BAD BOYS ARE BORING

DISCLAIMER:

If you think this story is about praising good boys, you are wrong.

If you think this story is about praising bad boys, you are wrong.

If you think this story is about praising men at all, you are very very WRONG.

I remember the way his eyes looked at me that day. The way they danced in unison because he was nervous. I remember the sweatiness of his palms as he wrapped his hands around mine.

And the way he said the three words I dreaded to hear the most,

“Marry me, Mariam.”

And the unexpected words that spurred out of my mouth in that moment,

“God forbid.”

THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE PROPOSAL...

The first time I met Sadiq, I wanted to hold him. He looked just like a baby, with beards.

That was what I feasted on. Innocence.

I met him when he was playing a basketball match for our university. He was the player with number 1 jersey. That was a sign—he was the one. The chosen one.

During halftime, I came up behind him and said, “You look like someone that will be in my future.”

He turned around to look at me for a moment. Soon, a smile spreads across his cheeks.

“You look like someone that will be in my future too.” He replied.

And from that moment on, we got married, had three children and lived happily ever after.

In my dreams.

But in reality, there was no such thing as happily ever after.

“Sadiq! Ka zo nan (come here)!” The coach called out to him from a distance, beckoning him to join the other players back in the game.

Without hesitation, he ran towards the basketball court, then stopped halfway. He looked back at me like I was a lost item he had forgotten to carry.

What he did next was quite absurd. He snatched a red marker from one of the whiteboard scorers and told me to write my phone number on his forearm, and I did.

But...

Sadiq didn’t call me that night. Or the night after. Or the next next night.

Because I changed the last two digits of my number on his arm.

I didn’t do all that toasting to just have my number end up on somebody’s sweaty hands. Come to me correct.

This is Mariam Abdulkadir you’re talking to. Every boy’s fantasy... but every man’s worst nightmare. So don’t play with me, Sadiq.

Anyways, Sadiq and I were never bound to meet again. Our university’s campus was so big that the chances of us meeting again was nearly impossible.

But it just so happened that when fate has destined to bring two people together for destruction, it would happen at all costs.

I met Sadiq again three weeks later, at Zinoleesky’s concert organized in our school. I saw him standing at a distance in between the noisy crowd, dressed in what looks like his grandfather’s clothes and bathroom slippers. It was easy to spot him. He looked so out of place, like he didn’t belong here.

His eyes trailed round the venue like he was looking for a lost friend. But once his eyes landed on me, they stopped at me for a long, slow moment. He looked at me with relief, like he had found his one true soulmate that he had been searching for all his life. I knew that look too well. All my past flings had them.

I stood and watched as he pushed through the crowd to get to me.

“You don’t just make a manifestation and disappear like that.” Was the first thing he said to me.

He went on rambling about how he searched every department and hostel for me. And how his last hope of finding me was through this concert. And that he never attended any social event, but he came here to find me.

I smiled.

Great, another good boy’s heart to break.

“So what do you want me to do with all this information?” I folded my arms at him.

“I want you to give me your real number.”

“You’ve got to earn it.”

“How?”

“Come to the basketball court at 12 tonight.”

He chuckled at my response, “Shebi you know they lock hostels by 10pm?”

“I don’t care. Take it or leave it.”

With that, I walked away to join my friends at the other end of the venue.

Sadiq was, well, feisty. He did show up at the basketball court on time, even though it was past lights out time. And I, being the Mariam Abdulkadir of University of Southern Kaduna, appeared two hours later.

I thought he would leave like most chicken boys would, but he didn’t. He slept at the bottom of the bleachers with a pillow and a blanket. Hmm, I’m impressed.

I sat next to him and watched him snore like a new-born baby. When I said I wanted to hold him the first time I saw him, I meant it. And I still do.

Upon feeling my presence close to him, Sadiq woke up and sat up in surprise, like he never expected me to show up. Before he could say something, someone from a distance shouted,

“Who dey there?”

Multiple flashlights flashed on our faces, and it was in that moment that we knew we were in hot pepper soup. The security men have caught us.

Sadiq grabbed my hands, and we began running to only-God-knows where. I could feel the panic jolting up in Sadiq’s skin as we were pursued by the two security men. He was certainly not used to this.

We ran towards the Engineering department and jumped through the window of one of the lecture halls. The security men ran pass the block while we hid in the empty dark classroom.

After their footsteps had faded, I turned to look at Sadiq in front of me. His breathing was heavy and I could hear the loud thumping of his heart as he looked outside the window with panic in his eyes. His hands were tightly wrapped around mine, like he was not willing to let go.

I laughed. Allah, he looked so cute and innocent.

“I can tell you’ve never done this before.” I said through my laughter.

“Do what?”

“Snuck out at night. You look like you’re going to die.”

“I don’t break laws.” He admitted. Soon, he realized he was still holding my hand and quickly yanked his hand from me, “How could you make me do this?! Do you know how much trouble you would be in if you get caught?”

“Am I the only one getting caught?” I scoffed. There’s two of us.

“You are the one that will be in more trouble if we both get caught. People will start calling you ashewo (prostitute).”

“Everybody calls me ashewo.”

That was facts. Mariam Abdulkadir was not just known for having one of the biggest asses in her class, but she was rumoured to have slept with 17 boys in the school.

It was just a stupid rumour. I’ve not slept with 17 boys. Yes, I have flirted with up to 17 of them, but I’ve only slept with 3 men and all those were exclusive relationships. But Sadiq didn’t need to know all that.

Sadiq and I spent the rest of the night getting to know each other. He was a 200-level Chemical Engineering student, and he didn’t mind that I was two years his senior as a 400-level Law student.

When I asked him who his favourite musician was, he said Beethoven. How do I tell him that Beethoven is not a musician?

When I told him mine was everyone’s favourite, Asake, he said he hated Asake’s music. Red flag. Run, Mariam!

The night flew by within a blink of an eye. The next morning, we left the classroom while others woke up for prayers. Before we parted ways, Sadiq reminded me of the very reason we were in this state in the first place.

“Have I earned your number now?”

I smiled and moved closer to him. I placed my hand on the nape of his neck and kissed his right cheek.

“You earned a kiss.” Was my answer. And a goodbye message.