“This was one of those days I wished I had magical powers and just disappeared. But it was not to be.”
I had been invited to an event opening in Nigeria’s Federal Capital, Abuja. No, I was not the event competitor. I was invited as a guest. It was a beautiful supermarket with lots of ribbons and balloons decorating it for the arrival of top-level guests. Everywhere looked gorgeous and ethereal. The supermarket itself occupied a two-story building. It also had at least three apartments in its upper chambers and a spa beside it. Downstairs and some parts of the building were the supermarket and a boutique pharmacy. I liked it a lot. It was my kind of place. Upon arrival, I wandered upstairs to see the spa. I am an unapologetically spa person. I wanted to know if they offered a two-hand massage. It’s one of my favourites.
The spa was beautiful with an interior decoration of light peach and grey. A sight for sore eyes. I am definitely coming back here, I muttered under my breath. And no, you did not guess. They had all my favourite massages. Relaxation massage, deep tissue, head massage, and yup, they had my all-time favourites, the two-hand massage. I floated around the spa. I was on cloud nine. Then, I made my way to the pharmacy. Well stocked and well apportioned. I really liked this place. As I walked leisurely around the pharmacy, my personal assistant Doom brought me back to reality. The guest of honour is about to arrive, she said, her voice piercing through the empty pharmacist. No guests yet, just me and staff. I gathered myself and made my way back downstairs.
The event opening was taking place at the supermarket foreground. Tents and balloons everywhere, with nicely placed chairs for VIPs and other guests. I had been told earlier that the president or his representative were going to be in attendance, and there were foreign dignitaries. As a result, security was tight, and top-level security operatives were all over the place. Before we got downstairs, I had Doom get me my jacket, which I had left on a chair in the spa in a moment of exhilaration. As sirens blared bearing VOPs and foreign dignitaries, the upstairs portion of the venue was sealed off by security, trapping my personal assistant Doom upstairs with my jacket. My arms felt exposed, and it had started drizzling, and I began to shiver a bit. I clasped both hands over my upper chest, trying to get some warmth. I also began to feel uncomfortable.
I am not one to display my arms and be out in public with only a camisole and my long skirt. I was having a moment. I looked around, wondering whose jacket I could borrow, but no one looked even vaguely familiar. The owner of the supermarket, whose wife was well known to me, was receiving dignitaries with a broad smile on his face. A big man, he wore an all-white jacket over white flannel trousers. His jacket would have drowned me. I searched but could not find his wife.
Doom was still trapped upstairs. Desperate, I began to walk to the back. But I was caught midstream by some of Nigeria’s current cognoscenti who wanted to say “Hello.” The chief of staff to Mr President, Rt Hon. Femi Gbajabiamila, the minister of youth, Dr Jemila Bio, the minister of aviation, Festus Keyamo, and the coordinating minister of health, Professor Pate. One after another, they offered a handshake or a hug. I truly now wanted to run away.
I heard the voice of the master of ceremonies announcing the arrival of Chief Nyesom Wike, FCT minister, and, in quick succession, the arrival of the Speaker, Rt Honourable Tajudeen Abbas, who was representing the President. I took off before they got to me, lips quivering. I had been exposed enough in a top I was not proud of. Then the MC started to say that the President of France, President Macaron, who is a close friend of the supermarket owner, had stolen into the venue earlier and was sequestered upstairs and was on his way down to receive the representative of the Nigerian President. He was to be accompanied downstairs by the wife of the supermarket owner. In a flash, using the back` exit, President Macaron arrived through the back of the venue with my friend, the wife of the supermarket owner. Of course, they stopped where I had run to hide to say hello.
This was one of those days I wished I had magical powers and just disappeared. But it was not to be. Hello, my friend said, beaming a smile. Congratulations, I said to her. Really nice place. Thank you, my love. Let me introduce you to our VVIP. His Excellency, the president of France. I smiled an awkward smile as he thrust out his hand for a handshake. I offered mine. He had a firm grip and a warm smile. This was the moment I needed a magic wand. Very nice to meet you, he said, beaming a wide smile. Heard a lot about you from the couple. Broadcaster? Yes, I managed to say between gritted teeth. I hear you are a national treasure. A little overrated, I said as he let go of my hand. Modesty would take you nowhere, he said. His words had a slight lilt as he let out a guttural laughter. Soon, the MC was calling for the President of France and Madam to take their seats. All of this while I was trying to disappear in my silly camisole and a long skirt.
Then he said the unimaginable. “You seem cold and uncomfortable.” He then took off his blue-black jacket and wore it for me before leaving for his seat. He left in his traditional crisp white shirt as he made his way to the front. I blinked twice as I began to return to my seat. The President of France. His jacket, me? Then the master of ceremonies called the house to order. I sat down trying to process what just happened as the MC invited the supermarket owner to deliver his welcome address.
Then the lights came on, blinding me. Our last daughter walked into my bedroom with a jaunty hat and a mischievous smile. “Mummy, are you awake?“
I just had a crazy dream, I said to her. You did not become the president of a small island in the Caribbean, did you? No, I said, but I came close!
