Longing

Hulera had bet on the last one thousand naira she had that it was going to be a cold night because of the terrible late-night breeze that blew, carrying along with it sand from the earth and rain droplets from the sea.

After several days of suffering sweaty days and nights, always finding the floor a better place to lay her head, in search of some cold, like fishes do when they're out of water, and constantly having her sleep interrupted either by the unbearable heat, mosquito bites or both, Hulera thought, this was going to be the night she would sleep peacefully.

She wasn't bothered when the electric light they had given barely minutes ago went off, because she was certain it was going to be a cold night and the red rashes on her skin were going to rest from itching.

“Damn the NEPS!” she said.

Alas, not everyone is made a gambler or a soothsayer, for though her bet was private, Hulera had lost. The breeze was too shortsighted to blow far into the night as Hulera had hoped, but the mosquitos have a long life span and are quick to multiply.

What she didn't count on, however, became the greatest of her future for the night.

After sleeping on the hard and not cold tiled floor of her bedroom for several nights, despite the crawling cockroaches, ants, spiders, and scorpions she one time or another had to execute while fearing still that she might get bitten or stung and being unable to cover her body from the mosquitoes and other black flying insects she knew nothing of their names, in the hot-open-windows-no-electricity room, tonight the NEPS decided to act kindly to her and supply her with light so her ceiling fan could sing while she slept, melodies that will be displeasing to mosquitos, and perhaps if the heat does not bother her much, she should find rest in the warmth of her soft cotton linen covered bed tonight, safe from the crawling things of the night.

But if only the hot weather and crawling insects were the most of Hulera’s worries, then she might have found peace sleeping on her bed tonight.

While her body was dried off every sweat bead that tried to form, her eyes formed a river, for earlier in the day, she had caught a glimpse of the man she once felt deeply for, in the way that lovers do.

Though they had broken off unforgivably, Hulera still smiled when she passed through his shop on a bike while coming from the market.

They had only dated for five months, two of which he went absent from their relationship, not calling or responding to her calls, not texting or responding to her texts, not visiting or letting her see him.

And in that time, Hulera placed a bet she wished she lost truly. She had foreseen that he was alright as a bright day with good weather, and was only ignoring her for reasons she could not understand, though he told her otherwise.

The first time he took time off from the relationship, his excuse when Hulera asked was;

“I've been going through a lot, I'm sorry. I'm at a place I don't think will be fair if you're there with me. I'm discovering myself” he said.

Hulera had felt hurt, for what was the point of being in love if the man she loved didn't see her fit to share his woes with, but would rather stay AWOL?

She was bold enough to refrain from saying “I understand, it's ok”, a line she was fond of saying to keep the peace, instead, she protested by saying;

“You ghosted me like I meant nothing to you while staying online on Instagram. I know because I checked. I thought I should call you there but I figured, if you weren't picking my normal calls or even responding to my texts on WhatsApp, what difference would it make on Instagram?”

The second time, after he promised not to let it happen again, his reason stayed adamant, but like the wise have said “only fools rush in”, and Hulera had been a fool, forgiving his unreasonable absence and loving him still, like nothing had hurt.

The day they broke up was after a fight. On a fine Sunday eve, having missed her lover only as long until 3 p.m. all day, she decided to send him a text on WhatsApp.

“Hey, you're good?” she texted.

As usual, his response came thirty minutes or more later, saying “My love. How're you?”

Not minding the timing of the text, as usual, and only excited to text a response, and deal later at every second, the agony of checking for a response from him till she gets it, she sent;

“I'm alright, how're you?”

And that began her watch. She never let the phone too far from sight for fear that she might miss it when his response came in or when he called, should he call. She was like a parent waiting, watching at every minute, so not to miss when her baby says his first words or takes his first steps.

Minutes faded into hours and soon the cock crowed and there was not a response from her lover, even though she checked, first thing when she woke up, it wasn't there.

Whatever emotion she felt that morning, anger is not good enough a word to describe it. Spite might do. For she rehearsed in her head, the several things she would say to hurt him.

But when the time came to talk, when he called that Monday morning, her throat was too clogged with tears, disappointment, and hate, that she couldn't find her tongue.

