Chapter 1 Desperate Girl

"For every woman and girl violently attacked, we reduce our humanity. For every woman forced into unprotected sex because men demand this, we destroy dignity and pride. Every woman who has to sell her life for sex we condemn to a lifetime in prison. For every moment we remain silent, we conspire against our women. For every woman infected by HIV, we destroy a generation." – Nelson Mandela

.....

Okay, where do I start from?

I should probably start from the day I was completely ignored at a quiz competition just because I looked plain, and the anchor of the competition (who was my principal) only chose my fellow colleagues simply because they didn't look anything like me, the looked good, presentable, camera worthy...; mind you, we lost woefully and sadly though, (I mean, just because they looked good physically didn't mean they were good mentally.)

Or maybe I should start from that horrible day when Dad came in with the words "IT'S OVER" written boldly across his forehead because he'd lost a much invested-in contract to a corrupt politician, who probably didn't need the job as much and would possibly not even execute the contract as good as my dad would, but it's Nigeria and as long as you don't look plain, you'd get keys to all kind of financial and intellectual doors, even when you don't deserve it.

Well, It took weeks to get him back to his usual mood even though we knew our financial status wasn't going to be smiling brightly any more. That's probably what led to my plain appearance, (or maybe I was indeed just plain), but the only reason why I was still in "SOUNDHOPE HIGH" was because dad was a major shareholder in the board and it came with a (No Tuition Fee) clause.

You know what? I think I know where I'll start my story from, but before that, There are a few things you should probably know about me.

1: My Name; Remi Martins is the death of me. "Why?" you ask, well it's because it's got the same pronunciation with a popular Alcoholic drink, Remy Martin (that my dad loves so much, in fact, I think he loved his Favorite drink so much, he had to christen his only daughter after it. Fabulous!) And that's why I'm always bullied at school with a drunk expression on their faces all the time, the teachers weren't exempted.

2: I'm not "boring" or dowdy, so don't even begin to imagine me that way. In fact, I own a popular blog that supplies the whole of my school with the latest gossip in town and only my IT teacher knows I'm the Editor of "SOUNDGIST", to be honest, it low key makes me feel like Hannah Montana, you know, living a double life ish; plain Jane in the day, Internet monster by night muahahahaha, oh well...Boring people don't run gossip blogs with over a hundred thousand readers, that's my point.

3: I'm not a Smartie either, I'm also not a geek, (but you can't call me dumb though), I don't even fancy eye glasses,I just put them on when I have to seat behind the class and for whatever reason, people think I'm a genius, and as sadistic as that conclusion might have felt, I'd have to admit that sometimes it did feel really nice to be perceived as a genius.

4: God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me, I love you But I HATE MY CHURCH! Any teenager that attends a Pentecostal church should be able to relate.

5: I love Tiwa Savage. I mean, why wouldn't anyone love Tiwa? Like what's there not to love about her?

6: Simplicity is my Style. (A nicer term for I wear what I can afford) lol but to be honest, I just love a nice plain tee and a cute denim Jean.

7: My mum Is HIV positive, but you would

probably share a toothbrush with her cos it's so not obvious. She makes me wanna have HIV. (Just kidding). It was horrific at first, but we've grown to understand that HIV isn't a death sentence, in fact, it's no big deal. (Long as you use your Anti retroviral pills religiously and eat healthy). Nobody asides from our nuclear family knew about her Virus anyways. But things were about to change.

8: If I was to pick between Facebook and Instagram, I'll choose Facebook. Instagram is just something that'll pass in time,just watch. (Or I might just be wrong af who knows)

9: I'm a goal getter, I try not to fail in anything I set my mind on to. Losing is not an option. It's NEVER an option.

10: I'm friendly

And that's probably what led me to Aisha Balewa.

Everyone that has attended a typical Secondary school in Nigeria knows that there's always the "Teachers Pet"; you know the girl every teacher likes, because she's beautiful with brains or she's sexy and talented, Well, Aisha definitely has all these four traits, I'm talking, beauty, brain, talents and body. She's the Social prefect slash most popular girl in "SOUNDHOPE HIGH" And the fact that her father is filthy rich doesn't help matters. We've exchanged a few words here and there but it all began on that fateful day, When the only teacher that thought I might have the slightest potential, (Mr Williams, the IT teacher,) Informed me that he'd signed me up for the upcoming school debate on 'Feminism' and that I was to be the chief speaker for the supporting team, he didn't inform me that Aisha was the Chief speaker for the opposing team.

