HiveComb

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Hmmm! If you have never fallen for a man with six-pack abs, a phonics accent, and a Range Rover parked confidently at the entrance of Bokku supermarket—a tall, clean-suited guy standing by the car, staring at you like his life depended on it and grinning at you with teeth so white that you squinted—still, you kept your cool and dignity. Please clap for yourself because you definitely need a standing ovation.

Oh boy! Shine, shine actually blinds the eye, especially when you stare into it for long. Most people use blink, blink to only draw attention to themselves, but behind that sparkle, there's often nothing of value.

The day, Lola, my friend, met Komolafe, she was actually wearing her new wig that made her look like Beyonce's elder daughter, Blue Ivy. He walked into the bank where my friend and I worked as a customer service officer.

Suddenly, a huge guy walked in; he was as tall as a coconut tree in full season, with teeth so white that it seemed he did advertisements for Close-up. His glittering gold watch was almost blinding my eyes as he placed his wrist on my desk while talking with my friend, Lola. His shoes?! oh my word, they were like president Tinubu's shoes—so shiny and smartly shaped, with unique designs on them. He wore a navy blue suit as if he were born in one—well ironed and packaged, evidence of a laundry's handiwork, with basic lines on it. What's more, his cologne entered the room five seconds before he did.

Boom! Cupid got Lola!

Lola almost fainted in love.

She was already blushing.

"Excuse me, please," he said in that soft accent—phonics accent, that made everything sound like poetry. "Could you help me with a blocked account?" Komolafe asked politely.

"Blocked account? Sir, block me too," Lola said, still blushing.

"What did you say?" Komolafe asked, bending forward slightly.

"Hmmm... I mean, your form, please," Lola requested calmly.

Komolafe handed her his form, and suddenly their fingers brushed against each other, Lola almost submitted her resignation letter immediately. She melted and suddenly grinned at him, and he immediately reciprocated.

I was at my desk watching the whole scene.

They exchanged contacts.

And that was how it started.

Three days later, Komolafe brought Lola lunch—small chops and fresh juice in a fancy bag.

Sha! We ate it together.

Another day, Komolafe came around the office, still looking good and glittering, of course, and waited from the morning he arrived until Lola closed.

That was when it hit me.

A guy with responsibilities, like a job at least, would not be waiting for a girl from morning till night.That was definitely one red flag. I immediately started to warn Lola so she wouldn't be caught unaware.

But the so-called luxurious lifestyle— numerous outings, such as the beach, ShopRite, and fancy restaurants where the rice they served came in vertical towers, popular suya joints where chicken, pigs, bush meat, strangled meat and the likes, as well as assorted fishes, and flavoured ice-cream, are sold—has eventually beclouded her sense of reasoning so much that each time I alerted her to the hidden dangers about her 'lovely komolafe' she usually shoves it off.

"You just met this guy, and you are all over him, acting like he is Dangote's nephew," I told her one afternoon during lunch break.

"Dont be jealous," she told me, looking away playfully as she adjusted her new bone-straight wig. "He has plans for me. He said I am different; he loves me too," she said happily.

"That was exactly what happened with your ex, remember? He promised you heaven on earth, but what happened?! He disappeared with your laptop and DSTV decoder and even took the remote as well, baby girl! You need to wake up; all that glitters is not truly gold." I scoffed as I emphasized the looping dangers.

But Lola didn't listen. Love had entered her brain with a Range Rover speed.

"He is different; he won't do that to me. We have come a long way. I know he won't disappear like that silly guy," she reassured me with great optimism.

One evening, Komolafe came to the office to pick Lola up, as usual, of course.

"Please, sorry, I have to go before you today," she apologized, as she packed up and cleared her desk, hanging her bag on her shoulder.

"I will give you the full gist over the phone, I promise. Bye!" Lola waved me good night, grinning like a child who was gifted a new toy.

"Stay safe, goodnight, dear." I reciprocated, sincerely happy that she was happy as I watched her fade away into the distant road.

"only if this guy is truly true." I thought out loud.

That night, Lola buzzed my phone with text messages and flashes until I finally picked up.

"Guess what, girl?!" Lola asked in excitement.

"Babe, you know I'm terrible at guessing. You know I don't like suspense. please just spill it already." I pleaded in an exhausting tone from work stress.

"Lazy cow!" Lola called me playfully.

"Hmmm! whatever, just spill already." I said with curiosity.

"Komolafe took me to a rooftop bar in Lekki. The view was mad—city lights sparkling like temptation—and as we sipped our expensive and classy mocktail, he suddenly held my hand and..." Lola had not finished when I curiously interrupted her.

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"Proposed?!" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Babe, be calming down na! Your blood is too hot!" Lola exclaimed, chuckling.

"Oya, is it not you that is drawing the gist as if you are eating okra soup that has too much water in it? So what did he say?" I asked, happily curious.

"He held my hand and said, 'I want you to meet my Mum.' I almost fainted when I heard that." she said, excruciatingly excited.

"Wow! that's great news! Maybe I am wrong; maybe this Komolafe guy is genuine. However, is it not too soon?" I said, happily but worried and concerned.

Anyways, I started googling Yoruba traditional marriage and its list for Lola. She found a few as well, and we shared ideas and compared our choices. Lola started practicing how to kneel properly without ruining her makeup. Life was good, and everything was going smoothly. Most importantly, Lola was happy.

"Do you know what this guy does? Why don't you pay him a visit?" I suggested to Lola one time when we were wondering what Komolafe does for a living.

One bright Saturday afternoon, Lola dressed to kill, prepared a delicious lunch, and went to surprise Komolafe at his supposed office in Victoria Island.

Another red flag: The receptionist looked confused when Lola said she was there to see Mr. Komolafe Owolabi.

"Komolafe?" she asked again, flipping through all of her registers. "There's nobody bearing that name here. Are you sure you are in the right place—as in, are you sure this is the exact company?" The receptionist asked me, looking at me confused.

Lola showed her his business card.

"Sigh... Madam, this is our old logo. We changed it two years ago," the receptionist replied bluntly.

Gbim! Gbim! Gbim!

Immediately, Lola's chest did a talking drum beat.

She called his number. It was absolutely switched off.

Lola called again; this time, it went to voicemail.

The heartbreak was at an epic level. She cried like she was being paid for it. Her neighbors actually thought someone had died because of the intensity of Lola's tears.

Lola immediately called me in tears. I was not shocked.

"Welcome to Lagos, baby girl. All that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it's just foil paper from suya." I said to her calmly.

"And you warned me, o." Lola's cries increased again.

"My dear, if it is shining too much, ah! look again, o. Because oftentimes, the gold you think you're holding is just well-polished nonsense. But don't worry, your own permanent glittering guy will come soon." I comforted her.

"I will definitely stop chasing shiny things, and actually start looking for substance, even if it comes in slippers," Lola said with determination.

Still sobbing, though.

THANKS A LOT FOR READING ME