good a listener as I thought,” Bobinga Iroko rebuked, playfully. “Consumerism is a major reason, but there are others. Some women cheat because their men have done it, leaving them unhappy, lonely or feeling neglected. They also cheat simply because they, in essence, are just like men, wanting great sex and variety beyond the monotony and ability of regular partners to provide, however creative these might be at self-reconfiguration.” Lilly Loveless wrote frantically in her notebook. She liked what Bobinga Iroko said. “And why, according to you, are women seldom open and bold about their affairs? Why don’t they boast of these in public in the same way as men do?”
“The answer is simple, I think,” replied Bobinga Iroko. “Vis-à-vis one’s partner, the lying, economy with the truth, clandestinity and hide-and-seek that come with having an affair is like the turn-on exhibitionists get from knowing that they are watched, and together with the sex, must make affairs really pleasurable and difficult to call off. Another reason might simply be that women are less animated by the trophy mentality that drives men, so they don’t display and parade their affairs the way a sportsman does his trophies.”
“You are a real expert, aren’t you?” said Lilly Loveless. Returning to the row, she asked of the man, “You say he is married to three wives?”
“Yes, and when friends ask him: ‘Masa, why you get plenty fine fine woman them so, you di comot outside go chase plenty more?’ he would say; ‘You no know say latrine for corner house de smell plenty?’ On other occasions he would say: ‘If you have a farm, does that mean you can’t have a garden as well?’ Super, isn’t it?”
“If you say so,” replied Lilly Loveless, beckoning to the waiter to bring her another drink. “I’ve also heard that plenty corner-corner lovers is not good,” she added, imitating his pidgin intonation.
“To be fair to the man, he worships women,” said Bobinga Iroko. “He is even rumoured to have slept with more than 1000 women and to have decided how he would like to die. ‘On a woman and surrounded by women, just as I have lived my life,’ he tells his friends. ‘And with my hand firmly on the well rounded youthful breast of the most beautiful of them,’ he adds with a sensuous chuckle, his eyes closed in imagined pleasure.”
“I wish him luck,” said Lilly Loveless.
Beer preceded the fish, which was taken with beer and followed by beer. Soon Bobinga Iroko was in no state to drive.
“Let’s go to the nightclub,” he suggested. “Let’s sweat away the beer on the dance floor to the tune of lovely Mimbo music.”
Lilly Loveless liked the idea.
They opted for Black & White, one of the most popular in Sakersbeach. Bobinga Iroko managed to drive up to a friend’s place on Church Street where they parked the car, and walked leisurely to the nightclub at the Bay Hotel. On their way they passed young and old women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in skimpy attire and headed in the same direction.
“These are night butterflies,” Bobinga Iroko whispered. “You’ll see the younger of them in the nightclub, but the older ones are heading for the bars, chicken parlours and other popular spots. All of them are fishers of men…”
Lilly Loveless listened without saying much in return until her curiosity was caught by a range of houses where several lit kerosene lamps were hanging on door posts.
“What are those lamps for?” she asked.
“Those?” smiled Bobinga Iroko. “They are signposts by night butterflies, inviting men to come and sample their wares,” he explained. “‘Ma skin di itch for come,’ is what the lamps are saying to those who understand their language.”
“How ingenuous!” replied Lilly Loveless. “It reminds me of the red light district back in Bruhlville. Do they ever run out of fuel, those lamps?” she asked.
“As long as there’s no catch, the lamps stay fuelled,” said Bobinga Iroko. “They are like the bait of the fishermen. You don’t expect a catch if your hook is baitless, do you? And once you’ve caught something, you save the rest of your bait for next time. So when we are coming back from the nightclub, you’ll be able to determine who has been lucky for the night, from whose lamp has retired.”
“Fascinating,” said Lilly Loveless, remembering to make notes as soon as possible while the ideas were still fresh in her mind.
Black & White was already bustling with young men and women when they got there. Bobinga Iroko paid for two tickets and the muscular bouncers in dark sunglasses tore the tickets and let them through the narrow entrance.
The dance floor was active and the song couldn’t have been better timed. In the song, the singer, a man, wants to know what love is. The woman replies “there’s no such thing as love”. Shocked, the man asks what she means. “Love is what you tell the person you are with. Today it is me, tomorrow it is her. But when I watch your actions, I’m a fool to treasure your words.”
Very profound, Lilly Loveless noted, and asked Bobinga Iroko for the name of the artist. They spotted a place to sit at the far end, from where Lilly Loveless could watch the dancing, pick up tips about the dance steps before venturing onto the floor. Only too aware of the comment she got in Sunsandland when she instinctively attempted to respond to the wild frenzy of African drumming – ‘If you were dancing for survival, you’d die before the day breaks,’ her partner had mocked – Lilly Loveless was cautious not to rush into things.
Song followed song. Some, Lilly Loveless could follow, others she didn’t understand.
“What is the singer saying about breast milk?” Lilly Loveless asked Bobinga Iroko, her attention drawn to a tune that made people rush to the dance floor.
“He is one of our naughtiest musicians. He claims he can’t do without breast milk He likes sucking inspiration from women. Just can’t get enough of what’s inside them! Be careful if he puts his tongue to your tit! His lips will soon be around you and he’ll suck and suck and suck. If we were to caricature him, he would have the biggest jaws of anyone in Mimboland. Suckling is essential to his ability to survive, you see, and flourish as an artist. He’s an adult suckler, a forever suckler. For him, suckling must be better than sex!”
“I shan’t flash my tits at him.”
“You don’t need to flash to have him coming.”
“He sounds desperate. What is his name?”
“I shan’t tell you,” said Bobinga Iroko. “You need all the protection you can get,” he smiled.
“Bobinga Iroko, you are fun to be with,” said Lilly Loveless with playful sincerity.
It didn’t take them long. Soon they were up, dancing to a wide variety of music forms from the rich menu served by the versatile DJ.
Bobinga Iroko explained the music forms and the contents of the songs to Lilly Loveless as they danced. She insisted they dance next to the table where they sat and where she had her notebook ready, so she could note down from time to time what he told her about the music.
Lilly Loveless noticed right away that the music was different from what she had fallen for in Sunsandland. It was gentler and softer, and the drumming wasn’t the same intense, intoxicating frenzy. But the themes were just as rich.
Bobinga Iroko was a casual and relaxed dancer, quite unlike the vigorous, suggestive
