I hate everything about this place. Coming back used to be the best, sitting with family, hanging with friends, the lazy days, there was no pressure. No ticking clock in your brain that reminds you that the five minutes you spent sitting down could have been used for something more productive. We live in a small estate, nowadays it’s known as a compound but as a child we were an estate. I’ve watched so many move out, seen new faces, heard sad news, great news, in between. This house is where I’ve been for a while now.
Its been ten years since I graduated from university and I am the only one left here. Sometimes it feels like the people I love are all dead, but they’re not; just lost to a different time and place. New countries with ten jobs and hopes for their futures. Meanwhile I sit here and see children who crawled on the floor now, coming from secondary school greeting me as though I was ancient. I have become a shell of myself, I used to be filled with confidence and glee. I no longer do anything, I can’t even speak to women anymore and I love women. I fight invisible battles and enemies, feeling like people are watching me or laughing at my mediocrity in life. I shamefully ask my parents to help me with money for my internet, which I use to buy a new stash or cigs. I think they know how I get high in my room, but I guess it’s less frightening than the alternative; opting out entirely from life. I never even liked drugs before, a cold beer was the only vice I needed. Well, that and great pre-marital sex. But I guess those aren’t really vices, it’s just the skewed church morality that somehow still latches on to my mind everyday.
My little brother calls bi-weekly to ask how I’m doing. It was cute at first but now I just feel embarrassed. He knows I smoke. He walked in on me a few years ago and I remember him crying, and that reminded me of how much he cried when I caught him watching porn as a teen. He thought I’d report him, but instead I calmly spoke to him about it. He has grown to be a fine young man, God, I sound like my father right now. His partner is Vietnamese, she grew up in the UK and they both met up in Ireland a few years back when he went for his masters. Her name is…wait for it…Ha! It’s something that makes me chuckle a lot, privately of course. My parents love her, even with their occasional unintentional racism for instance; asking if she can see well with her eyes. Mummy speaks to her almost every weekend. She now has the British Vietnamese lady in her Protestant church group, could you imagine that? Fucking hell. Me and Ha speak cordially I think. She once got me a video game for Christmas, it was the splinter cell collection pack. I love my Sam Fisher. I was very excited about it, then I remembered she was my younger brother's girl. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one giving her stuff? He says he wants to ask her to marry him, I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Maybe I’m jealous? I don’t know, I feel like I could never be jealous of him, he’s the person I love most in the world. Maybe I just fear it might not work out in the long run, they’ve only known each other for about four years. Is four years too short or is it because of my terrible inability to maintain a relationship? Even Stacy and I were barely two years before things went to hell. Crazy now that I think about it, I thought she was the one.
I met Stacy after university, at our PPA, a secondary school in maitama. I had made a pact to spend two years post university fooling around and going on adventures. Unfortunately for me, I saw the greatest one in those dark brown eyes of hers. Stacy had the type of face I loved, dark, expressive and with a long nose. She looked like her mind was always in another place, as cliche as that sounds, it really was true. Each time I tried to talk to her it didn’t work, so I said screw it, then started learning her subjects in school and listening to the artists I saw her post on her WhatsApp status. Speaking of WhatsApp, she only gave me her number because she needed the two of us to go to CDS together. Forever thankful for my father letting me drive his car during that period. Slowly but surely, I won her over by constantly playing Paramore in the car. I lied to her that I was a big fan, in reality I just did a deep dive. I told her the truth when we started dating though, she thought it was cute and by that time I had actually fallen in love with them.
I wonder where she is now, she has tried to reach out but I just never responded. I was too immature, everyone wanted us to remain friends at least. My mother and elder sister still hold it against me. Stacy was their “paddie”, I remember my sister weeping when she had to go back to Lagos for a bit after NYSC. My mother even told her she could stay with us, an idea I loved until my mother reinforced that she would be in my sister's room. Stacy couldn’t at the time but she did stay with us for a bit afterwards. The funny thing is our reason for breaking up just didn’t make sense to me. She said she felt I loved the idea of her more than actually loving her. I told her she just wanted to leave me but felt too attached to my family to do a clean break up. Why would she say that about me? I loved her more than anything, the day before that we argued and she told me she thought I was too mentally troubled. That hurt my feelings because I felt she and I had an understanding. We had this argument in my family’s living room, my sister had to rush out to get us from shouting. She even tried to be our judge, she said she knew she loved each other and neither of us meant the things we were saying. This got me upset because I didn’t say anything and why would my own sister not support me? This was not the time to sit on the fence. Some months back out of curiosity I unblocked her and searched her name on my family’s Instagrams, they still followed her, even @MadamLM67, my beloved mother. Well my father doesn’t follow her but he doesn’t count, he doesn’t even remember he made an account.
