More Than Pretend - Chapter 5
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER FIVE 👇🏾
Chapter Five
Nimi
Friday evening was one of those rare evenings when I sank into the pluleatherther sofa of my living room. Enjoying a moment of solitude amidst the hustle and bustle of governorship duties. My fingertips skimmed over the cool glass screen of my smartphone as I scrolled through an endless feed of emails.
The living room was my place of comfort, adorned with intricate Nigerian art pieces that blended the contemporary with the traditional. From the walls to the table settings, each object told a story, adding layers to the persona I presented to the world. Yet, even in this moment, my thoughts strayed to a less-stressful memory.
I couldn’t help but think of Ava. Her laughter still echoed in my ears, a refreshing melody in a life often filled with orchestrated political affairs. I remembered the way her eyes had lit up at the festival, how genuine she’d been about her passions, and how we’d connected on a personal level. I felt a tug in my chest, one that I hadn’t felt in a while.
Just as I was sinking deeper into my musings, the door burst open with a theatrical flair that could only belong to one person—Chijioke, my chief of Staff.
“Mr. Governor, brace yourself! This is not a drill!” he declared, mock urgency lighting up his eyes as he strode into the room. The corners of his mouth fought to suppress a grin, clarifying that this so-called ‘emergency’ was more jest than jeopardy.
“Chijioke, unless the Government House is on fire, your theatrics could win you an AMVCA award, but will cost me a peaceful evening.” I laughed, locked my phone and placed it on the coffee table.
“What’s life without a bit of drama, sir?” he responded, his voice rich with amusement. “Besides, your peaceful evening was doomed the moment you chose a political career.”
I had to give it to him; Chijioke had an uncanny ability to turn even the most mundane events into a spectacle, a skill that had livened up many staff meetings. And while his entrance had pulled me away from my thoughts, I couldn’t deny that he had a knack for making even interruptions entertaining.
“So, what’s the emergency, Chijioke? You’ve got my attention,” I said, leaning back into the plush leather of my sofa, my fingers absentmindedly caressing its cool, soft surface.
Chijioke’s eyes gleamed like those of a man holding a royal flush. “Well, Governor, it appears you’ve become an internet sensation overnight. A photograph of you and Ava at the Bole Festival has gone viral. You’re even trending. The hashtag? #FromBoletoLove.” His voice was loaded with a mirthful tone, like he’d just discovered a hidden treasure.
“Wait, are you serious?” I stammered. For a split second, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. My team was now aware of Ava, but an online sensation? My initial reaction was a whirlpool of emotions—surprise, curiosity, and, I had to admit, a twinge of excitement. Images of Ava’s laughter and the casual yet electrifying atmosphere of our bole date danced before my eyes. For once, I had a real human interaction instead of the usual political stuff. A part of me was stunned that a simple, spontaneous moment could catch fire like this.
I noticed Chijioke’s eyebrows shoot up, registering my uncharacteristically flustered state. “As a heart attack.” He pulled out his phone to show me the trending photo. And there we were. Ava and I captured in a frame of unfiltered joy, the black bench we sat on now an iconic backdrop to a moment that had unexpectedly captivated the internet.
“Wow,” I exhaled, my lips curling into a subtle, involuntary smile. “This is... unexpected.”
“But not unwelcome?” Chijioke added, a playful grin stretching across his face.
“Certainly not,” I agreed, pondering how this newfound attention might have a silver lining.
“Wait, what was that hashtag again?” My eyes narrowed slightly as I tried to mask my amusement.
“#FromBoletoLove, Your Excellency,” Chijioke repeated, his voice a mix of seriousness and playful mockery. He knew I found these social media escapades both exciting and baffling.
I let out a hearty laugh. “That’s charming, but problematic, don’t you think?”
“True, but that’s not the only issue,” Chijioke said. His voice bore the weight of cautious reasoning. “Someone took that photo and sent it straight to the blogs. They recognized you, Governor, despite your incognito attire.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. “Ah, the inevitable lens of the public eye,” I mumbled, the corners of my mouth turning downward. I thought I had been cautious enough to blend into the festival crowd to experience life without the scrutiny that my position brought with it.
Chijioke’s eyes met mine, his gaze penetrating but sympathetic. “You can’t be a hidden gem when you’re a diamond, sir.”
My eyes drifted to the intricate patterns of the rug beneath my feet. “I had hoped my governance would be the focus of public discussion, not my… burgeoning love life,” I sighed, my voice tinged with frustration. This viral picture was like a boomerang. It could come back in unpredictable ways, not necessarily to my advantage. It was a stark reminder that it could turn even a fleeting moment of joy into a spectacle—my public political theater.
“Looks like we’ve got a narrative to manage,” Chijioke concluded, leaning back against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. “You know, this might actually be an opportunity,” he added.
“How so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, genuinely curious.