There's been no week that Aisha's name doesn't get mentioned on my blog and as frustrating as it is, I always have to bear it, I mean, I have to feed my readers all the juicy gossip and Aisha was the Juice of S.H.H. I would gladly try my best never to have her mentioned on my blog,But she's popular, and social, so it's impossible.

Everyone knows Aisha has never been defeated in a debate. But I knew She wasn't going to win this one, I mean, I'm a goal getter, I don't lose. At least that was what I told myself.

I still cringe when i remember how everyone pretended like I didn't exist as I climbed the podium. Some teachers had to beg the students to clap for me, (sad thing right?) please do not feel bad for me, for I am already used to it but they weren't ready for me yet.

I still remember how I began.

"Good day panel of judges, My ever accurate Time keeper, my Co debaters and my ever listening audience" the last line got some attention from them. The things these people didn't know was that I'd been hoping and praying for a chance to prove to that I actually existed, I'd daydreamed, imagined, fantasized and prayed for the day when I would stand in front of everyone and drop a bomb ass knowledge on them. This was my chance, and I didn't plan on ruining it. I remember belting my thoughts on feminism, I remember talking and arguing emotionally from the depth of my heart. Gender equality has always been my motto so I was a complete natural on stage. I didn't have to research on the topic because it was something we argued about at home. I mean, Tiwa Savage, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, all these lady who I love and adore are Feminists so I wasn't surprised when everyone stood up and applauded me after my first argument. It felt so good, like I'd given a speech. I was happy to see every woman in the room nodding their heads at my point, even a member of Aisha's team was almost in tears. I'm not even kidding. But I could see the burning fury in Aisha's eye. It made me happy.

Winning the debate didn't guarantee me automatic popularity, but for two weeks straight, I was the main gist.I felt happy writing and praising myself on my own blog and it didn't feel cheesy, I mean, everyone was actually talking about the girl who defeated Aisha Balewa. Her friends had bad things to say about me, which was way better than having nothing to say about me and her enemies and those who envied her and wanted to be her friend but had probably gotten the cold shoulder, admired me. Some teachers called me into their classes from time to time to ask questions on feminism and I was glad to supply them with answers, even happier to post it on my blog.

I'd gotten another invite to another debate, (this time at another school) as the chief speaker and the school wasn't just talking about the fact that they couldn't wait to get blown away, they were amazed at the fact that Aisha was the "second speaker" on my team. That had never happened before. For another week, 'Remy Martin' was the trend of the school, and I wasn't afraid to pain it all over my blog.

But there was a slight problem. Aisha wasn't attending any of our rehearsals. She always found excuses not to talk to me and quickly ran off after closing ours. It was obvious that she was avoiding me, hereby planning to make me fail and I wasn't going to let that happen. So with the support of Mr Williams, I got her home address which was actually a walking distance from mine although it was an estate in a reserved area, and after school, i went home, had my bath, quickly did my school work and some house chores, picked my earpiece (I can't go out without them), my phone, the debate file and I left, promising my elder brother that I'd be back before mum and dad returned. He had my lunch in exchange though.

As I walked angrily to Aisha's house, I wondered how come I'd never seen her even when our houses weren't far from each other and I got the answer immediately, We lived in two worlds. In a world where I had to run errands and do house chores she just typed on her phone all day and probably watched as her house help made her bed. Life is sooooo fair. Note the sarcasm.

As I'd expected and as everyone described; Aisha's place wasn't a house, it was a Mansion, A scary one at that. You know those kind of buildings you're scared of entering because you think you'll soil the whole place by just stepping your feet on the tiled floor? Yes, that's how Aisha's house is. Everything was white. I know this because Their gate was as good as nothing as you could see through the entire building with it's low fence, anyone can see the whole building by just passing by. In fact, the only reason why I got through the security of her street was because my dad was friendly with the security guard of the street. The man would come to our house once in awhile and eat like he wasn't planning to see the next day, and when he was leaving he'd give a funny face and wait for my dad to give him money. So you understand why I was let into her street without the usual phone call procedure.

Her gate man, whose name was Usman (he told me this while displaying his set of incomplete rotten teeth) FYI, he's a pervert. He gladly opened the gate for me after I gave him a fake phone number. (Only if Aisha and her family members knew the type of hands they placed their security in and how insecure their lives are.)

If I wasn't naturally courageous, I would have totally ran out of the compound just at the sight fleet of cars that graced the sparkling clean garage of Aisha's house. I never knew car garages could be so neat. Some of the cars that were parked in the garage were vehicles I'd only seen on TV and music videos. I didn't even know their names.