I think about my elder sister a lot. I was always a terrible younger brother to her up until university. Now she’s married with two kids, kind of crazy to think about. What’s crazier is they love me so much, sometimes I’m sleeping in my room and their loud voices wake me up before they barge into my room. They’re so intelligent, and kind, it makes me happy. They got upset when I don’t speak to them on the phone and the eldest one is always trying to get me to solve her quantitative reasoning questions. She no no say her uncle no sabi book. I do not like their father, I think Mildred married him because he seemed stable enough. She doesn’t look as happy as she used to, but I can’t say she looks sad either. He provides and he tries to always involve himself in conversations during visiting but something just feels off. I’ve asked her if he beats her but she told me he wouldn’t dare and never to speak about it again. My parents seem to like him, he comes to their church every now and then. I hope he’s faithful, I hope he makes his family happy.
On the matter of my parents. Oh my parents. How wonderful they are. Too wonderful I would say. The first and last time my father ever hit me was when I got lost during an end of the year service at the headquarters. I was only six or seven but I remember him lifting me up immediately and consoling me immediately after. Mildred was relieved because she was with me in the children section. Junior was still too little back then so mummy held him everywhere she went. After that day, we always sat together during end of the year services, up until my siblings went off on their own. My father does his best, he’s still very traditional in a lot of ways but I must commend how respectful he is to his family and never puts pressure on any of us. Junior is his favorite, he always wanted a third child which is why he makes him after himself. My mother is the same but simultaneously ten times better, I could not imagine life without her.
My mother, Mrs Elizabeth or MzLiz as her friends call her, is a burst of everything joyous. I remember how happy I’d be to come back home with friends from school and see her around. She always knew how to make every individual feel seen and unique. All my friends called her mum back then, it was weird for my possessive ass at first, but after a while I liked it a lot. Made me see how great she was. She keeps in touch with so many people, remembering details they told her years ago and always tries to show up for them. It scares me seeing her age because she has always been so energetic and cool. Each time she struggles to get up or coughs a bit too loud, my heart sinks. I feel like if something bad happened, I’d be her only disappointment in life, her other kids are doing well for themselves and I’m just here. Still she always says it’s not my fault and something will come. I know things are bad for me when I don’t even believe my own mother.
Now for the thing I hate most, my existence. Or myself. Oh man, I don’t even understand it really, I have no excuse. I come from a good home, I was never abused or struggled really. At least not financially or physically. I’ve always felt this down. I was way happier during my university years but recently, recently it’s been at its worst. I tried going to parties, but all that leads to is meeting people I know, and then asking what’s new with me. There’s nothing ever new with me, aside from my plugs, or what film I partially watch before dozing off on the couch. Every morning I feel crippled, I have to fight myself just to get up, and at night I wake up and look at nothing or doom scroll. I wish there was a fix for this. I tried to speak to a mental health person but all they ended up telling me about was Jesus and asking if I got touched as a child. It sucks because the ad online said the person was a professional, but I can’t fault them since it was for free. The annoying thing is I’ve tried Jesus as well, I’m not as religious as my folks but I’m also not an atheist or something. I’ve prayed to him, but he doesn't listen. All the jobs I’ve applied for haven't worked out either. After a couple of months, something always happens, start ups failing, corporations downsizing and my business ideas going to shit. I could work with my dad but I’m too scared to ruin his legacy, it seems stupid but I’d much rather fail forever than embarrass the people I love. The people I call my home, even when I’m shit at living with them. They still care, I hope things get better, I really want to be better.
