladies that invade my space but at that moment roasted chicken would have been more welcomed.
'Whieu gon?' it couldn't have been directed towards any other.
'What?'
'Whieu gon?' I strained to catch it.
'Oh, Victoria station.' I answered. People don’t just walk up to you and ask your destination but hey, this is Britain. Maybe it is the norm over here; I thought and pushed it out of my mind.
'Can I cumwivya?' she leaned into my ear to ask this. To help me understand people over here when they speak, I read their gestures as well. There wasn’t room for that in this instance so what I thought I heard was 'can you come between my legs.' Don’t ask me to trace the relationship between what she said and what I heard. What was I suppose to think with a strange pretty lady leaning into my ear and asking a question in a seductive whisper?
'What?' every strand of hair on my body was alert to decipher the question.
'Can I cumwivya?' heck! This was an offer. Why?
Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to say that I don’t have what it takes to make hearts flutter but a pretty girl asking to follow you home within two sentences of meeting you just did not seem like it happens to Brad Pitt on your regular cold Tuesday afternoon. My alarm bells went up, as well as something else - to be honest. Just how far was she willing to go?
'Actually I live in Wigan. I am going to Victoria to catch a train to Wigan.'
Oh.' Her balloon lessened a bit. Not that far. That was the end of that I supposed and wondered if I had missed my bus in that minute of excited anticipation.
'Cud u give m two pounsfer luonch?' Again into my ear but this time, slowly.
The words 'two pounds' and lunch were distinct. I got it and stiffened. So here was the catch. But hold up just one minute. I looked her over. Why would a girl looking like the runner up of Miss Manchester beauty contest beg for money.
'I’m reli hungre.'
I did not have any change on me - just my dear ten pound note- else I would have just given her right away and gotten rid of her. It would have saved my legs if I had. An idea invaded my brain like a virus and muddled my thinking. I would usually think twice before offering to take a lady whom I had only just met, to lunch. There had to be more to her than the sexy figure and strong accent. My invitation was not altogether selfless though. I worked out that if I took her to eat, she would do the ordering and I would get to eat as well. And if it was two pounds for her food, why, I would have six pounds left after a meal for both of us - enough for the bus and change.
She jumped to her feet before I did, beckoned that I follow and walked away. She walked fast and I followed as best I could.
I was puzzled when she flitted past the refectory. If she understood when I pointed out this fact to her, I did not get her explanation to why we could not stop there. She was prattling like an m-16. Too fast to follow let alone understand. My alarm bells just clinked once and I steadied them. As long as she kept to where there were enough people to hear when there was a 'HELP!' scream, I felt safe. The conclusion I chose to arrive at was that she must have someplace where she usually takes lunch. Someplace that would cost two pounds for good food.
The bells clinked again when we stopped before a teenage boy with a spiky hairdo just standing on the pavements behind a huge poster. He had tickets in his hand. They had a brief exchange and the boy seemed pleased. To think that I was right there, they spoke English and I did not catch a word - my! Turns out that she wanted me to buy a red ticket from the boy to get change for my ten pounds. I couldn’t remember telling her about my ten pound note. Well, I thought, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. I mean, how much would a red ticket cost? A couple of pennies at the most I presumed and handed over my ten pounds to the boy. He put a hand in his back pockets, sorted out change and put it, and a red ticket, in my outstretched hand. First things first. I checked how much I had in my hand; one...two...five...six, seven...what da..? Eight pounds? This…thing cost two whole pounds? I checked to see just how worth it the red ticket was – a ‘buy one get one free’ alcoholic drink voucher - Revolution bar I think it was. The thing is I DON’T DRINK! Two pounds wasted. Before I had the time to lament my loss and complain my situation, she locked our arms together and led me into this restaurant. I did not trust the coziness. No students about, hmmm. We sauntered to the bar. I made up my mind that if the food was more than four pounds, I would turn around and leave. Courtesy be damned.
The only problem was that I was not in control. She was. To see her talk with those behind the counter, one would think they were buddies from way back. Someone must have cracked a joke because they all threw their heads back and laughed loud while I stood like a brazen statue, feeling like a dog at the end of a leash whose owner had stopped to chat with friends. I listened for figures mentioned. None was mentioned. Instead the man at the bar handed me a small round black object.
'Ere u go mae.'
