Sister Lizzy, my roommate in my last year in the university, was one of the few ladies I looked up to when I was in school. Although she was just about the same age as I was, I (as well as almost all the other ladies in our hostel) prefixed her name with Sister. This accolade came about as a result of Lizzy’s pristine character. If God was looking for a righteous young lady to birth another Messiah, Lizzy would have been the obvious choice.

Morally, she was the standard for all the ladies in the school. In her speech, her tongue only knew how to praise the Lord – not a foul word or joke would fall off her mouth. Love was the benchmark of her character – she gave freely and never asked for anything back, she cared sincerely and would give her last to help someone in need. For this reason, she was nicknamed, “Mother Theresa”.

To share the same room with a person almost as perfect as Sister Lizzy is one of the toughest decisions I made a student. I recall how every other person refused the proposal to be in the same room with her until the lot fell on me. I finally agreed to be her roommate because I thought she would rub some of her good graces on me.

Little did I know that I had signed up for the most difficult one year of my life.

Apart from dealing with the unfair comparison of me to Lizzy by the school community, I had to also deal with domineering attitude too. By some inexplicable logic, almost everyone in school thought that my life would see a complete turnaround as a being in the same room with Lizzy.

“Naa, why are you wearing this skimpy short to lectures? Can’t you see what Sister Lizzy is wearing?” A course mate asked.

“Herh! I cannot believe that expression came out of your mouth! Has Sister Lizzy not taught you how to bridle your tongue? Oh! I am so disappointed in you”, said another when she heard me say, “what the f**k?”

This went on almost every day – about one comparison to Lizzy per hour. I was sick and tired of it. The comparison that got my goat most was one by one of my lecturers who blurted in class, “Naa, stop disgracing your roommate with these bad grades. You are dragging her name in the mud”. I could not believe my ears!

As if these were not enough, Lizzy gave me her dose of problems in the room with her tall list of dos and don’ts. The thorniest of all her excesses was the Ten Commandments she posted on the wall of our room. That list completely deprived me of any form of human liberty and freedom. The funniest and the one she made sure I observed to the latter was that “Thou shall not watch unchristian movies in this room – Commandment 5”.

Her reason? The film industry was a tool of the devil. Their depictions of relationships, love and sex were flawed and were being used as tools to lure the youth into sin. As much as I agreed with her reason, the law was overstretched. No amount of explanation that not all Hollywood movies are bad would make her change her mind about this. I did my best to live with it.

One afternoon, I returned from lectures to meet Sister Lizzy’s absence in the room. I was surprised because the door was not locked; I only had to turn the knob to open it. The next place I thought to check was the washroom. As I approached the washroom, I heard moaning sounds from the toilet cubicle. When I opened the toilet door, I saw the shock of my life!

Lizzy sat on the toilet seat, panties down to her ankle, with her phone in her left hand and the right hand in between her thighs. From the phone she watched an adult movie and with her free hand, she pleasured herself. Her eyes were closed such that she did not even realize that I was at the door.

I was shaken by the sight. Countless thoughts flooded my brain and I was momentarily unconscious that I too did not realize that Sister Lizzy had finished her holy act and had seen me. It was when she screamed, “Jesus!” that I woke up.

It was surprising that the name of Jesus could come out from her mouth after what I had just seen her do. I looked at her one more time and walked away in silence.



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