“This house is too small.”
“This one is okay, but the kitchen is too tight.”
“This is too expensive. And what do you mean, only ten hours of light?”
The agent who took me around showing me houses must have been tired of me by this point.
“Aunty, as you slim like this, you still dey find big kitchen?”
“Which kind rubbish talk be that?”
“I told you already. I need a big space with constant power supply.”
After touring three more houses, I finally found something close to what I had envisaged.
The walls were painted white. The tiles weren't that great, but the house made up for it with space.
“Okay. I can keep my machine here and my table over there.”
I took the house and moved in almost immediately. It was already clean, so there was no need to do any extra cleaning.
I couldn't afford to buy a bed at first, so I opted for a pink fluffy rug. It gave me somewhere to lie down for a while, and it decorated the room, too.
The first few weeks of living alone felt strange to me.
I remember staying out late one evening and rushing to get a keke.
“A drop. How much?”
“₦3,500.”
“Ahhh. Is it not ₦2,500?”
“Oya, enter.”
“Oya, abeg, drive fast.”
In ten minutes, I was home. I rushed inside, then caught myself. I laughed a short, dry laugh.
“Why am I rushing home as if someone is waiting for me? This is my house. I can do anything I want,” I said to myself.
I picked up a book and read a few pages, but I couldn't concentrate. Then I started scrolling through Twitter. There was food in the pot from the previous day, but I didn't feel like eating it anymore, so I ate biscuits instead.
There were dirty plates in the sink, which I ignored, too.
I had no routine. Sometimes I'd wake up as early as seven in the morning, and sometimes I wouldn't wake up until eleven. I skipped a lot of meals, too, because sometimes I felt too lazy to cook. I could go days without sweeping the house. Some nights, I'd wake up at one in the morning and cook noodles.
It was the rainy season, so the number of clients I had declined. I had more time on my hands and began making dresses for myself. Sometimes, I'd start a dress and leave it unfinished for days before returning to it. My clothes stayed wherever I'd dropped them—on the chair, across the foot of the bed, or in a growing pile by the wardrobe I never quite got around to.
I remember trying to arrange my clothes one day when a photograph of my daughter fell out. I picked it up and sat on the bed.
It had been three years already, and I still wondered how different things would have been if she hadn't passed.
There were days when I had nothing to do at all, so I'd just take a stroll. Sometimes, I'd call my friend Fortune, and we'd talk for minutes.
“How is your new house?”
“It's fine. It's just that it gets lonely.”
“I understand. Do you miss him?”
“Miss who?”
“Your ex.”
I hesitated.
“Well, to be honest, I don't miss him as a person. I've moved on from that. But I do miss the feeling of coming home to someone. And I miss not having to do chores.”
“But you're not doing much chores nau.”
“Yea, that's true,” I said, and we laughed.
“That reminds me. I met someone I knew in school. She has accommodation issues, and I'm contemplating whether I should take her in.”
“Do you know her very well?”
“Yes. She was my friend in uni.”
“That's okay. Maybe you could use some human company.”
A few weeks later, I made some money and was able to buy a comfortable bed. I'd already decided to take my friend in, but I wanted to get the bed first.
When she moved in, we had some little friction during the first few weeks. I didn't like that she sat on the bed naked or played gospel music so loudly in the morning.
At first, I kept these things to myself, but eventually, I started communicating.
“Please, can you not play loud music in the morning? You could use your buds.”
“Ohh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it disturbed you. I won't do it again.”
It was difficult because I now had to provide food for two, since she didn't have a job. But she helped with the dishes and did my laundry without me having to ask.
There were times when I wished I could be alone, and other times when I genuinely enjoyed her company. We played games together and watched movies together.
She had her own routine and would clean the house before I even woke up.
I would hold her chin and say, “Thank you, my darling,” and we would laugh.
There were days when she'd do something that upset me, and instead of speaking up, I'd frown and refuse to talk to her.
Once, I went out and returned to find that she had her earbuds in and was asleep. She didn't hear me knocking. I stood outside for about twenty minutes. I was very pissed.
When she finally opened the door, I spoke to her in a tone that wasn't very nice.
“Why you go sleep wear earbud?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know you were coming back.”
“Which kind nonsense talk be that? So na outside I for sleep?”
“Abeg, no vex again nau. I said I'm sorry.”
I hissed.
By the next day, I'd gotten over it, and everything went back to normal.
We went to the market together and watched movies. I still got irritated over little things, and she still said sorry. I still woke up at seven some mornings and eleven on others.
Sometimes I wanted the house to myself. Sometimes I didn't. There were days when I wanted company, and others when I wanted to be quiet without anyone asking me if something was the matter.
Since she moved in, I arrange my things properly.