His favorite color was brown. He said it was so because brown reminded him of old wisdom, a sage, a wisdom that could only come with age. It also reminded him of a tangible passing away. A loss that one must feel and hold on to in order to be able to feel at all. Whenever he wrote, he would always write with a brown coloured pen, most times thinking out loud how nice it would be to have brown ink on white paper; a beautiful synergy. Not because the combination was so pleasant to look at, but because it left a lasting impression on one's mind, engraved to one's senses because it was not usual. Perhaps that was why we were together for so long. He was not usual. I had never really known what I desired my relationship to be like; whether or not I wanted it to be defined by love or a mere desire to be with one another. One thing I knew however was that I did not want a relationship that would make me happy. I had learnt a long time ago that happiness was the most dangerous thing one could expect from a relationship. It demanded so much from you and when it eventually left, it left something almost empty, something so small that one could almost neither remember nor forget it. So, rather, I desired stability and contentment. A relationship where I could go out and come in everyday knowing full well that nothing would change, all would be the same, regardless of the happenings around us.
Ugo and I met for the first time ever at a seminar. He sat directly in front of me, his bushy afro posing an impediment to my view of the projector. Unlike me, I did not tap him to complain about this obstruction. I endured till the end and consoled myself with the fact that I could purchase the CD of the seminar afterwards. However, he kept looking sideways, as if he was looking for someone or something. This annoyed me more than the fact that he was blocking my view. I wondered why he even bothered sitting at the front row if he was apparently not so interested in the information being displayed on the projector. I tried to suppress my anger by taking deep breaths, but my lips seemed to have other plans as a loud hiss escaped my lips. It sounded faraway, foreign; something that could not possibly come out from me. But when I saw a few heads turn in my direction, casting curious and peevish glances my way, I knew I needed no more proof. I shut my eyes in embarrassment, trying to concentrate on the words of the anchor, but not succeeding at all. Instead, an image of the man sitting in front of me was formed; his afro filling up his head and extending to the corners of his ears. I imagined myself with a pair of scissors in hand, generously cutting his afro to its roots and not ending there. I go on till I have succeeded in leaving a bloody mark on his head. He does not make a sound though, instead, without turning to face me, he grabs my other hand and pats it on the cut, till my hand and his head become one in color, dark red.
"Please endeavour to purchase the audio and video copies of the seminar at the end of the hall before you leave". These words bring me out of my reverie. The seminar was over and people started trooping out of the hall. Some did stop at the end of the hall to purchase some audio and video copies, while others hung around to chat with some familiar faces and acquaintances. I stood up to leave, completely forgetting my mental note to purchase an audio copy of the seminar. Before I could make it out the door, I heard my name being called out, although it didn't sound like my name. It sounded like a foreigner was struggling to not sound disrespectful and ignorant but eventually did, because he had no power over his accent and could not be blamed for not being familiar with unfamiliar names. " Kelechi". I turned only to see a man in a brown shirt heading towards me. My eyes were fixed on his hair. For a moment, I tried to jog my memory to recall where I had seen this hair before. It was him! The man who gave me no peace of mind throughout the seminar. I did not know what kept me dumbfounded. Whether it was the fact that he looked nothing like what I had envisaged or that a black man like him would call my name as if he struggling to get the pronunciation right. Either ways, I stayed glued to the spot till he came straight up to where I was. He smiled at me and gave me an audio copy of the lecture. He made as if to say something but waved and left. I stood transfixed looking on at him as he walked away. Eventually, my feet found its way to the parking lot where I tipped the gateman, got into my car and drove off.