Looking left to right and straight at where the cameras are placed. Checking for places the camera could have been hidden to catch me off guard. I was certain the cameras were majorly on me. I could have sworn I saw a slight movement from the black and soundless machine hanging on the top left side of the lounge. Who else would it be on? I am the only one who has been invited into the house so far. Just me. Out of the twenty-two housemates who are going to participate in this season of Big Brother. I felt great to be in that position. One was because it relieved me of the fear of being sent home without participating in the show. Secondly, it gave me a sense of importance. The first among people from different tribes, cultures and works of life in Africa. That has to mean something.
Don't get me wrong. I know it could have been a random pick or game of chance to have been the first amongst others. Yet the game of chance can also mean that fortune favours you. The lucky one.
I can feel my belly turn. Like something light moving around my system, looking for ways to be let out. If this is what they call "the butterflies feeling" I don't want to feel it. It is unsettling.
Determine not to show any sign of nervousness, I took a breath and sat down on the couch facing the entrance to the house. Thankful I chose this set of glasses; dark shades that prevent anyone from seeing my eyes and knowing what my attention is on at the moment. Taking in the room with the movement of my eyeballs.
There were two long sets of couches; the one I am now sitting on and the one on my right-hand side. These couches which were long enough to contain eight average human size were separated by a six-foot space where anyone can pass through to gain access to other areas of the house. In front of the couches were wall paintings. The one on the right was a painting of a luxury bus with seated passengers looking out of the windows and smiling at those about to board a bus.
The one I am facing is a painting of a large garden and some people harvesting ripe fruits from the mature tree while others water and weed the growing plants. It is so beautiful, welcoming and symbolic.
I have heard and read that art is so subjective. It has different meanings and interpretations for different people. This is why the artist might decide not to disclose the inspiration behind his or her art.
So each time I am blessed with the sight of art, I try as much as possible to put myself in different temperaments, situations and works of life to be able to read the art in so many ways. Then pick, with the background knowledge of the artist, the most likely message she is trying to pass.
But I couldn't do that now, for once in my life, I couldn't get more than one meaning or theme for these arts. Maybe because of my unsettling nerve or my mind is playing many scenarios at once. I just seem to be stuck with this one theme; the theme of op...
My thoughts were cut short by the door sliding open. A lady in a yellow dress walks in.
Source
In a millisecond, I looked from her shoes to her hair. The dress was beautiful, a large flora gown which she held with her right hand, giving the smooth-looking legs, which is made visible by the knee-length split, enough room to walk. The black microphone and name tag belt unsuccessfully tried to hide the diamonds, adorned on the waistband of her dress. Her face held a smile that made me jealous. A smile of accomplishment. A smile of finally making it here. I wanted it to be mine. I wanted that smile for myself, wanted her to smile for me.
I stood up immediately, walked up to her and stretched my hand. "Hi, I am Barley. Congratulations and welcome." I said. "Thank you. I am Enitan. Congratulations to you too". She replied with a brighter smile as she extends her right hand to receive mine.
There and then, I knew I was in trouble. I had plans of being on my own, promoting myself as best as possible to gain the needed traffic and recognition for self-development. I had plans to stay away from any form of distraction. But here I am holding on to Enitan's hand getting lost in her returned gaze.
