By Babajide Alabi

I ran into an old friend some time last week. He is the type of friend you only see, probably once in a decade. I have known my friend from way back in the primary school when we were the best of friends and sometimes, the worst enemies. We argued, fought and laughed on basically everything. We were the best of friends.

Although as we grew older, we kind of drifted from each other. This is understandable because we both had to face life’s challenges individually while chasing our destinies. Over the years, we usually run into each other. With the little times we had together on these “run ins” we always tried to catch up on each other’s stories. My friend is one of the few from my primary school days that I still have connections with.

My friend and I usually bump into each other in odd places. Before last week’s unplanned meeting, the last time we saw was in 2007 at the Edinburgh Airport. Prior to running into my friend in the historic city of Edinburgh, I saw him last in Lagos in 1999. With the advent of the Internet, we did try to keep up with each other via email messages and Yahoo messenger, but at a point one of us (or both) changed email address and that was the end of that means of communication.

You wonder why we do not “meet” on social media. Well, my friend seems to have a big dislike for the social media? I had searched online many times for him, with no luck. Facebook is not his community.

You can therefore imagine our excitement when we ran into each other again at the Leeds Train Centre. Bless my friend, he is a great talker. Growing up, our friendship was always a means of amusement as we were classed opposite of each other. While he can talk a dead man back to life, I am always the type that believe in sitting back and see events unfold, offering one or two comments where necessary. But I always admire people who can talk without any “restraint”, whether they make sense or not. I guess I hung out with my friend most times in my early years just to make up for my short fall in the “talking department”.

However, one thing I learnt growing up is when you talk too much, you are most likely to say “things” out of context and regret later. Or you say things that are inappropriate for the moment. My friend may be classed as one of the people who delight in talking themselves into whatever position they think will benefit them. He might be a bit quiet with new people, but with me he lets down his guard. He must tell me his stories.

When we ran into each other, he could not hold himself back. He screamed and did a 100 metres dash in the opposite direction, made a u-turn, charged at me in full speed and got me off my feet. By stature, under normal circumstances I should not be easily swept off the ground by my 5ft tall friend. But he did. It was a spectacle at the station as the folks passing by thought we were having the African wresting (Ijakadi). If not for the smiles on our faces, the policemen on standby at the station would have mistaken us for terrorists about to detonate grenades.

My friend was in the Train Station enroute to London after speaking at a Centre for African Studies, University of Leeds-sponsored programme. I was at the station to pick up train tickets for a guest of mine. My friend had mistaken his departure time and came early to the station only to be told he has another fifty minutes to wait. And here I am to fill the gap for him, as I knew it was an opportunity for him to keep me updated on what he has been up to in the past years.

“Lets get somewhere comfy to sit and talk”, he said. I know it’s time for a real long talk. So we headed to the lobby of the nearby Queens Hotel. “Bobo (that’s the name he likes calling me) you have shed a lot of weight. The last time I saw you, you were bigger than this.”

“Yes. I know. You know it’s no longer fashionable to be fat. You are not doing badly, still retain your stature at your age, ” I replied.

“Bobo, I could not have put on any weight at all. I have been through a lot in recent times. If I start the story I won’t finish it till tomorrow. But I thank God I am still standing.”

We finally found a space at the lobby and it was in here he unloaded all. He told me how life has been very good to him, has been moving from one level to another in his career, travel all over the world on speaking assignments, have properties in some choice cities of the world. I can see his pride. But behind all these, I could also see there was a hurt that he was trying (albeit unsuccessfully) to hide.

“Good for you, my friend. You are not doing badly,” I said. By his look and story, I knew he was not doing badly. You know there are some people you see and just conclude they are doing fine in life. Sometimes we judge by their appearances, clothing, and all the superfluous things. We often forget that as human beings we know how to cover up. As a result, it is most times possible for a man or woman to be in real pain and disguise without sharing this with friends or family members.

My friend was not going to cover up. No. I am not that type of friend, he will cover up for.

“Bobo, you know while growing up, we always tease each other on the type of wife we will marry.”

“Please dont get to that again, you know I sure remember,” I answered him, while I recollected how we “dreamt” as kids.

He continued: “Bobo, while growing up I have always had an idea of the type of woman I wanted. I fantasised everyday about my type of woman. Back in the days in the classroom, while classes were going on I was always “weighing” my female classmates against the criteria I had drawn up in my head for my future wife. I had a clear picture of the type of wife I wanted.”

“But you are married now, so what’s all these got to do with the present,” I asked him.

He ignored me and continued. “Bobo, growing up I wanted a woman who can read and write. I said to myself in my secondary school days that a Primary School graduate will be okay for me, as long as she knows how to cook good food.”

TO BE CONTINUED.