I said hello to the helps and they nodded in return, staring at me like I was clad in a bikini right in the middle of a market square. Obviously they weren't used to having plain looking girls around.

I bit my lip as I pressed the door bell and immediately, the door slowly creaked open and a old man in a movie-type butler outfit appeared. Hashtag dramatic.

"Good evening sir" I greeted. He just nodded in reply and stood aside for me to get in.

"You're a of Ai?" He asked with an expressionless look on his wrinkled face.

"Yes Sir"

"I'm her chauffeur, she tells me a lot about you."

"Um...really?"

"That will be all for now, Kamal, I'll take it from here" Aisha's voice startled me for a second, and I was kind of disappointed about not having to enough time with the butler looking chauffeur. I looked up and saw her leaning on the railings of the royal staircase. The old man bowed, turned to me, nodded and left the room.

She walked majestically down the stairs, she was putting on a black pearl embellished long sleeved top and a ripped denim jean. She complimented the look a black turban. She also had her iPhone on one hand.

"It's you. What do you want? And what are you doing in my house?"

"Uh, Your house is really huge! Where's the living room?" I asked with a smile on my face in guise to hide my nervousness.

"I'm not joking. Answer my questions."

"Can we seat and talk? I'm going to be real quick. Can you lead me to your sitting--"

"My dad's having a meeting" she tapped her feet impatiently and looked around before saying. "You know what? come up to my room."

I stood for a second, letting her words sink in. Did she just ask me to climb this Royal crystal stairs? To her room?

"Okay...okay. Lead the way" I said, trying hard not to itch my hair.

She gave me a confused look, rolled her eyes and cat walked effortlessly to her room.

To be honest, I was expecting a princess themed room, you know the classic Pink type of room, but I was totally impressed at how mature her room was. As expected, it had expensive looking furniture, mostly brown and white and her bed was a little bit messed up.

"Have a seat" she offered and leaned on the wall with one foot up for support.

"So, I'm sure there isn't a need for me to introduce myself"

"Don't be hilarious, who doesn't know Remi Martins," she sang my name with a funny accent, " I mean my dad has a whole box of you stacked in our wine cellar and a few bottles placed in our bar." She huffed. I didn't like it when people made fun of my name, but the way she did it made me laugh.

"Okay, that's funny." I said.

"No it isn't, how can you even live with yourself knowing you'll always have to listen to something like that for the rest of your life?" She said and left the wall where she was positioned to claim a seat in front of me.

I shrugged."It's my name, and I've grown used to it."

"Your funeral," she shrugged. "So, what is it that you want?"

"Why haven't you been attending our debate rehearsals?" I asked, grateful that my anger was totally erased.

"You know why, EVERYONE knows why. So cut through the chase and go straight to the point? Remi Martins."

"So you're not rehearsing with us because I'm the chief speaker?"

"Yup" she popped.

"Let me guess, nothing I say will make you rehearse with us so I'm just wasting my time."

She had a triumphant look on.

"Finally! Someone that's so smart and direct." She said to no one in particular.

"But, we actually need you, I mean, we can't do this without you."

"Then they should have thought about that before giving the position to you?"

"Are you for real?"

"Yup" she popped again, even louder.

"I mean, you're joking right?"

"Nope" she popped.

"It's just a debate, what's the big deal?"

"If it's no big deal to you, give me the post as the chief speaker"

"But you've always been chief speaker!" I heard my self scream

"I'll like to keep it that way, and hey, tone down your voice, my dad hates noise." She said this with a wicked smirk on her red lips.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. " but you really need to reconsider and join our rehearsal."

"Is that all?" She asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then I suggest it's time for you to leave."

"O...kay." I stood up. "Thanks for having me, see you at school tomorrow"

"Point of correction, you found your way into my house. And yes, I'll see you tomorrow."

I nodded and found my way back down the stairs. I was about to open the door when I heard her shout. "Stop!" I turned back and saw her leaning on the railings in a way that made her look like a movie star..

"Can I pay you?" She asked out of the blue with no bit of emotion in her eyes.

"I don't understand" I said in genuine confusion.

"Can I pay you to pass the post to me and for your attack points.?"

"How much are we talking about here?" I asked, trying to have a little fun.

"Name your price." She deadpanned.

"Are you for real?"

"Name....your....price"

"One hundred thousand naira" I said, in the hope that she'll laugh and throw me out, but she just blew breeze on her polished nails and said,

"A hundred thousand and no one will hear about it?"

"Make it two hundred thousand"

"Deal. Give me your banking details." She said, pulling her phone out.

"You're one sick girl!" I hissed seeing how serious she was and I let my self out.