Remembering My Lover

You know how you like a song so much, you play it endlessly and think you will never get tired of it only to get to a point where it becomes unbearable to listen to and you always skip it when it’s ugly head pops up in your playlist? 

It’s a vicious cycle really. It seems I’ve found a song I haven’t gotten tired of. It’s almost a year now and I can still bear it; hell, I still love it. Its lyrics are perfect, sung with the perfect voice and to the perfect beat. Beautiful!

I crave this kind of love, this kind of consistency(odd use), this kind of bond.

Such is, well was, my previous relationship. It was one that started off beautifully. Every move was perfect. We clicked from the very first time we encountered one another. We looked good together, it didn’t look like we would ever get tired of being together.

But things happen; life happens. We always want things to go our way; and want the beautiful things we love to stay, forever. We forget there are many variables we cannot control and sometimes these variables, when altered by life, come with unfortunate consequences were forced to bear. 

Our relationship was a victim of one of such variables. Everything was going fine, we both were happy, it’s okay to say everything was perfect. Each person accepted the others scars, wounds and flaws; and so it was effortless to be ourselves whenever we were together. We were very different people, but as a couple, we complemented each other. 

Till this day, it hurts me. I remember the day we broke up. It was so unexpected. My heart still aches when I think about it. I had prepared my N500 and requested two meat pies only for the attendant to tell me that meat pie is now N270 naira. 

Goodbye Meat Pie. I will always love you.


What Goes Around Comes Around

It’s cute; very cute, listening to people talk about love and how beautiful it is. You know what’s cuter? Experiencing it yourself.

I thought to myself, it would be nice for me to give me two cents (or eight naira) on the topic. And so I opened my text editor and began to say what I had to on the topic. On finishing and going through it, I deleted it all. Not because I didn’t like it, or because I felt it could be better, but because I’m very happy. Happy because God is good.

Backtrack to sometime last year, during my industrial Attachment. Getting to my final bus stop on m way home, I jumped off the bus and asked the bus conductor for my N900 change. I had given him a 1000 naira not and I’d been disturbing him for my change the entire ride. It was like a movie. Man screamed ‘GBERA’ and the bus driver pressed the accelerator and sped off. Thats how my N1000 went. It was a Friday. I buy suya every Friday (well used to because economy); and this animal had just run away with my potential suya. 

Hurt. Sad. Weak. That’s how I felt. I thought I was street uno. And things like that don’t happen to (fake-)street people. It was a terrible weekend. I spent most of it thinking about what could have been. How the beef, yaji and onion combination would have felt. I had no one to be kissing so it wasn’t going to be a worry, making my breath hot and laced with the quite discomforting smell of onions. ‘I can see it in your eyes, you’re angry’ my mum had said. Trying to work out if she was singing Drake’s ‘Shot for me’ or if she was talking to me, I ended up not responding. 

Fast-forward to just over a year after. I am a man now. An eagle; inured to the madness that fills the streets. Still very motorcar-less and an upcoming billionaire but I am a man now. I rule the streets; the streets are mine. 

Friday evening. Tired and hungry since I had stopped by at the gym to work on my now fairly presentable body, thoughts of taking suya filled my mind. Would it be with garri? Would it be in indomie? Would it be with bread; a bread and suya sandwich? So many questions. I had to make the right decision as I wasn’t going to let the evening be one that could be characterised as staid (been waiting to use that word).

‘Alaye, bo le’ Mr. Man Get down, the conductor said; but I wasn’t listening. On tapping my shoulder, he brought me out of my daydream, or evening-dream. I looked up to his face, eyes clearly asking him to come again. ‘Ogbeni oo de bo le‘ he repeated. ‘Oh. Okay’.

Something about his face took me back. I knew I had seen him somewhere, only I couldn’t say where specifically. ‘Gbera’ he shouted as the bus sped off.

When the bike dropped me off in front of my house, I opened my wallet to pay the bike guy and saw that the 1000 naira note I had left the office with was still there, intact. 

That’s when it hit me! I hadn’t paid for the bus ride! And …. It was the same guy that had run off with my money that year! It wasn’t 1000 naira he had lost but he had lost money. Glad and very excited, I went into my house, gave my dog the routine pat on head, ate the lit meal my sister had prepared for me (since I had bribed her) and went to sleep like a king. 

The end.

PS: It’s not a love story or about love but it’s close