DIARY::of an unworn black dress.....

I’m one lady who prides herself in getting over any mishap. Be it emotional or physical. After I lost my dad a little over a year ago,I realized the emotional part of me had died. I become more carefree, and don't take things too seriously (unless blogging.lol).

In my box, there are these particular items I would never part with. There were gifts from my late dad. A leather skirt, sun glasses and A black gown. Yes my beloved dad took his time to send what he thought were fashionable items to his beloved daughter whom he envisaged would endup a lawyer.Yes I graduated from Law School,but don't see myself in a court just yet.

What he never knew was, I never wore them. The skirt was too big and my attempts at readjusting it was foiled after the tailor’s needle broke on two occasions. The glasses, too small and reminded me of Alinco’s glasses in the Nigerian comedy seris,Papa Ajasco.

But one of these items was so dear to me. The black long gown. The stunning gown had beautiful stones on the neck and I sometimes wondered how my dad got hold of such a fashionable item.

I kept it safe waiting for the appropriate day to put it on. When the time came, it's either i couldn't find the right pair of shoes to fit or,felt I would be over dressed.

Finally, the D day came. I was ready to wear my beautiful dress to the Global News Awards .Omg. I noticed a hole .” What could have perforated my dress” ? I wondered aloud. Being late to the event, I thought of what to do when, gbam I heard the faint sound of a tailor’s scissors  outside my gate.

Running out just in time to see a young hausa boy of about 17, carrying a mobile sewing machine.

I put my fluent Hausa Skills to play”don Alah, ka zo ka jara kaya na)pls come and fix my dress. My fluent language skills made him break into a smile as he entered the compound and I shut the gate behind him.

Giving him specific instructions to carefully fix up that hole. I rushed indoors to brush my hair, all the while humming and imagining how I’ll give Funke Akindele a run for her money down the red carpet. I imagined that glorious moment when I’ll see my pictures splashed allover Linda Ikeji, Bella Naija, The Netng, Naijapals, 36o nobs and so.

My beautiful thoughts were cut short by a loud knock.

‘yarinya, n agama yanke kayan fa(young girl, I’ve finished cutting the dress o).Did I just hear him say cut? Cut what? No, he must have meant patch as I raced towards the door with my gel filled hair.

When I opened the door, I froze. ...

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There it was, my beautiful dress had been chopped into two. With a smile on his face, he continued” Yayi ko nkara yanke wa(is it ok, or should I cut it more)

I looked him straight in the eye, my gaze lingering over his emaciated features. Then,I walked up to where his sewing machine was placed. Picked it up and slammed it so hard on the floor. I watched his facial features contort into something I couldn’t understand as he charged towards me.

in that spilt second, i realized the extent of my damage and decided to run into the house, bolting the door behind me. I ran to my room , getting under the covers and wondering why I over reacted.

Then I heard the knock”and his voice”bude kofa, ke bude kofa, n agama(open the door, open the door I’m done).

Huh! Done with what after spoiling my dress? I decided to go out there and face him. My father didn’t raise no coward.

I picked up a stick, just incase …you never know..Opening the door, I saw the tailor smiling” aunti, kin yi barichi ne?(aunty were you sleeping?)Omg ,I realized I fell asleep after giving him the dress and it was all a dream. I smiled as he handed the patched dress to me, perfectly sewn. Handing him the sum of 200 naira for a job well done, I shut the door ,walked into my room. I opened my box and placed it back for safe keeping.

“Maybe its wasn't yet time to give Funke Akindele a run for her money”. I picked up the big leather skirt I had never worn. I paired it with a white shirt. The belt firmly tied across my waist did nothing to camouflage the fact that it was over sized

I hour later, I stepped on the red carpet. No one noticed me, no camera clicked to take a picture. I was just another girl with an over sized black skirt. Minutes later, there was Funke Akindele gorgeously strutting the red carpet with all the camera men hoarding around her.

Never mind, I sure didn’t give Funke Akindele a run for her money. but I gave my dad a run for his…I excused myself to go to the ladies.And for the first time in months , I let the tears flow.

Copyright:Emeh Achanga ,August 2012

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