I sincerely lay no claims to being more knowledgeable than anyone, but I do confess that I know better than I did yesterday, last year and a decade ago. Isio Knows better is an attempt to capture the shocking and highly entertaining conversation within myself. The conversations between my mind (the sharp witty one), my soul (the lover and the spiritual one) and my body (the playful one concerned with the more mundane things of life). She is the eternal referee between the caustic mind and the sensitive soul. This is Isio. So, here’s to making private conversations public.
They said Anwuli was pregnant. They asked us to keep it quiet. We were to help care for Anwuli and keep her focused and positive. Anwuli had had such a rough time of it, they said. Her parents had disowned her and chased her out of their home with a big stick when they found out their daughter had gotten herself pregnant for an Arab man. The Arabian wanted nothing to do with Anwuli. Anwuli insisted she was the Arab’s beloved and bethrothed. The Arabian changed his number and disappeared. Anwuli tried to kill herself- they said. And thus began the chronicles of Anwuli the side chic.
Somehow Anwuli found her way to our university hostel. She was lean and tall with an unblemished ant-hill complexion. She spoke softly until she became excited about something. Then she became so animated I worried that the child she carried could have fetal cardiac arrest (if anything like that existed).
Anwuli was properly cared for. She was after all the guest of my bunk-mate, and I liked my bunk-mate. She was maternal and described as possessing fine qualities which made her “wife material” She could be playful to many but she was also severe. She was extremely dedicated and also very trusting, at least in her relationships. So when her boyfriend (a senior Unilag student) came to her and told her about his down-on-her-luck cousin Anwuli, she obliged him his request and welcomed Anwuli into her life (and by extension our lives).
With Anwuli suddenly in our lives, my bunk mate went all out. She left her narrow single bed for Anwuli to sleep on while she would beg my other room-mates to allow her squat with them over-night. Anwuli was fed rice and meat while we ate rice with boiled egg. We drank garri, Anwuli was fed “Kellogs”. Anwuli would tell my bunk mate she was hungry for things that were difficult to sustain on a student’s budget, and she would get them. Imported powdered milk, burgers, sharwama, snails, muesli, carrot cake, tinned tuna, canned mackerel fish, grilled fish and Yamarita.
Anwuli was a sight to behold while she was sighing and shivering and whispering the flavour of “Blue Bunny” ice cream she needed at that moment. She would touch her forehead theatrically and sigh mightily. She would say feebly amidst exaggerated pauses … “Ah, Please…don’t…let me stress you…..hmmmmm… (insert her delicately touching her fore head and rubbing her tummy) “But you see, Is there any way we can get Spicy Chicken around here?”
And my dear bunk-mate would then go and start looking for Spicy Chicken. Odiegwu
The first thing I noticed about Anwuli was how flat her tummy was. Heck, I did 300 sit-ups daily, yet Anwuli put my “packs” to shame. I had to ask Anwuli herself how far along she was. She said five months. I blinked. Double Odiegwu.
The second thing I noticed was that the boyfriend would come more frequently then that Anwuli was staying with us. He would stroll into our room after lectures and eat the dinner my bunk-mate had prepared or bought for him and then proceed to doze off for a few hours while the women loitered around the room or the hostel until he awoke. She even went as far as buying him provisions and even one time a phone when he lost his.
Fantastic as she was, this roommate of mine wasn’t a great cook. I mean she could cook, but it wasn’t so tasty. So I would cook my special stew for her and she would pass it off to the boyfriend as her creation. I had no problems with that really, it was afterall what friends did. A quarrel ensued one day because she was rushing me and shaking like a leaf in the bush. In her shaky-shaky state she put a bottle of kerosene (we were cooking with a kerosene stove) where I put the bottle of vegetable oil. Long story short, she didn’t believe I mistakenly poured the kerosene inside the stew. I was mortified she would think so poorly of me. True to God, it was a mistake!
A new pot of stew after, Anwuli and the boyfriend ate themselves to a stupor.
Anwuli was with us for a month before we learnt something jaw opening. The roommate had walked into her boyfriend’s room unexpectedly when she saw the abominable. Anwuli nestled on the boyfriend’s laps with Anwuli’s mammary glands strategically positioned in the boyfriend’s oral cavity. They were in cloud 49, lost in Solomonian ecstasy. If you know what I mean. Yawa quickly gassed.
The truth was that Anwuli was not the delinquent boyfriend’s cousin, nor was she ever pregnant. Never was there an Arabian, and dear Anwuli loved life and Sharwama too much to ever consider suicide. She was just the side chic who knew about her boyfriend’s other girlfriend and didn’t care. She was a hustler (like the boy) who decided to play the girl and milk her for their comfort. My roommate after all came from a family of means and they were just playing a con. Anwuli came all the way from Benin and needed a place to stay. Two wicked people connived and used another human being like that.
In hind-sight, maybe my roommate was the side chic. Triple Odiegwu.
I could never understand the depth of cold-heartedness that would allow someone do such a thing to another. Sleeping on your rival’s bed. An enemy from within. An unfriendly friend and a friendly enemy.
As for the boyfriend, I have no words. Men and women like that are the reason why some elites would never frolic beneath their social status, and honestly, after this chronicle of Anwuli, can you say you blame them? You just cannot help or do right by some people.
Still, may God help us all.
And thus ends the chronicle of Anwuli, the wicked side chic.
______________________________________________________________________________________________Isio Isio Wanogho is a top-model, TV Personality and entrepreneur. She is conversant in five languages and has 12 years of experience in the Nigerian entertainment industry. Isio, popularly known by her brand name Isio De-laVega, captivates audiences with her signature wide smile and relatable, quirky personality which endears her to many. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @isiodelavega