Hey guys! So this is the new series for this year and would start in February. Always one more time is a story of love, passion, tears, unfaithfulness, sex, betrayal…
Below is an excerpt from the story on a woman who loves #makeup:
…Zainab turned on her stomach and sighed heavily. Ikechukwu had left thirty minutes ago and she was alone in her apartment. It was Sunday evening and she was bored. Tired and bored. She wasn’t so sure why she was tired, probably ‘cause she had done nothing all day after hitting the club, or because of the vigorous exercises she and I.K had been up to. She could do either of two things: she could call Adesewa and they could gist about everything (mostly men), or she could take herself out to the cinemas. Neither of the two appealed to her at the moment.
She looked up at her calendar for the month. Three weddings and one birthday party. She was booked for all the Saturdays in January and she loved her job. She loved how she got to meet new clients and decide which colours would go well with their skin-tone. She loved being a part of the whole transformation process of when a client transformed from a seemingly ugly-duckling to a beautiful swan. She loved everything about art.
When she was a little girl, she remembered being so engrossed with her friend’s mother’s make-up. Not her own mother. Her mother had never been a make-up person. She valued simplicity. According to her, it was the pride of an African woman. She recalled what her mother had said when she announced she wanted to be a make-up artist. Her step-father, as usual, had given her freedom to do whatever she wanted to do. Her mother was always the issue.
“Make-up artist? For what? I think it’s just a waste of time.”
“And why is that mum?”
Her mother had shrugged her slim shoulders in an aloof manner. “An African woman boasts of many things. She has beautiful curves and features. She has soft full lips that are perfectly shaped, back-side that was care-fully moulded in heavy heaps and a skin-colour that boasts of richness.” Her eyebrows drew together, her mother ever the poet. “Those ‘oyinbo’ people that use chemicals to create a tan for themselves, they made make-up from chemicals to beautify themselves. They don’t appreciate what Allah has given us.”
Zainab had raised her brow at that. “But mum . . . Tiro was made in Africa nau.” Tiro was a Yoruba word from the western part of Nigeria. What everyone saw as Kohl or Kajal. It was one of the make-ups Zainab’s loved ‘cause of it’s power to draw attention to the eyes and make it extremely attractive.
Her mother had frowned at her. “You know they have found it hazardous to the health. Heavy with lead poisoning. So don’t act too smart.”
Zainab didn’t bother continuing the conversation. It was pointless.
She let out a breath and pushed the conversation far from her mind. African woman my ass! Even the thought exasperated her despite her mother not being there to carry out the action herself.
Zainab had always believed make-up to be a plus. A boost to a woman’s confidence. Something to accentuate the beautiful features she had been blessed with. On the other-hand, her mother saw it as something evil. She and her mother were obviously from different worlds. And her step-father? He was just not interested and it pleased Zainab greatly.
She laughed and finally got out of bed. The cold brown tiles welcoming her and greedily sucking her body heat. She walked over to the other room where she kept her make-up kits. As she opened the door, a vanilla scent greeted her nostrils.
She smiled and walked into the room and straight to the dark mahogany shelves which held her brushes and other make-up necessities. She had had the room painted in sunlight yellow. There was a large window that looked out to the beach. A full-standing mirror stood tall at a corner of the room and a three-in-one mirror that had studio light-bulbs all around it, with three high-stools opposite each of them. Her clients always found it a pleasure coming to her studio but were a little ticked off at the distance, urging her to move somewhere closer for easy access. She appeased them with a job well-done and threw in free pedicures and manicures for the eccentric ones.
Zainab had invested a lot in her business. Little by little, her dreams were becoming a reality. She smiled sadly, if only her love life would also live up to expectations. . . Dilly-dallying with men who were not serious was a waste of time. It was emotionally draining, but what could she do to satisfy her sexual appetites? She didn’t understand all those useless claims of waiting till you were married to be sexually pleasured. It was life and it was meant to be enjoyed. But then she knew everyone had a right to their opinions.
She walked out of her studio and went to her room to get out a stash of weed I.k had gotten for her as a new year present. She had been working on getting over her addictions but it was hard. She rolled one up and lit it up, sitting at the foot of her bed. This was her distraction from her problems. A new year had come and she had no idea what was in store for her.
Enjoyed the little excerpt? Don’t worry it would start soon. In the meantime please share with friends and family… 🙂
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