First time I saw you was at our first group meeting where you turned up looking like you walked straight out of Looney Toons. Pink shirt, pink shoes, animated face and body so skinny my boy Kay swore he could split you in half with his dick. You were looking vulnerable as fuck, as though if someone uttered the slightest mean shit to you, you’d just fall down and die. When I tried to start a conversation with you, you could have just iced out on me— sent my native ass back to Oboroke. But eiye, you smiled that smile that made me deny the existence of my girlfriend twelve times in seventeen minutes.

I know we were in law school and we were supposed to fully indulge in all of that redundant classroom bullshit ama December was cold and temptation filled the air like a flu. Everyone was hooking up and even Kay was getting steady pussy from Chinoyerem ati one other rich girl like that. Me I was just trying to stay committed to you and my two girlfriends and my books.

Those days you were clinging to me like Facebook people cling to sex dramas. Heck one time I even started to believe I was the shit. Not like you were serving me pussy yet ama from the way things were going between us the future was bright aguvi ka everyone was calling us a couple.

We were just spending time and money (my own o, mostly, the one my civil servant parents were sending my poor ass) and talking about profound subjects. Other niggers were going in and out of deep holes, me was there wasting my time talking deep stuff with you. Hei da! Those useless memes can deceive o. I was busy falling in love with your mind anaika those UNIBEN boys were already pressing your waist behind the library.

You that, if Prudence had a face, it’d be yours. You that you were calling me your redemption and I was believing. Evu mi vi ni, wallahi.

By January I was already feeling like I had fulfilled the ultimate law school requirements— I had a law school girlfriend (this shit is harder than passing Bar Finals, I swear to you); I was already carrying shoulders up and appending Mr. to my name because in my mind I already had a wife.

Then during our cocktail night I met you with this guy who was unnecessary built (does he sleep in the gym? Is it not law school he came for? Why all that muscles? Ama you told me that you didn’t really like six-packs aguvi ka what is in the mind is more important.)

When you saw me you started hailing me anki boys hailed their fellow guys. You suddenly started calling me chairman! My maaaain man! My guuuuuuuuy! And didirin like me was blushing without knowing that you were putting me in another level of the zone. You now introduced me to the guy as…your best friend.

Wei gwu.

Me? Me that I already told my grandmother about us. Me, your best friend? Since when? How? God will punish you o. I was just standing there white-faced and shit. To add salt to injury the big guy now took me aside and was asking me for condom. As if that was not shocking enough, he now said, “I wan take am from back this night but that place go tight. You get ororo?”


“Anointing oil nko?”


Next day daiki you limped to class with that satisfying grin on your face. You came to sit beside me again and was calling me dear.

Fuck you Stella-Marris. I’m trying to focus on my other relationships now. Get behind me Satan.

Victor Daniel is a Nigerian writer and student of Law. His short stories have been published in African literary journals such as The Kalahari Review, African Writer, Brittle Paper, The Naked Convos and so on. His nonfiction piece “God’s Mailbox Is A Traffic Jam” has also been published in the print version of Selves: An Afro Anthology of Creative Nonfiction.



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