Black Sparkle Romance by AMARA NICOLE OKOLO Read Free Book Online Page B

restaurant for Coke and fried snails. The owner, a dark woman with full, dark eyebrows, threaded hair and tribal marked cheeks, cast an amused look at Mira, and muttered something to Dominic in Yoruba as she placed their drinks on the bamboo table. He replied in Yoruba and they both chuckled. Mira, frustrated that she wasn’t fluent in the language, asked what the woman said.
    “She asked why you were walking on your toes like a flamingo,” he said and laughed again.
    Her face was stony. “And what did you tell her?” she asked, fearing the answer.
    He shrugged. “I told her you were a chronic ajebutter and this was only your second time in Badagry, so you think lions are buried underneath the sand. She was like, ‘Oh, that figures.’
    “Dominic! That was not fair! I am not an ajebutter … I’m just myself!”
    “Well then, prove it, Mira.”
    When they left the restaurant, she made an effort to walk naturally on the sand.
    On their way back to the site Dominic pointed to a yellow semi-detached house with a red corrugated iron roof that stood a few metres away. Purple jacaranda trees surrounded the area. “That’s where I live,” he said. “My house is two houses behind the Whispering Palms Resort.”
    She stared at it, enthralled. “It looks beautiful,” she breathed.
    His voice had a low timbre, deep and warm. “Thanks.”
    She turned to see him watching her with such intensity that she dropped her gaze. She looked towards the horizon, the cool ocean breeze wafting through her hair and dress. “B-but why did you choose here?” she asked. “Badagry is beautiful, but it’s almost two hours from the city. Besides, it’s still underdeveloped compared to Lagos city. Why stay here?”
    “This, Mira,” he swept his arm towards the ocean, “this is where I found my muse, the creativity behind all those photographs I take. Some people find theirs in solitude, some in music but I found mine in nature, in the oceans of Badagry and the history behind it. Besides, I got fed up with the city and its noise … I needed a place where my creativity could flow. And when I came here, it did.”
    She was silent for a while, and then said, “I know it sounds strange, but I found my muse through cooking.”
    Dominic raised both eyebrows. “Really?”
    “Yes, it’s funny but true. It was years back – I was 15, I guess. My parents were holding a dinner party and I was helping out in the kitchen. We spent the whole morning preparing all kinds of dishes: from ogbono to ofe nsala, jollof rice to coconut rice, plantain to pounded yam. When we were done, I looked at the large table with the colourful dishes and a wave of creativity hit me so hard I felt hazy. So I went into my room and sketched the first ofmy designs. I sold them to a designer during my first year in college, and the money covered a year’s expenses.” She laughed. “OK, you can laugh now.”
    He shook his head. “No, I have no desire to laugh. That was a wonderful story – really.”
    She believed him.
    The women at the Badagry market were the most fun. Ifeoma bonded with them, and within minutes of their arrival they had bestowed many fond names on her: Omo Eko, Omo Fresh, Omo Butter, Sissy London. Mira loved them. Some thought she and Dominic were a couple, and, during the shoot, a frail old toothless woman said she saw her getting pregnant next month with the way they were in love. Mira, mortified, quickly put her right. But Dominic and Rufus became animated, egging her on, and when they left the stalls she tried whacking their heads off with feigned annoyance.
    On their way home, Rufus saw a local jeweller advertising on a board tied to the traffic light pole. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Let’s buy the ring for the coming wedding! Awon marriage noni! ” he said in Yoruba, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He turned to Mira, “What ring would you prefer – how about 18-carat gold with a chunky diamond?” he winked at