It is safe to say there is no more need for introductions, but it never hurts to say, “Hello, once again.”
My world has become a state of constant sighing which houses God-Abeg as its capital. I have lost count of the number of God-Abeg I have whispered this month alone — and I am not even religious.
First things first, I am not complaining. Been there, and done that. I have not one bone of complaint left in my body, and for the longest time, my expectations for this country were pretty low, but holy shit — based on the last two months, I can barely put my disappointment into words.
This year so far has been marked with friends telling me they are leaving the country. To be honest, I do not blame them. I would not want to stay in a country where the availability of electricity decides your mood. This year alone, my sweat glands have worked overtime, and I have produced sweat from places I never thought were possible.
It’s hard to want to stay in a country where a random encounter with the police can turn into a life-or-death situation. It’s maddening that I have to see policemen walk around with AK-47s on their last legs held together by nothing but cello tapes.
I try my hardest to avoid any form of conversation with the men in black clothing. Nothing good is bound to come out of it. I remember being stopped at a checkpoint and one of the policemen asked what I did for a living, I said I was unemployed — to which he replied, you do not look unemployed.
Fortunately for me, before this entire fiasco could escalate further into something else, they found another “unfortunate” person to bother.
On the other hand, when I get texts about the potential emigration of my friends, all I can think about is if I will ever see them again. As for the ones I have not met yet, I wonder if I will ever see them at all.
My friends leaving the country means I do not have to see them die avoidable deaths. Last year was particularly hard on me, I saw a friend die in the most gruesome way possible, and in my opinion, that should not have happened. I still think about her from time to time.
I am starting to think I am a deeply troubled person. I do not do well with loss. Anytime I close my eyes, most times— in the shower, I see the face of my friend who passed away two months ago. I am partly ashamed to say my shower thoughts are beginning to scare me.
This year has been stressful in all ramifications, with the little inconveniences magnified beyond imagination. I do not know if this is a life worth living, all I know is that I am still alive. Till life gets snuffed out of me, I am taking everything one day at a time, with little to no complaints.
On a lighter note, I am done with the first and second parts of the poetry book I promised to write. So, yayyy!
To My Beautiful City Of Chaos -
Sometimes, the city is a city
Sometimes, the city is a woman
Sometimes, the city is a country.
Hopefully, I finish the book in the next few months. I promise it’s going to be something you will enjoy.
Till then, take care of yourself and be on your best behavior. I love you and I miss us.
Song of the week - Me Gustas Tu by Manu Chao.
Nezo.
Nigerian by birth,
Indian by hemp,
Canadian by loud.
Signed - Nezo, St Patron of women with vowels in their names, especially the ones with 0-2 boyfriends.
I want to say it'll get better.
It’s exhausting being a Nigerian living in Nigeria 😔💔