His name was Mark, which Ona thought was strange for a black boy born and bred in Zambia. But why was she surprised since many Africans, traumatised by the legacy of colonialism which ravaged the continent, gave their children white people names. Well at least Mark was a biblical name. Ona first caught a glimpse of him in her International Relations lecture- he was tall, lean and had an irrational love of peak caps and sports clothes. Not quite athleisure, but more like he was on his way to train for something after class. He was not handsome, but he was interesting to look at with eyes just beady enough to question if he was trustworthy.
To her surprise, one day when she was leaving the apartment building where she stayed, she ran into him in the elevator. She had no business taking the elevator that day because she was already late for class. It was the kind of day marked by bum shorts and mini-dresses so she welcomed the short air-conditioned reprieve from the second to ground floor. As the lift opened, he was- shocked. She took him in but said nothing, she was stunned into silence. In subsequent meetings she would offer a hello and endeavour to make polite conversation, only to be cut by the chip on his shoulder. It took her a while to realise that he hated black people.
How strange that he did not attempt to walk with her or get to know her after continually running into her on and off campus. Was she that repulsive that he could even offer a simple hello? This gave way to many drunken nights where Ona would giddily ask her friends if they dared her to go to his floor and knock on his door- she didn't even know the number of her door. Although he was not extraordinary, he was her apartment crush. Did she hate herself to attribute such fond feelings to such a person or was she just naive?
Ona would ask herself this question in years to come and conclude that she was bored and attracted to his elusiveness because she knew nothing with him would go anywhere. If it did not go anywhere, she was safe but the truth was there was, she did not know how to engage with someone who liked her romantically because all she had ever been exposed to was feelings of never being quite good enough. This stood in opposition to her upbringing where she enjoyed happy and healthy interactions with men and would continue until her late twenties.
She did not know why, she did not know much about it and when she thought of it further she realised that she chose him because he was close enough to the type of guy she would give her affections to. He was arrogant and preppy- the type of black boy who preferred the company of white people.
This was not because he just had more common ground with them, which described Ona's case having grown up attending various private schools which shaped her interests. He was the kind of black person who felt his wealth and affiliation with whiteness deemed him better than his other black counterparts, and how he protected this affiliation by fighting tooth and nail despite never seeming like he was ever at ease. What was he fighting for?
Ona observed his lanky frame topped with the dishevelled short tight coils hidden under his peak cap. Mark's friendship group consisted of two white boys, an asian one and a beautiful dusty blonde girl- hers was a beauty some might refer to as basic. Ona had seen many girls like her with a trail of men surrounding her ready to do something, anything for her attention while she flitted about acting clueless to their advances until it benefitted her. Why did he like her? Why didn't he like her? She didn't know and she didn't care.
She was used to not being the object of boys' desires. She remembered the pang of never being worthy enough (in their eyes) to date her white counterparts at school, being relegated to the infamous friendzone. She never quite connected with the black ones but there was another boy she was obsessed with from a boys' school close by who she connected with. His elusiveness filled her with girlish excitement. He was an athlete who was set to study at a university in Boston, but Ona had met Gareth when they were in prep-school. Her mother had teased her then about him being a good match to her repulsion at the time.
"Girls rule! Boys drool!" was about the only thing which went through Ona's mind at the time. It's as if she had seen into the future.
Mark never quite seemed to notice Ona, despite her desperately wanting to, she was also overwhelmingly shy and did not have much experience with boys. She had always been in the supporting cast to the love story, never the main lead. When it came to starring in her own love story, it often felt clumsy, embarrassing and uncomfortable. She thought back to a time when she was kissed in a club by a random boy and she was so shy to part her lips. She could feel the tongue of the boy seeking entrance to her lips, which she kept sealed shut! How embarrassing, but also liberating to explore her sexuality while setting clear boundaries as to how far she was willing to go. In some ways she was a prude, and in other ways she was a product of her upbringing where she was encouraged to prioritise her studies above everything- especially boys.
When the time came to start exploring, she found herself overwhelmed with guilt, with nobody to turn to. How she wished she had an older sister to turn to. Instead she found herself learning from friends harbouring secret resentments about this thing or the other thing. Other times, she gravitated to friends with as much experience as her which became an occurrence of the blind leading the blind. She was unsure and inexperienced which often made her vulnerable and she was hyper-aware of this- sometimes this fear of the unknown was debilitating. Ona so badly wanted to be the good African daughter that she missed out on some things because she was so afraid of disappointing her family- sometimes at the expense of herself.
***
She watched Mark walk along with his squad behind him, from International Relations to their Philosophy lecture, in silence.