There was a love…
This is the most personal thing I’ve ever published. And because our relationship enjoyed a lot of privacy, I never got to tell the world how awesome this man is. So I’m writing my wrongs.
It was in our workers’ container in Abuja that we shared laughs, and you sold me out so I could work with you. I’m not still sure I’ve forgiven you.
It was a few months into meeting you that I found myself going back to our chat and blushing like a donkey.
It was in Ilorin, in December 2017 that I closed my eyes while listening to you speak on the phone, and I realized that I loved the sound of it.
It was on that tiring, late journey from Ogun state back to Lagos. And when we got to the bustop, we paused. We paused.
It was in my Alapere kitchen many months later that you made eba for us, and the eguisi wanted to fall my hand.
It was in the darkness, in my blue-walled room that we found out more about each other.
It was when we walked out of my estate that you wondered where our videos were going to end up. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m not posting them.” And soon enough, the security men started teasing you, because of how often you visited.
It was those mails.
It was in that park in Abuja, when we were high up in the sky on that faulty swing, that we almost fell to our deaths. It was just the two of us and the swing operator thought we’d fall and was already running away. I couldn’t fathom how it was the fact that he was running away when we were so close to our deaths that got you riled up. I had never been more scared in my life but I’m glad I did that with you.
It was the Bible Study schedule you started. And how you’ll send me the word of the week every Sunday.
It was how you would rant to me. When you were very excited or very upset. The ranting.
It was the digging. How you took the digging crown from me in no time.
It was our lengthy calls and the video calls that I always took screenshots of.
It was how funny you were. How reassuring you remained. How helpful you proved to be. The timely suggestions you gave. “How can I be better,” you often asked.
It was the Etisalat shirt.
It was driving me to the airport against all odds.
It was dealing with my silent and unavailable days.
It was late at night, in my dark sitting room that I told you I was running away. And later on, you were kind enough to tell me it was the fear that made me do it. And I cried.
It was everything.