“I know you'll be mad at me” he started, “but let me tell you what happened. I went out with my friends after your text came in. We drank and got drunk. To be honest, I don't even know how I got home or what I even drank that got me so high”.

Hulera said nothing, letting him finish, and when he was done and she still said nothing, he said “I know you're mad, I'm sorry”.

“I'm not mad,” she said.

“I don't like this thing you do. How can you say you're not mad? You never let me know when you're angry, I don't like it” he complained.

“What do you want from me? You want me to shout and rain curses on you?”

“I wouldn't mind that”.

“Well, I'm not. You obviously knew what you did was not right and you went ahead with it anyway”.

“Let me call you back,” he said, before ending the call.

Like every lesson she should have learned from this relationship, Hulera hadn't learned that her lover was not one to keep to his words, especially the one he spoke often; ‘let me call you back’.

She waited all morning for the promised call and got nothing. Later that afternoon, she got a text from him on WhatsApp.

“Hey, my baby” he texted.

This time, she thought to give him a taste of his medicine and did not respond till evening, a tough battle she fought.

“Don't baby me” was her reply later that evening.

“Why?” he asked.

The truth that he was acting like he hadn't wronged her and they had no unfinished conversation made her rethink the response she first came up with.

Instead of telling him ‘why’ she asked “Do you even value me?”

Her lover was cold. Again he left the message, unattended, suffering Hulera once more to stay glued to her phone in case his text came in, or he called. None of this happened, so she deleted the text, thinking it might have been unreasonable of her.

Hoping to begin on a fresh slate the next morning, she sent a text; “Hey, I hope you're good?” for she wouldn't accept yet that he ignored her unless there was a reason to.

All morning, she got no reply, same as in the afternoon. When night came, after several conversations with herself, she decided to be bold.

She sent another text, this time saying “I've tried not to be inconsiderate but so far you've not treated me right. I want to know how much you value me, so please let's talk. Pick some time out of your busy schedule so we can talk”.

Hulera had resolved in her mind before sending that text that their talk was to be about how they were not working together in a relationship as this and were much better off as friends, for even if he treated her wrongly, she never wanted to lose him as a friend, maybe because she had only a few of them.

She would have probably explained her thoughts along with the text, or not, but maybe doing that might have spared her from being blocked by him the next morning.

Whatever it was, pain, pride, rediscovering her self Worth, whatever, it helped Hulera make her follow up moves, blocking him too, deleting his number so she may never reach him when courage fails her, deleting all his pictures and videos so his memories do not linger and clearing all their chats.

A full month had passed since their break up, Hulera had cried in silence, written poems to express both feelings and wishes, thought about several ways their conversation could go when they meet several years into the future and she asked him “Why?” and cried yet more.

She had also tried to stay clear of any path that might cause them to meet at some juncture, both to avoid the awkwardness she suspected would ensue and because she was in doubt of her beauty and never wanted to see him if she were truly as ugly as the mirror says, though it was more she talking than the mirror.

It was difficult, but it helped her heal, or at least what she thought was healing, for she often recollected when she did her chores, of the time he had called her in the middle of the night, drunk as can be, and went on and on about some meaningless subject she doesn't remember. The time he first took her on a date, their first kiss, the gold chain wristband she traded for a kiss, the secrets he told her, and the time he said he cried because he missed her.

She questioned many things like, was he truly and ever in love with her? Did he find someone else? How long has he called her a fool? Perhaps an old flame returned to him? Was she not beautiful enough? Too boring perhaps?

It was hard to heal, but she managed to convince herself that she was alright, until today, while returning from the market on a bike. She knew she was approaching his shop, but it didn't stop her from looking to the side where it was located.

“It's not a busy day I guess,” Hulera said to herself when she saw him seated in the shop, bent over his phone, probably chatting or scrolling Twitter, in the dark navy blue and ash stripe polo he had once worn in a video call with her.

She was happy he didn't see her, but wished, like every time she stepped out of the house, that he did.

Now returned to her room, where she was certain he wouldn't see her, she saw him in her memories, and they were largely enough to make the heat bearable even if the fan didn't swing in circles, a bet she was willing to make, for again, her heart ached with wishes of things she was certain to never receive. A call or text from him.