Chijioke paused, locking eyes with me. “Aunty Enitan’s suggestion, remember? About how a stable personal life can resonate with the people, humanize you even.”
Aunty Enitan and her advice often incorporated traditional wisdom mixed with political savvy. “You think we could spin this into a stability narrative?” My voice was skeptical, yet tinged with an iota of hope.
He shrugged, letting out a soft chuckle. “Well, you’ve already caught the public’s attention and imagination. Now, we need to channel it properly. It’s about controlling the narrative, redirecting the focus.”
“Yes, but we’ll be walking a fine line,” I said, quickly breathing. “I’m not just going to use Ava as some political pawn. If we do this, she has to be okay with it, and it has to be convincing.”
Chijioke nodded, his expression softening. “Absolutely, Governor. Authenticity is key. And besides, from what I gathered at the festival, the chemistry between you two didn’t seem unreal.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that, my thoughts drifting momentarily to Ava’s laughter, her genuine joy that was so infectious. “You’re right. It wasn’t.”
“So, shall we proceed?” Chijioke asked.
Chijioke was flipping through documents on his iPad while he gave me space to think. I wandered back to when my brother, Tein, set me up with Kechi, barely a year after my wife passed. Beneath Kechi’s beauty was a thirst for the spotlight, especially the one with trending hashtags, and that craving left a sour taste in my mouth.
One thing was clear: it couldn’t be halfhearted if I went with this plan. On one hand, getting serious with Ava could look good for my reelection. On the other hand, putting my potential relationship out there could put too much pressure on something that felt natural and easy.
Would Ava even be okay with all this attention? Would she still look at me the same way if she knew her face would be on every news site by tomorrow? Had she even seen it, given that she’s on social media? My head was aching with many questions.
“Thinking hard, huh?” Chijioke finally said, breaking my deep thought. His voice had that playful edge, but his eyes were sharp, almost as if he could see the battle going on in my mind.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “More than you know,” I replied.
Unlocking my phone, I navigated to Twitter and entered the hashtag #FromBoletoLove into the search bar. The results instantly flooded my screen—a lot of opinions waiting to be explored.
The first tweet made me smile. “Whoever she is, they look happy! The governor is finally settling down? #FromBoletoLove.” But as I scrolled further, my smile faded. “Isn’t our governor supposed to be solving our electricity problem instead of having a date? #FromBoletoLove #DistractedGovernor,” one comment read, instantly lessening my initial joy.
Another said, “OMG! They look so in love. I can’t wait for the wedding!” Wedding? We were getting to know each other. The following comment jarred me. “Just another PR stunt for reelection. Please don’t fall for it, people. Vote wisely. #FromBoletoLove.”
I chuckled when I saw a meme with our faces Photoshopped into a classic Nollywood poster. “Coming soon: From Bole to Love, a Port Harcourt production,” the caption read. Yet another tweet questioned, “Is she even from here? We need a first lady who understands us. #LocalContent.”
My eyes flicked up, meeting Chijioke’s gaze. He’d been quietly observing me from his vantage point, leaning against the doorframe. “A lot of opinions, right?” he remarked, his voice carrying an undertone of cautious concern.
I sighed, setting the phone down. “It’s a land mine of opinions,” I mused, grappling with the jumble of public sentiment. This unplanned revelation had just exposed me to the volatility of people’s judgments, and I was in the storm's eye. Handling this would be like navigating a minefield—one wrong step, and everything could blow up.
Chijioke just nodded, sensing that I needed more time to decide. The room was silent for a few moments, but it was a comfortable silence.
“Chijioke, let’s take our time and think this through.”
He sat down across from me and looked me directly in the eyes. “Alright, I’m listening. How do we manage this before it blows up more than it is?”
“The thing is, it’s not just about managing my public image,” I paused, “It’s also about protecting Ava. She’s not used to this level of scrutiny, and I don’t want her dragged through the mud because of me.”
Chijioke’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. “Agreed. That’s a valid concern. So, what’s our game plan?”
I clenched my fists, resting them on my lap. “First, we can’t just use this to our advantage and forget the important person involved in all this. Aunty Enitan’s idea of projecting a stable personal life might help us, but it can’t be at Ava’s expense, so I have to talk to her.”
“Understood,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of respect.
“We need to have a contingency plan too,” I continued. “If this blows up, it could bring a lot of unwanted attention to her life and even harm our campaign. We need a statement prepared, just in case.”
Chijioke nodded, pulling out his phone to jot down notes. “Anything else?”
I sighed, my mind swaying like a pendulum between my personal happiness and public responsibility. “Just draft a sensitive and well-worded statement for now. I need to talk to Ava; she deserves to know what she’s getting into.”
“If she’s willing to get into it,” he added.
“Exactly,” I affirmed. “But let’s tread carefully. The last thing I want is to hurt Ava.”
Chijioke nodded. “Duly noted, sir.”
