On my way home this evening, just two days to Christmas, there was a quick sprint to my walk. I had met up with an old friend, for lack of a better term to describe our relationship. He technically didn’t consider me a friend. I am someone special to him, yeah but he is one of the few people I know who don’t keep female friends.
We sat down to talk over some multicultural drink, a blended drink of all the fruits you can think of. It was a good talk. Since, coming home I haven’t been out of the house to see anyone or have talks like this. Talks, where I just listen and ask a billion questions, you see I hardly talk about myself.
The harmattan wind was cold while we walked a little distance, holding hands and just more talking. He said it has been awhile he did this, held a girl’s hand and just talked on and on. Well, you should probably get a female friend.
We said our goodbyes, and he points out that we should do this often, meet up every December. Well, I hate traditions and the commitments that come with it.
A man in a car stopped in front of me while I walked the remaining distance home. A toothpick was stuck between his teeth, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and something was playing on the stereo.
“chelu, chelu” he said as I made to walk away. Ahhh,,, he is Anambra. I stopped. He wants us to hang out somewhere and talk. I smile and say no. That it’s late and my mom is already calling me. I give him my number to get rid of him. On other days, I might have agreed to hang out; just to hear him speak his Anambra laced Igbo. But you can never be too sure in this city, especially hopping into an unknown car this detty December. I tell my mom about this and she says how sure I am it’s even his own car and he isn’t just parading with it. I laugh; it was never about the car.
Sundays evenings in this city is accompanied by loud ass music coming from the speakers in the bars, with people sprawling over into the streets drinking, like the doors of the bars had too much to drink and vomited them out. Fast foods, restaurants and bars are always flooded with people. The bar owners always have to set up tables by the sides of the streets and people would occasionally get up and dance in the middle of the roads. On my way home, a lot of the men stared at me with greedy eyes while I walked past. It made an excited thrill course through my body. Like yeah, mama still got it.
But what did I love most about this evening?
I was able to talk to someone without picking up my phone. My attention span is short sometimes. I think we made it a rule sometime to place our phones on the table whenever we met up. I should extend this culture to everyone. Now, here’s something to commit to.
But that’s not the best part. Listening to him talk about how much he has learned from me and how I have impacted his life made me so happy. Like, I was just being me, I didn’t know that the little things I did changed someone’s life. Like him remembering stuff I have even forgotten about or why I did a particular thing. It made me realize that, I would really love to impact a lot more people in the New Year. I am grateful for my growth but what would be more fun would be helping others grow too. I enjoy moments like this, when I feel appreciated, when I am around someone who will choose me over and over again and feel connected in some type of way. It is beautiful to love and be loved.
I was so light headed that I twerked in front of my mom to tease her. Well, if you call that twerking.