FACE-ME-I-FACE-YOU BY SANNI KAY YUSUF
SANNI KAY YUSUF
Mama Lade steps out of her room, shuts the door and walks gently on the corridor. Papa Chioma comes out of his living room, walks behind mama Lade – the toilet he is headed.
Mama Lade in a wrapper covering only her chest top down the middle of her thighs, is headed to the bathroom stationed side-by-side with the toilet. In papa Chioma’s unavoidable glare, mama Lade’s hips flirtatiously dangle and the arousing beauty of her thighs cheaply, repeatedly gazed at. Like a whore trading her body for monetary gains, she wears no undergarment; of course, the bathroom she is headed, why don a party wear?
Mama Lade carrying a bucket of water on which a sponge case containing bathing items floated, has her skimpy wrapper involuntarily loosened. Spontaneously, she drops the bucket to thwart being entirely naked. While papa Chioma still walks slowly behind, mama Lade re-ties her wrapper and her outlook worse than ever – the wrapper became skimpier and her body further exposed. She bends to lift up the dropped bucket and Papa Chioma’s eyes blink worryingly. After a few steps taken, she makes it into her destination – the bathroom.
Papa Chioma makes repeated bombs out of farting as he drops loads of faeces into the pit latrine. Mama Lade can not but feel the presence of a strong man in action. She feels it as the bombs are harmlessly, detonated. Mama Lade nods her head left, right attesting to the cacophonous shell. And as water drops in the bathroom, papa Chioma imagines how what he just saw is being dabbed. Contemporaneously, papa Chioma defecates as mama Lade takes her bath.
Mama Lade finishes the hygiene adventure. She steps out of the bathroom only to see brother Jerry – in a secret-revealing boxer-short – standing by awaiting his turn to do as she just did. “Good morning, brother Jerry,” she greeted. “Good morning, ma, mummy Lade,” he replied.
Mama Lade’s outlook is now much worse than it was. It is not worse because the wrapper is skimpily worn; it is considered worse because she is outdoor in such a seductive state. Her wet body has soaked the wrapper and the covered has become seemingly uncovered. Brother Jerry’s eyes blink as he sights the most sensitive parts of mama Lade’s radiance. The dangling of her hips this time is much flirtatiously arousing. While brother Jerry watches on, papa Chioma steps out of the toilet to see the concluding episode of the gratuitously granted soap opera .
You can imagine what is likely to end up the scenario painted above. This is the ugly situation with numberless face-me-I-face-you buildings. There are some where fornication and adultery thrive among residents therein.
Like mama Lade, Ummu Zainab leaves her room to use the bathroom. On her is a gown with a jilbaab. She enters covered and leaves covered. That’s her custom as dictated by her faith.
“What is wrong with this woman called Ummu?” asked mama Lade while in a chit-chat with aunty Ngozi and brother Jerry. “How do you mean?” Ngozi replied with an inquiry. “I don’t know why a pretty lady like that will always masquerade herself in a too-long garment. I pitty that she is just wasting away her enviable beauty. What kind of a religion will require that nothing be seen of a woman except her face and her palms? Not me, never!” mama Lade said. “So you noticed, too? The worst is that she even goes to the bathroom and enters the toilet as such,” aunty Ngozi complements mama Lade’s gossip. Brother Jerry rather holds a contrary view despite not giving to the use of hijaab or jilbaab.
“For me, I think the woman’s style is better, healthier and saner than the way most women dress, especially while going to the bathroom. She has never caused us any harm like you ladies do. I don’t have to be a muslim to know that it’s show of craze and irresponsibility to roam the corridor in just one wrapper that is not only skimpily tight-fitted but is devoid of undies.”
“Ha! Brother Jeeeeery! How did you know that!” aunty Ngozi interrupted lousily. “What are you talking about? Aren’t you guilty of that? Don’t we see it? The men in this house know the sizes of your hips and the colours of your panties,” said brother Jerry.
“Hehehe! Jerry, or what are you called? Mind your expressions, please. How dare you talk of us like that! What guts!” mama Lade contested. “That’s the bitter truth. You may not like it. Let’s call a spade a spade. Can you swear that you are not having a secret affair with papa Chioma?” “What are you talking about?” she interjected. “You got papa Chioma to yourself on account of your flirtatious and seductive dressing, especially when you want to visit the bathroom or toilet.”
“Is that true,” aunty Ngozi probed. “Don’t mind this idiot,” he says and takes a walk out of the scene.
May Allah provide good accommodation for those living in face-me-I-face-you apartments.
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