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Amina’s Story
There are a couple of things integral in their field but ultimately pointless in some cases, like salt in cooking, but never been of use when you’ve got an egg to boil.
Amina didn’t see it coming, that that would be the case for her degree in photography and diplomas in some other fields like creative writing, they have just been so far quite unhelpful in her getting a good life for herself and her aging mother, she waltzes through the room buzzing with creatives mingling but it’s all gone quiet for her, thoughts loud in her head pondering on her predicament and how is she going ever get out of this life-sucking rat race, this event looked like the others already, the invitation always give hope whilst the reality dampens.
Lost in thoughts she didn’t see him coming, and clattered into him significantly like a stainless plate fumbling down the stairs, there was him on the bend trying to help her find her glasses which she in moment was scavenging the floor for with her fingers, then he saw what her upturned files had spilled
– beautiful! he let out what sounded like a squeal,
pardon? she responded,
he said: oh sorry, here are your glasses,
she said: no, I’m sorry, it’s my…
he cut her short saying; oh please, let’s not dwell on apologies and trade them like blame, how about we trade something else instead, something like names, I’m Victor, Kola Victor Ibeleme, and you’re? I’m Amina, Amina Babatunde – she responded.Amina, I don’t mean any offense, you are beautiful but when I exclaimed beautiful earlier, I did not mean you, I was speaking of the images in your file, were they taken by you? yes, she said…
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She nudged her elbow ever so slightly into her granddaughter’s cheek, whom she was writing the book with, one based on her life’s story, with a smile on her face she said: the readers are about to meet the man that changed my life for good in the photography world. -
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