I, like many other women before me, am an idiot for continuing the same love cycle that has caused the rise and fall of millions of women. But, as they say, "the heart wants what the heart wants." Yeah, I'm not sure about that, but I know what I want and I'll go for it whether the sky falls, dinosaurs resurrect, or dragons spitfire. This is why I walked up to the plane with a purpose in every step. I resolved to find my best friend, Uzezi, before he commits the error of marrying a girl he met about a month ago.
It's been hell listening to him go on and on about how nice she is, "Psshh nice?" I am a nice person. I am capable of being pleasant. And, as the saying goes, "misery loves company." Uzezi also wanted me to go find a guy and marry him, telling me, "We are no longer children!" "Elona, we're 35 years old and need to settle down."
When Uzezi said this, I knew in his big head that he thought he was just being reasonable, but using the word "settle down," a word I despised, cut to the heart of everything he was saying. This is because "settle down" was a phrase people used to encourage you to marry for all the wrong reasons.
It's not unusual for Uzezi to behave erratically and make poor decisions. Despite my protests, he had driven to our small local village to see his mother just as a nationwide lockdown was declared due to the COVID-19 pandemic, trapping him in the countryside. He had an epiphany here, questioning everything he knew and life itself, and even discovering "love." I had to roll my eyes and murmur, "poor girl," when he told me about meeting one of the village girls on one of his evening walks.
A few days later, on a cool sunny evening, I was sitting butt naked and drinking wine when Uzezi called. I quickly grabbed my phone from my bed, which was next to my open laptop, and swiped up, excited to see him. We kept asking, "Can you see me?" because the reception was so bad. After several frustrating minutes, the network became balanced and I could see Uzezi clearly. He angled the camera, revealing the person seated next to him under a tree that was gently dancing in the cool evening breeze. Uzezi had a familiar smile on his face as he looked at me that said, "Please be nice." So I returned his smile as if I had enjoyed his dry joke, because what could it hurt? After all, she was just a lockdown sex buddy. In my head, I laughed. That was a fantastic name for her.
It was not uncommon for Uzezi to choose a new girl to fill the void whenever we fought, and unfortunately, the girl was dumped either because he was bored or because we had rebound sex, and the rest, as they say, is history.
When Uzezi put his big arm around her shoulder and introduced her, saying, "Elona, meet my lady Rukevwe," she smiled shyly at me, and I went on to ask her, "How are you?" in my sweet
but condescending
voice.
"I'm fine ma," she said, smiling and looking at Uzezi, and he encouraged her to continue as an adult would with a child, and I fought the urge to press the red end call button.
"How are things in Lagos, ma?"
Rukevwe's constant use of the word "Ma" irritated me to the point where I bit the inside of my lower lip to keep my cool. I'd blame this on Uzezi and his obsession with age. He must have told Rukevwe, "Oh, she is very old and lonely, so you must address her accordingly," but she was from Umi. As a result, she was expected to be arrogant.
Uzezi was always drawn to these low-esteemed women. Seeing Rukevwe proved that it doesn't matter where a person lives or what glamorous clothes they wear; low self-esteem is low self-esteem, and this girl was no exception. Beautiful, shy, with a respectful sag to her shoulders and a head that said, "I will bow to you, and these shoulders will never rise no matter how you step on them." I was surprised, however, to notice that Rukevwe lacked dimples. I couldn't figure out why Uzezi didn't pick a dimpled girl. It was like a pass card for all of them. Uzezi smiled at her as I was thinking this, and she smiled back, Oops! The "I am cute" face card was there, even though it was only on her left cheek and I hadn't noticed it before because it was so faint.
"Nice to see you, aunty," she said condescendingly. And my irritated grin became frozen.
"I'm not your auntie!" I said it calmly. Then everything came to a halt. Uzezi's smile faded, which he had been clutching for far too long, almost to the point of boredom. While she looked to him for assistance, he gently rubbed his face with his perfectly manicured fingers.
He'd gained weight after only a week in isolation. His hair, which he had always kept neatly trimmed and low, was beginning to grow. His beard and moustache needed to be trimmed as well. I had noticed some changes as a result of the lockdown as well. I'd grown thicker and even chopped off my hair. It seemed like the ideal time to nurture my natural 4C hair. I reasoned that obsessing over my hair would be preferable to worrying about all of our businesses and the factory abruptly closing down. At least one of us was concerned about the state of the business. Uzezi was only concerned with my insulting his new girlfriend. He was staring at me now, his mouth tightly clasped. "I'm not your aunty," I stated again, shrugging. The damned faint dimple reappeared as she gave a pained smile.
We stared at each other in awkward silence before Rukevwe cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again when nothing came out. I turned to face her boyfriend, my man, expecting him to say something, but he simply waved me away. "I'm sorry, but I can't deal with you today." He sighed as I smiled and pressed the end button, which had been nagging at my fingertips for the entire fifteen-minute call.
The phrase "my man" may perplex you. Yes, I was dead serious. And, in time, you'll realise how similar Uzezi and I are. Soulmates! No girl could fathom the depths of our bond. We ticked all the boxes; we were like two peas in a pod. I'm using all of these mushy lines, at the risk of sounding corny, to emphasise how well we complement each other. So you can imagine my surprise when Uzezi called me on a quiet Monday morning to tell me he was getting married.