The beauty of every human lies at one particular point in our bodies, therefore no matter how old we get, we still possess that beauty. You can still see someone after several years and recognize them because of probably their pointy amazing nose, their high-standing cheeks that refuse to obey gravity, the lips that still have their fullness even after years of kissing and for some which is the most distinct are their eyes.
Oh, the eyes!!! Once one possesses beautiful eyes, then they are beautiful for life, even when their sight is diminishing, they hardly loss their beauty.
I just came in contact with one of those said eyes and they are staring right at me. I know this eyes, but the eyes belong to a tall clean shaved man, with nose that can smell trouble and afro to match the face. His dark chocolate eyes complemented his dark complexion, and you can only be wowed, and the cream shirt he has on makes his eyes pop.
One will say this is Nigeria and I have probably seen ten thousand dark chocolate eyes, but this gat that beauty glam in it. Just like chocolate drink have toppings or whipped cream on it, this dark chocolate eyes have the center point of cream, which makes it distinct from most black that Nigerians have.
After what felt like forever of blink less stare, he called my name, he called it more in form of a question. Wofikah? And that was when it hits me.
Fifteen years ago, my best friend growing up came to school looking all gloomy and sad, we just took the common entrance exams the previous weekend and I asked myself if that have something to do with the face he is pulling. But I know him and there is no way he will be sadden by it, this is someone that is my main competition in the class.
I haven’t come second place since my primary three though but on some occasion we will both occupy the first place and the next person have to be third place. What else will possibly make him this sad I asked myself. The creamy dot in the mist of his beautiful dark chocolate eyes were no where in sight and his eyes looks dark and hooded.
Abayomi, what happened to you? Have you been crying?
No, I’m just not in a good mood.
Why?
We are moving from Pyakasa.
My already large eyes were twice their size now, but I needed to look calm, I mean the boy is already sad, I shouldn’t add my own sadness to his.
So where are you guys going to stay now?
Gwas…
That is far oh!! Why are you going self, your father won’t work at Area 2 again?
Our house has been marked for the demolition.
Instead of dwelling on the sad part of the tale, which is all the parts, I just told him to meet me at our play mountain after school. Immediately the closing bell came up I ran to my mum’s class (she was a teacher at my school) and told her to let me walk home with my friends today instead of going with her as usual, after series of instructions she agreed.
Our play on the mountain was quite simple, but thinking of it now, absolutely dangerous.
We had these jerrycans in which we cut off one of the wide sides. Then, we tied a rope to the handle. The cut-off side served as the entrance to the “passenger seat,” where one person at a time could sit inside the can.
The other end of the rope was tied to the shrubs at the top of the mountain, which stood approximately twenty or more metres high. From the foot of the mountain up to about five metres, there were boulders forming a kind of floor. Beyond that, the mountain was smooth and sloped upward.
To start, we climbed to the top. One person would sit inside the can while the rest of us pushed it, sending it freely down the slope. With only the rope as a form of security, the rider would scream—either out of pure terror or excitement—until they reached the bouldered section.
Afterward, we used the rope to drag the can back up. If the person inside was lightweight, we pulled them up along with it.
I got three other friends to come with us and we played till our butts hurts and our lungs couldn’t take the screaming anymore. On our way back home, I could see the creamy dot in the hay of his dark cholate eyes radiating beauty and pure joy, totally different from the gloom it has in the morning.
Here we are fifteen years later, these eyes staring at me holding the same joy and beauty it had the last time I saw them, and I couldn’t be happier seeing Abayomi once again.
P.S The beating I received for going home late still rings a bell after fifteen years…