3: Stupid NEPA

Federal University of Lagos, F.U.L — not the catchiest of names when pronounced as a word — however, it's one of the biggest Federal University in Nigeria. It's famous for the bright minds it's produced and infamous for the wayward that either dropout or eventually graduate.

After we graduated High school, unlike my mates, I wanted to stay back a year to learn to sow clothes. I had an interest in cutting up and sewing clothes to make replicas of various patterns — sometimes with a slight or numerous difference(s) — and I was lucky to have a mom who's a talented seamstress. 

Aside from my parents liking my idea (since it'll be a means to make money while in school), it was also so much easier for me to stay back because even Eric wanted to learn something before going to school. He was interested in graphic designing, which is totally unrelated to his field of study, Medicine and Surgery. He wanted to get a hang of it, also feeling it'll be a helpful skill while in or outside school.

That one year was well-spent, although I wished Mariam had gained admission like the others. She was totally against the idea of Eric staying back a year, not wanting to graduate before him. This caused a huge disagreement between the two — as usual — and it was only resolved when she didn't gain admission. 

As much as I was happy that her smart brains couldn't get her into the university with her first trial, I was more disappointed that she'd be staying back to. Eric and I barely got to spend time together. It was either he had to go to his lessons or I had to go to the shop or she needed his attention.

Nevertheless, now that F.U.L has resumed, bye-bye to Mariam who wasn't offered the course of her choice a second time. She was also planning on joining us in F.U.L and had almost made Eric reject his admission this year just to wait for her, if not for common sense, me and his parents.

That Mariam can be devilish. Enemy of progress.

I hiss, causing my mom to look over her shoulder. Quickly, I wear a smile and hug her arm.

“I'm going to miss you guys,” I say with utmost sincerity.

A smile softens her features as she hugs me with her other arm. “We'll all miss you.”

“If they bring the light and nothing is working, call Hassan immediately,” Dad says upon reaching his car.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don't forget to eat o,” Mom tells me.

“Yes, ma.”

“Always lock your door. Even if you're going to the bathroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you like, open your whole body and put the fan on five. It's when cold will catch you...”

I laugh. “I've heard you, mommy.”

They're about to continue with their endless warnings and advice when I stop them. “It's okay o. I've heard.”

My mom laughs while my dad chuckles.

“Anyway, take care of yourself,” mom says and we hug.

“God be with you," dad tells me when it's our turn to hug, though it's briefer.

Their eyes water just as they had when inside my room and I'm doing my best to keep my own tears at bay. It wasn't until we had arrived and began unpacking that I realized how real this is. Although it's temporary, it won't be like before: my mom won't always come to wake me up for morning prayers. Joy won't be able to barge into my room. I won't be able to see Chioma and Chima constantly bicker. I won't be able to hear the hilarious encounters my dad always have at work.

It'll all be so different. And lonely.

***

The annoying female voice keeps telling me Eric's number is switched off and as I'm tempted to throw my phone away, common sense reminds me that I won't get a new one immediately if I acted foolishly.

The people praying in the room opposite mine reawaken my consciousness.

One of my flatmates is a girl. Her name is Chimamanda — Amanda for short — and apparently, she's from a home of prayer warriors. Their voices are so loud in prayer that one will think the demons won't exist by the time they're done. 

Amanda and her family arrived an hour earlier than we did and had been sprinkling anointing oil all over the place when we came. According to Amanda's mom, one couldn't be sure of the demons that lived in the former residents of our flat.

My parents agreed firmly but hadn't allowed her to sprinkle the oil in my own room. One could never be sure of the demons in another, regardless of the anointing oil they held.

Slumping on my bed, I let out a long breath. Although we're just in the early hours of the afternoon, it feels like the day is at its peak.

“Stupid NEPA,” I mumble and roll to my side to grab my phone. 85%. If there is no power supply before the day ends, then I won't have a phone to use by tomorrow.

The caretaker had told us, before we paid for the place, that there used to be a constant supply of light in this area. Even if it was interrupted, it took only an hour or less before it's turned back on. Despite seeing the proof when we came to pay for the place, it's been hours since we arrived and not a single flash.

Tapping on my phone icon, I decided to try and call Eric again. This time, his phone rings and I sit up. But after a few more rings, the call ends as I'm being told the customer I'm calling is not answering.

“This is all my fault.” I groan.

***

The hot air begins to cool, the temperature dropping gradually as the sweat on my face starts to evaporate. The sudden coolness of my room causes me to smile as I moan and hug my pillow tight. 

It's only when my brain starts to question why my room is suddenly cold that I realize the reason.

Snapping my eyes open, I turn over to look up and see my fan rolling.

“Up NEPA!” The words slip out before I can clasp my mouth.

Scrunching up my face at my stupidity, I get off the bed and go over to the socket to charge my phone. Thankfully, the socket works and there'll be no need for Hassan.

I check the time and my eyes almost fall out of their sockets when I see what time it is.

“After two,” I whisper. “How long have I been asleep? Wasn't it just one o'clock when I closed my eyes? God. Who knows how long there has been light?”

Even though I felt the breeze like a minute ago, the room may have been cool for longer. However, thank God I left the fan on.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten and stretch my body as I yawn loudly. “God o!”

I feel weak, even after I've stretched. I go over to my window and take my curtains down. Even though it's night, I don't like people getting a view of the inside of my house or room, especially at night. They could be creeps.

I'm about to return to bed when I decide to check my phone for missed calls. 

Eric might have called back. 

I have missed calls, but none of them is from him. Two is from my mom, three from my sister and two from my dad. 

“Yikes." I missed two of my dad's call. I'm in serious trouble.

As a Nigerian, missing your mom's call or anyone else's call is never as scary as missing your dad's phone call. There's always this tension that builds up before and when you've called back, aggravated by the no-nonsense tone as he asks why you didn't pick his call. It's always as if you missed the president's phone call.

Nonetheless, it's late and I can't call him back. So, I go to bed, hoping I'm not in trouble by morning.