Writers 
Chapter 2
She stopped dancing as soon as the drums stopped beating. There was a standing ovation, and everyone cheered for her as though she had just performed a miracle. She smiled and said, “Thank you,” before walking off the stage. Her voice was like a melody, sweet and calming.
“That girl is awesome,” the man next to me said as he took a sip of his beer.
“How?” I asked.
“She makes all of us forget our nagging wives and brings joy to our hearts,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“How can I meet her?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Sharp guy! You want that African waist, right?” he said, slapping my arm while laughing.
“No, not at all. I’m not like that. I just want to talk to her,” I replied shyly.
He hissed. “Wetin you wan follow her talk? You wan give her another work?” he asked, giving me a suspicious side-eye.
“No, sir. I just want to talk to her,” I said, ignoring his attitude.
“I heard she gives private dances to extremely wealthy men, but you have to talk to Mama Chi before she gives you permission to see her,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” I replied with a smile.
“But young man, you don’t look like you have the money for Ada ooo,” he added in a mocking tone.
“Don’t worry about that. Where can I meet Mama Chi?” I asked.
He pointed towards a door.
I stood up and walked towards the back of the bar. I took a deep breath before knocking and thought to myself, What am I doing here?
I wanted to turn around and walk away, but I went ahead and knocked.
“Come inside,” a feminine voice called from within.
I opened the door slowly and walked into a small, stuffy office.
Behind the large table sat a large woman who looked to be in her mid-forties. She was fair-skinned, with traditional all-back hair and heavy makeup, and she was devouring a large plate of white rice and stew.
“Good evening, ma,” I greeted her like the respectful Yoruba boy that I am.
“Sit down,” she said, not even looking up at me.
I took my seat.
“What do you want?” she asked with her mouth full.
“I want a private dance with African Waist,” I said calmly.
“You’re late. She’s fully booked for tonight,” she said, and I felt disappointed.
“But I have other girls who will do more than just dancing for you,” she added with a smile.
I politely declined her offer.
“You can come early tomorrow night. She’s not performing tomorrow night, but she’ll be available for private dances.”
“Okay. Thank you, ma.”
I stood up and left her office. I was disappointed that I couldn’t spend the evening there, but I was willing to try my luck the next day. I wanted to return to my chair and enjoy a hot plate of pepper soup, but I changed my mind and went home.
As soon as I got to my one-room apartment, I took off my clothes, had my bath, and changed into something simple for the night. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning in my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“African Waist,” I whispered into the night.
She had occupied my every thought.
“I must talk to her tomorrow,” I said with determination, before sleep finally called my name.
