Years ago I would never have been that brave or honest. When I turned 30, within me I was quite sad. I felt , 'ok, here goes the trip over the hill'. But 30 is a magical number.
I just finished chatting today with a good friend of mine. Now i use the term 'good' very loosely.You know those friends with whom you have a weird relationship? Like the on again-off again boyfriend or the girl who you ALWAYS fight bitterly with but end up telling all your secrets? Well, he falls into that category.
We met about 4 years ago at the world famous Motherlan'. I knew who he was, so I was just staring at him. He saw a pretty girl and loved the attention. ( I no get time for modesty today, jare.) So he did the right thing and asked my friend to introduce us, we chatted into the night, hung out the next day, I dropped him off at the airport, and he went back to his country. On his next trip to Nigeria, I became i became his official girlfriend, at least of Nigerian extraction. I knew what I was doing and what the game was, it's just that there are some people in your life who can wind you up real good, and he was/is(?) that person for me. My major weakness.
Looking back, I really can't see the basis for our 'relationship', except for our regular conversations on the phone. (It's funny how a few sentences can skew one's vision ,yeah?) Oh! and the physical intimacy -my brother might read this so I can't spell it out but 'ya get me' (wink)- we shared when we met. All of a sudden, I was 'gone' and he was 'my boyfriend'. Like any red-blooded man would do, he took advantage of my blurry vision- I was wearing rose-tinted glasses- and made me his errand girl, his driver and his chattel. And like the romantically- and probably intelligence- bankrupt girl that I was, I would happily oblige his demands, reasoning that I was unlovable and if he loved me- that was love to me- then I was lucky.
Unfortunately, his 'love' was temporary and sporadic. Like someone splashing milk on the floor for a hungry cat. And my stupidity was legendary. I would lap it up voraciously; the fleeting kisses, the sex, the brief hugs, introductions to a select few friends, my soul slinking in the corner of my personality, waiting for that look that was equivalent to the kick one gives a stray dog, hanging around the dining table. Am I being unfair when I compare that to the times he went off with his friends and abandoned me in the middle of an event, or all those times when he cut me down with a rude, disrespectful remark in public? I thought it was love, hell, he probably thought it was too. We went on like that for four years. I didn't know better. I had a man who cared for me, be it in another country,at his own pace,for his own convenience. I laugh now, but it was a crushing feeling of slightly sweet and very sour.
Recently, he came for a visit again. I was excited. I wanted to look great for him. I even took a loan from a friend to buy stuff to complete the image. He stayed with his crew in a hotel, the people with whom he works. I stayed with him. It was the usual round of love and hate. His waking me up to call for breakfast for him while he slept, his treating me funny around certain people, his unexplained coldness in certain situations. And just when I had had enough, the steamy nights. (Sex is powerful, I assure you.)
He wanted me to have a baby for him. That excited me. It meant we would be together, with a tighter bond. Maybe even married, I dared to think. But no, he didn't want anything more than just a baby together. His girlfriend back home was unable to have a baby,plus he wanted a Nigerian-bred child, not all those spoilt brats they were bringing up there (his words, not mine). That really, really hurt, but it still wasn't enough to do it for me. I was in too deep.I needed something more. I needed a 'sign'. LOL.
The sign came at the departure lounge of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport. I had to go to work, so I dropped him off at a place where he was supposed working, promising to see him later. Later had to be at the airport. He was checking in his luggage, making ready to leave. He and his colleagues. I went up to him. I might as well have been one of these vendors on the streets, who push stuff in your face, when you are impatiently waiting for that meaningless traffic to ease up. The look he gave me told me as much. I waited for him to finish up, pretending to talk on my blackberry- I NEVER TALK on my blackberry- and sweating profusely. It wasn't hot, I was just nervous and embarrassed. He pretended to be busy with his baggage. When I noticed that I was truly not wanted, I decided to say goodbye to everyone, the idea being that he would tell me to wait until he was finished with the checking-in formalities. Everyone else did. He didn't. He merely said goodbye without raising his head. Then, probably realising that it wasn't mature to do so, he called my name and waved. I waved back and walked outside fast, into the night air. It was a long, stifling walk to my car, and by the time I was driving on the freeway, I was bawling. LMAO.
I can laugh now. It's been many apologies later, given from his "obodo-oyibo' home base, primarily because one of his colleagues thought he was cold and heartless, and told him so. But I was already cured by then.
The proof came today. He is supposed to be in town next week. He sent me an offline to ask that I pick him up at the airport. I said 'that one no go work'. He said I could drop him of at his cousin's place. I said no. He said no problem, he would ask someone else. I said, please do. And I couldn't believe it! The spell was broken! (It's a small step for Mankind but a giant leap for Chili! especially in these shoes.)
Right now, I'm going to call my Baby. The love of my life. Now, more than ever, I appreciate the good guy I have. I know where he is at every point in time, he calls me everyday, religiously. He apologises, without hesitation, when he upsets me, he obliges my whims. He's God's gift to me after all the frogs I've had to kiss, and I'm going to nuture what we have SO HELP ME GOD! (I just hope it's not some woman that picks up his phone tonight o. With these men you can't be too sure. Abeg I wont call him jo.)
How ya living?