Before moving abroad, if you are anything like me, you do extensive
research to ensure the place is safe, has opportunities, and whatnot. It was
the first thing I did when I met Kayo. It had been a long day at work, my
supervisor picking at everything I did ever since I refused his advances. I was
stressed, cranky, pissed at the waiter who delayed in bringing my food, and
wondering whether my move from Abuja was a wise one. A woman
approached me, so beautiful I forgot my anger. “Is this seat taken?” But she
didn’t wait for my answer as she sat; she raised her hands, and maybe the
waiter was as enamored as I was cause he didn’t waste any time in
attending to her, I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m Fikayo” she said stretching her
slender arms out to me. I wasn’t very big on handshakes; it’s Lagos, you
never know what is on the person’s hands, but I took her hands. “I’m Mide.”
The conversation after that flowed so well, I found myself eating the food I
had initially planned to take home just to have a reason to linger. Talking to
her uplifted my mood. We exchanged contacts and said our goodbyes. That
night when I got home, I extensively stalked her social media and collected
all and any info I could find on her.
Next thing after deciding you want to move is applying for a visa and
making arrangements for travel. After stalking her page, I sent her a
message replying to a post she had made. “Who would have guessed you’d
be an efiko?” She responded immediately as though she had been waiting
for my text. A laughing emoji and “my wonderful personality had to come
from somewhere” We texted the whole night and made plans to meet after
we both got off work the next day. I slept with a smile on my face that night.
Even my boss couldn’t ruin my mood the next day. She hugged me when she
saw me, her body pressed tight against mine like she was trying to merge
with me, the smell of her perfume clouding my senses. She was animated as
she spoke, talking fast and changing the subject equally as fast, like she had
so much to say and feared there wouldn’t be enough time to say it all.
When you move abroad, the first few weeks or months are filled
with excitement and childlike awe of your new environment; your eyes are
rose-colored, and you view the place as perfect. You try to take everything in
and experience as much of it as you can; it’s called the honeymoon phase.
She became my best friend; we spent every waking moment we could
together, pictures of us scattered everywhere on my and her social media,
people would see me and ask of her and vice versa. We were inseparable.
She had a permanent space where her things were in my house, and I had
one too. She filled up a space in my life I didn’t know was empty. We had
become one. Going to work in the same car, texting between breaks, venting
about shitty bosses, exploring the city, and staying over at whoever’s place
was closer. We bantered like teenage boys and bickered like an old married
couple. We were the perfect pair.
The penultimate level after moving abroad is the slow realization
that it’s just as imperfect as everywhere else. The roads are good, but the
drivers are crazy; housing is affordable, but your neighbors are lousy; you
get paid good, but shit is expensive. By then, I had known Kayo for 5 months.
If you asked me if I loved her then I would have said, “Of course, she’s my
other half.” I did love her. I loved her as I loved all my other friends, maybe a
bit more. She was fiercely protective of the people she loved, but Fikayo had
a mean streak, moments when she went too far in her defense. She toyed
with people’s emotions and enjoyed every moment of it.
If I were to describe Fikayo’s beauty, I would tell you to imagine a
rose garden in the glow of light from the full moon. She often told me I was
the beautiful of a setting sun and a cold drink after a long day. We were a
gorgeous pair; it was no surprise when one or both of us got hit on whenever
we went out or the long line of suitors we always had on call. She had just
finished putting down a man who had said he wouldn’t leave until I gave him
my number, and we were laughing at his face and lack of game when
someone slid into the seat beside her and tried to start up a conversation. I
found myself getting more annoyed every time she laughed at his lame
jokes. Annoyed with him but even more at her for leading him on. She
always did that, make them think she was falling for them before leaving
them high and dry, and she was such a good actress it wasn’t hard to
understand why they were always so shocked when she revealed herself. In
hindsight, what was wrong with me was jealousy. I had made her go home
with me claiming my social battery was drained and given her the cold
shoulder through the ride back to her place. We fought in the car that night
when she asked what was wrong, and instead of staying over like I always
did, I drove back to my apartment and cried myself to sleep.
The last part of moving abroad is the part where you fully settle,
where you are no longer blinded by the newness and no longer picking apart
all the negatives, the part where you accept there is no good without bad
and nowhere is really perfect. Fikayo and I had fought a lot in the past but
never went to bed angry with each other. We worked well like that. The next
morning there was radio silence on both our parts, and the day was one of
the worst I’d had since I met her. The second day of our fight was even
worse. I missed er so much It felt like part of me was missing. I slammed
doors as I walked through them and snapped at the poor interns working
under me. My facial muscles refusing to form a smile even when my favorite
coworker offered to treat me to lunch to cheer up. I turned him down and
went to get lunch alone. When I entered the restaurant, I saw Fikayo sitting
alone, fingers tapping the table like she always did when she was waiting for
something. I watched her quietly for a moment before she turned and glared
at me. She marched towards me and dragged me behind her into the
restroom. I felt my lips lift in a smile as she put her hands on her waist and
fixed her angry eyes on me. Our fight had affected her as much as it did me;
she had taken one step into her office before she took the day off and
decided to come wait for me. We stared at each other for what felt like
forever before we burst into tears and hugged each other, stammering
“sorry’s” and “missed you’s.”
It was then I realized I loved her more than a friend. I pulled away
from her, put my hands on her shoulder, and looked her in the eye. “I love
you,” she giggled a bit and replied, “I know. I love you more.” I shook my
head and repeated myself, “No. I LOVE you.” She laughed again, “I know,”
then she pulled my face to hers and planted a kiss on my lips. “I love you
more.”

 

Written By:

                      AMIRAH