If you have no idea who Muyiwa is, you should read this short post about him first before reading this one. So, when I wrote about Muyiwa the first time, most of the people that commented were more interested in what happened after the Igbo boy tried to rub my back and I allegedly ran away. Err, it was not alleged o! I did run away. But let me give you the conclusion of the story.
Remember I told you that Bianca and I sneaked out of school? Classes were over at 2pm, but we always had to stay till 5:30pm for prep and all that ish. It was sometime after 2pm that we ran off. Usually, we were picked up by Bianca’s driver, aunt, or brother. But on this day, it was Bianca’s governor-son boyfriend who picked us up with his friends.
Bianca’s older brother, Rick – not his real name – also attended the same Air Force Boys Military School with Bianca’s boyfriend. I don’t know if they were friends, but they were definitely friendly. He knew of their relationship, and to the best of my knowledge, he approved of it.
What Bianca should have done that day was make plans about what lie to tell her aunt; she should have told Rick that she was planning on leaving school early. He would have probably let her go see her boyfriend, and then, he would have covered for her. But she didn’t. And this wasn’t the age of cell phones and electronic leashes.
So, at 5:30pm, the driver came with her aunt to pick us up, and we were nowhere to be found. They waited and waited, but we never showed. Frustrated and afraid, she drove back home and sent Rick to find out. He came back to the school, searched and searched, and we were nowhere to be found.
Meanwhile, an Igbo boy was trying to rub my back. I ran to the lone two-sitter chair that was close to the door and sat there, beside Muyiwa. That was where I ran to. I had barely sat down when Rick came charging into the room, his otherwise yellow face, red this time. Before we could blink, he was standing in front of Bianca and reddening her face with slaps – one after the other. And yelling at her, telling her how stupid she was for not telling anyone her whereabouts.
And her boyfriend and his friends did nothing. It was like they were afraid of Rick. Or maybe they were afraid of the version of Rick that came bursting through the door. He was mad, looked like he could kill. He dragged Bianca out of that room, and I followed meekly, leaving her boyfriend and his friends dumbfounded. During the slaps, I called his name and pleaded for him to stop, but he gave me a talk-again-and-you’re-next look, so I shut it. Shit, he’s her brother, not mine.
Back at home, he reported the incident to their aunt who also blessed Bianca with a few slaps of her own. I had never seen her [Bianca] so red. She cried. I consoled her. Neither her brother nor her aunt yelled at me. It was like they just knew – or assumed – that I was merely the follower, not the leader.
And that is the conclusion of Muyiwa’s tale. After that day, I ran into him a few more times, always in the company of Bianca and her boyfriend. I guess he was to Bianca’s boyfriend what I was to Bianca. The follower. The supporter. The looker, never the doer.
P.S. It was only when I became older that I realized the implication of Bianca’s boyfriend’s action – or lack of it. He just watched as Rick beat her up, never attempting once to stand up for her, to shield her from the beatings, and better yet, to challenge Rick. A weakling of a man. But then again, he was only 17.
P.P.S. He was the same age as Rick.
P.P.P.S. Bianca is now “happily married” [to a Lebanese man]; they have one son together, and they live in Lebanon. She does not read my blog – I hope.
P.P.P.P.S. I don’t know for a fact that she is happily married, but “happily married” is how marriages are always described.