'What for?' she had her arms in mine before the man had a chance to answer, and led me to an empty table. What in the world was going on? She gave me the stop signal in answer to my quizzical look. 'What is going on?' Another stop signal. Just then the black object in my hand came to life. Light shone from within it.
'O’ food is ridy.' she rose to her feet, walked to the bar and signaled in a rather frantic manner that I join her. I joined her. Two plates of hotdogs, salad and something else were on the counter. 'Cud we ave tiplease' She turned to me. 'Or wu yu ave cafee?' I made out the words 'tea' and 'coffee' out of her sentences and understood what she had said. The only thing I could think of was how much it was all worth.
'Cfee or ti mae?' This from the barman.
'.....tea' I only answered mechanically, not to seem rude. He slammed two cups of tea on the counter soon after. I watched intently as he punched the cash machine in front of him. The girl beside me exchanged a joke with him. They chuckled.
'Seven fifty mae.' He said at the end of his mirth. I looked at the cause of my immediate woe and vaporized her. The sweetest smile was on her face. I dipped my hands in my pockets and surrendered my bus ride to the barman. He had the change ready. I wasn't fast enough. Another hand took the coin from his. I could only sigh when she slipped it into her pockets. At the table, I hinted her that there was absolutely no penny on me and that meant I was stranded.
'Don u ave a bancard or sompfthin?'
I had not even heard of the term 'bank card' before and I told her as much. She waved me off airily and dug into her food. What in heavens name had I gotten myself into? My appetite vanished and I picked at my food while watching her masticate hers with relish and going on about how she was desperately searching for a job. Would that she kept mute for just one minute, I might have been able to give my predicament some thought and figure a way out instead I engaged my analytical faculties in following what she was on about. I could not understand why she would not shut up when it was so clear there wasn't a conversation going on. She finished every morsel on her plate then dug into mine. To the on looker, two lovers sharing a meal. What hideous crime had I committed to be punished thus? I wondered.
Lunch ended and we went outside. I stood, trying to figure a way out of my broke. She stood with me. I looked at her again. My hunger had lessened enough for me to appreciate her beauty. It wasn't going to help me at the moment. I really just wanted her to disappear.
'You don even knowmi name.'
Get lost lady
'What is your name?'
'Shantell'
I told her mine - anything to get her to leave.
'will I see y' agin tomaro?'
Hell no!
'I don’t know if I will come to Manchester tomorrow.’ I said, looking out for cars on the road so I could cross at a moment's notice. She must have sensed my detachment.
'Don You wano see me agin?'
No
'Sure I do'
'Gimme y'number, ya, so I c'n call.'
'I don’t have a phone.' This was not a lie.
'Well heres mi number gimme a call ya?' I took the torn off sheet of paper from her, studied the numbers for her sake and squeezed it into my pocket.
'Definitely.'
Definitely not.
'Bye now.' She leaned in and kissed a cheek.
'Bye.' I watched her walk away. Nice backside. Perhaps it would have all been worth it if I had gotten into her pants.
If I learnt anything from that experience, it was that it takes a little under two hours to trek to Victoria station from Oxford road. My poor legs were wobbly when I arrived. Thank God I had eaten enough to give me the strength. I had a return ticket to Wigan so my journey back was assured. A new challenge, however, loomed ahead of me. I usually take the bus from the train station in Wigan to my house. It is a further trek than the one I had just made. My legs wouldn't survive it.
When we arrived, I saw the answer to my problems at the bus stop outside the train station. She was seated on the bench leafing through a book. Young, blonde and beautiful. Every other person around was standing. Typical.
I occupied the space on the bench beside her.
'Hi.'
She looked up from her reading with a somewhat quizzical look on her face.
'Hiya.'
I usually don’t do this but this time I really had no choice.
'I am in a bit of a fix here and I am wondering if you could give me two pounds for my bus fare home.' I watched her eyes turn cold and she got up without saying a word and walked away. Although I had spoken in hushed tones, too many had been too close. Eyes turned to look at me. The ground wouldn't open up and swallow me.
As I put one foot in front of another in the direction of home, I reflected on the blonde's behavior and chose not to blame her. Who knows what would have happened to her if she had helped this complete stranger that had come to sit beside her at a bus stop and asked for two pounds? Wise girl.
I put my hands in my pockets to keep them warm and felt the piece of paper in which Shantell had written her number. I wrenched it out of my pockets, crumpled it and threw it on the pavement.