A Conversation Of Broken People

 I’m on a journey of making sure that I don’t lack what is meant to be mine, because that is what my name means literally. Nkemakonam, “let me not lack my portion”. You probably know a thing or two about me already. Ehennn By the way, Osas called me saying “this-and-that” about how I didn’t treat her client well. Client kwa, sha na me fuck up. Just because I left that mad man in handcuffs, shebiyou guys remember the guy that wanted to use whip to finish me in the name of BDSM sex? She said the guy has been asking for a refund. Omo maybe she should sell the clothes I left at her place and give him the change that comes from that. No be people goods for container, wey worth millions dey loss for high sea? I’ve sha temporarily blocked Osas, afterall she introduced me to one girl on instagram that sells handbags. I pay for handbag, I no see handbag, I no see my money. When I started protesting the idiot blocked me. Na 1-1, I don’t need headache abeg. Again I came to Warri, because… make una wait ooo it’s not man that brought me. There’s an interview I need to attend in Abuja and honestly, I’ve been waiting to use the railway, I’ve not had that experience before. So I was looking forward to it. There was a couple hugging occasionally and looking into each other’s eyes dreamily and laughing, I was guessing they were newlyweds or maybe “boyfriend and girlfriend”. I smiled and said in my head “if na boyfriend-girlfriend, one of them go soon collect breakfast”. I thought of how this place would have looked if it was abroad, I remember all those subways I see in movies and how cool their train stations look, we go manage our own like that abeg. But let’s face it ndi ocha or oyinbo people are organized oo, the thought of ndi ocha reminded me of the expression “ndi uka white” (white garment church folks) and also “nwanyi  eleven o clock” (“eleven o clock woman”, which was a name my mother gave to the lady who locked her shop last in the neighbourhood where I grew up. Most times she closed business by 11 pm). I laughed and warmed up at the thought, because guyyyy my mum could give new names to people and things. We could talk at home for half an hour and you wouldn’t know who or what we were referring to even if you understood our language, because we had our own expression for everyone and everything asides it’s real or original name. I was moving my phone here and there trying to make a reel. I think people may not realize how much social media has made our sufferings in the country much bearable because of its ability to distract. And it’s also sad how much money and time we all lose to social media. It’s a bittersweet relationship or maybe a good-bad relationship. I moved my phone to the left of my seat when this charming guy walked towards me and sat beside me. He smiled

“Waiting to catch the train to Abuja?” He asked.

There is good looks that makes your heart race or beat faster. Hmmm nna ehnnn, make e no be say I too like man oo. He was calm, he smelled really nice. His nice blend of different shades of brown from his shirt to his trouser and shoes was perfect, dunno how he did that. He had clear white teeth. How does someone have clear white teeth with all the oil in Nigerian food? I thought to myself. He had hairy hands and a watch with a brown leather strap. I was totally digging his brown look honestly, but I was tired of fine boys. They were smooth, they talked nice, sometimes they were smart but the only thing they can cook is breakfast. You know the breakfast na? The one that comes after you feel butterflies in your belly. I ignored him abeg and pretended I didn’t hear him. 

Can I help you with the pictures?

“No” I said frowning, who be this one abeg?

See ehnn, I wasn’t playing hard to get, guys and their wahala too much, besides I wanted to focus on the purpose of my journey. No sort of “fine boy” distraction will be allowed

“I hope you came with a jacket, cos you’ll need it” he said and started reading a book. What is this one forming? I thought to myself.

We boarded the train and strangely our seats were opposite each other by the window, even the devil works in mysterious ways oo. I was trying to look at him without looking at him(you don do that thing before? Very stupid thing). E be like Oga was a master at ignoring someone too, he didn’t look up from his book once, he was reading a book that said “The Hottentots, The  Xhosa And Amapiano” I didn’t like that the only thing I was familiar with from the book title was amapiano, my sister don’t be like me oo, try dey read differen’ differen’ things. His face was well formed, his cheeks and nose were well chiseled, wait what’s all this rubbish, abeg let me focus maybe play some songs by Cardi B. I tried, but I started having a headache because Cardi B too dey shout for her songs. Closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I couldn’t because I was too aware of him. I started feeling cold after an hour. He wore a coffee brown jacket over a carton color brown shirt. So he was as warm as can be. And he warned me oo, stupid guy he must be so used to train rides. I was trying hard not to shiver noticeably. He unzipped his briefcase,reached into it and brought out a sweater

“Here” he said and looked at me for the first time since the last time he spoke to me. I was ashamed, but I snatched the sweater gratefully.

