It was the last day of Student Activities Week at Albert-Preston University and I was stationed at our Cheer Squad table at the less-than-prime hour of 3 PM on a Friday afternoon. The main hall of the Student Center building was practically empty as most students were either heading home for the weekend or already out on campus or resting up before a big Friday night blowout in the bars downtown.
The Cheer Squad table was situated next to a brightly decorated booth put up by the African Studies Club. Their elaborate display made our few pennants and pom poms look pretty anemic. I was dressed in my cheerleading togs and feeling a little stupid when the few students in the building passed by without so much as a glance in the direction of the various club displays arrayed in the hall.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot and eventually looked at the African Studies Club table next door. Their representative was a black female student in a traditional African dress and head wrap. Now that I studied her a little more closely (out of boredom, I hate to admit), the entire effect was quite striking. Her dress seemed to be a long wrapper of deep red and gold colors that swirled around her from her bust to the parquet floor where the material pooled around her feet in an elegant train. Her headdress was an elaborate construction of the same red and gold fabric wrapped in such a way as to almost defy gravity, being pouffier at the top than the single wraps across her forehead and hairline.
"Wow, that's some outfit." I said to her across the small divide between our stations.
"Thank you. It's a traditional kente and duku." She said. "I like your outfit too. We didn't have cheerleading when I was a girl." She gave a small laugh.
"I'm Haley. Goggins." I said and stuck my hand across the table to her.
The African girl lightly touched my hand. "I am Doaui Baidoo." She smiled sweetly. Her first name sounded like "Doe-Wowee" when she said it.
We filled the rest of our hour small talking and watching the large wall clock tick up to 4 o'clock when we would both be off duty from our lonely postings. Doaui was from Ghana, a junior engineering major, it turned out. APU has only a small African-American student population and I may have seen Doaui a hundred times on campus without noticing her. Too bad for me, because I was getting to like her as we chatted and I was enjoying her British-accented voice with the African inflections in which she spoke. I guess the word would be "charming."
We chatted about all sorts of campus things, coursework, places to hang out, etc. I was dying to ask her some questions about the African Studies group and her traditional dress but I was too much afraid to say something stupid - or worse, make some racial faux pas. So I stuck to the tried and true new friends kind of chatter. Before very long, the clock had ticked close to four o'clock and we began packing our supplies up since we were the last hourly shift for the week. I had only a small armful of the pom poms and pennants and some athletic department literature, so I offered to help her carry some of the excess material from her table. We walked out of the Student Center, our arms filled, both of us probably feeling a little ostentatious in our respective outfits in the bright light of the campus. With Doaui's high headwrap as well as her being taller than my short five-two, we looked like Mutt and Jeff as we ambled across the concrete walkways. The few students we passed sometimes did a double take as the short, pale cheerleader and the exotically clothed, statuesque African woman strolled along.
A female student ran up to us and asked us to stop for a photo for the student newspaper. We obligingly halted and smiled for the camera. Doaui had to spell her name out for the reporter who scribbled furiously with a concentrated look scrunching her face to get it written correctly. We laughed afterwards as we resumed our walk.
At some point in our newfound acquaintanceship I took notice that Doaui was quite beautiful with large, bright eyes, full gently glossed lips, very white teeth, and a flawless complexion in deep brown. I admit that I was dazzled by her native dress and the exotic air in which it enveloped her. The bandeau top of her wrap dress - the kente - displayed just a hint of cleavage but the swell of the material suggested a full and firm bosom. When we completed the walk to her off-campus house for international students and we dropped off all the materials for her club, I asked if she wanted to get dinner together later. Doaui smiled and said yes. I practically skipped when I hit the sidewalk outside her building, filled with a now-familiar feeling of interest in a new female.
"Oh, geez, Haley." I thought to myself. "You're getting a crush." I purposely stopped smiling to mask the welling heart throbs I was experiencing as I walked quickly back to my dorm.
We met later that evening, with both of us back in street clothes now, and walked to a small off-campus restaurant that served healthy and exotic meals (at least to my small-town sensibilities). We ate our platefuls as we talked and got to know each other better. Doaui talked about her upbringing in Ghana and the transition to American college life. She was keeping her nose in the books to keep her Engineering scholarship and maintain the pride of her parents and extended family back home. My story of small-town high school life and cheerleading at the college seemed like something from a boring "Happy Days" rerun to my own ears. On our way back to campus, we stopped at a juice bar and had frothy fruit smoothies. It was dark outside now and we sipped on straws as we fell into a closer, joking friendship. When I looked at Doaui, her lips puckered around the tip of her straw, it felt like we were on a date - even if I was the only one who thought so.
"You didn't mention any boys when you were telling me about yourself." Doaui said as she looked up from her smoothie.
"Oh, nothing to tell, I guess." I answered cautiously.
"You only mentioned that basketball player upstate and the gymnast here." Doaui said with what I took to be a sly smile across her lovely lips. She was referring to my mention of Jennie Nickles and Noni Momoula, my first two lesbian lovers that I have written about before.