Free things are not free, there’s a cost somewhere. A conversation was the price I had to pay because next thing is, Oga dropped his “hottentot bla bla” book and started talking to me straight. It kind of felt good that he was dying to talk to me. He talked about the ineffective transport system and you know what’s next na, Nigeria must collect. He went next to Nigeria’s systemic problem. Is it odd that Nigerians always find a way to talk about Nigeria? in the bank, on the road in a train, on the phone. All you hear is “my brother this country ehnn”, “our mumu too much for this country”, “bad leaders don spoil Nigeria”. Somehow everyone knows the solution to our problems but the problems never go away. And the ones that feel clever like Andre keep using words like “restructure”, “overhaul” or “aristocracy” when they talk of Nigeria. His brown look oozed a vintage energy, he looked like the kind of guy that would love Michael Bolton,Luther Vandross or Sade’s music. I loved the new school music, because I liked to live in the moment. There was something about the past that made me melancholic so I always wanted or felt better running away from it. I didn’t like his name; Andre, but I asked “what’s the meaning of Andre?” He was quite a talker, the type that explained too much but found a way to keep you interested in his long talks. “Andre is same as Andrew it means ‘man or warrior’”. “Is it not interesting that the male hormone is called Androgen? And that a robot with the appearance of a man is called Android?” He said and smiled wisely and I honestly felt like slapping him. “It means being a warrior is something that is associated with men, the evils of patriarchy”, he said and shook his head. This led him to talk about equality and then his views on rape and somehow I felt he was a cool sensitive man. Now I was no longer passive in the conversation. He said he thought that men shouldn’t hit women and that women should divorce such men or leave the relationship, I agreed. I said I thought that men should be a little more emotional, he agreed. He said he thought that all of a woman’s body part no matter the shape or proportion was sexy I agreed too. But it felt like he was pretentious about the body talk, though his clear white eyes suggested he was being sincere. I told him that I felt men should be more polite on issues of wooing a lady “I mean, what is I’d like to fuck you, name your price?” in a woman’s dm. He said such men were crazy and that that wasn’t wooing at all, it was a pickup. He said he loved sex and that people should not feel ashamed of talking about their sexuality, I agreed with him. He talked of emotional abuse, heartbreaks and people who didn’t deserve his unreserved love. I shared my experiences too, this surprised me, imagine hard girl like me. He talked of the rejections he faced I didn’t exactly agree, this one be like who dey reject other people abeg,but I listened because I could relate. He asked if I ever got to a point of extra niceness or politeness because of an unconscious need to please or because of a feeling of inadequacy that led to not wanting to offend people almost all the time. I said no, he said he had the problem and that almost every Nigerian does, he further asked “have you ever said something like ‘sorry sir please don’t be angry, do you know how one can get to Tombia street’ to a stranger while asking for directions?” I laughed and said “yes”. He said “I told you that it’s a problem every Nigerian at least every middle class or poor Nigerian has. It’s easier for people in other parts of the world to say “excuse me sir, do you know how one can get to Tombia street” we laughed. This conversation somehow made me aware of my insecurities and fears. It made me aware of how broken I was, those that broke me and when I was broken, it made me sober and bare and made me connect with him. Maybe because he was sharing stories of his broken self unashamedly and sincerely, but with a confidence that suggested he had dealt with it and was free. We were too similar in a lot of ways. But what was the point of all this connection? We get close, get into bed and fuck and become strangers or even enemies? Because there was a difference between connecting at the moment because someone’s speech is nice, relatable and seamless and connecting with someone on all levels. It’s like what politicians do, grand and emotional speeches during rallies just to connect with the people. Once you get emotionally attached to them, you fight, argue and carry guns to to defend them and their parties. You prove your support and loyalty to them,and when they get into power, the romance goes sour and they show you their true colors. I was so happy that I was thinking this clearly. The problem with broken people is that they keep getting into situations that break them until they can’t heal anymore, they become damaged people for good and they pass this down to the innocent children they birth. I had broken parts but I wouldn’t let a moment of weakness draw me into another cycle of brokenness. I disagreed with him on the scrapping of the bride price culture and on being liberal to the point where church doesn’t matter. I was a church girl, I know say I spoil but to admit say I spoil so that God go help me, better pass to dey do bad thing unashamedly in the name of open mindedness. Besides bride price should stay biko, nothing good comes easy it comes at a price, and he that finds a wife finds a good thing, you no see the connection between good thing and price for there? By the time we got down from the train, I realized I had not made any video while I was aboard mtchewwww nawa oo. I handed him his jacket and thanked him, I refused to give him my number when he asked because I knew where it would lead. E go first sweet then e go bitter, I no want. He felt bad but he smiled, and na so e suppose be. God I hope you’re proud of me this time?