Tèmítọ́pẹ́ Ọ̀jẹ́délé-Adéjùmọ̀

Today, I saw Nana.

After the whole supermarket saga in my forced dream, I finally dragged myself out of bed, knowing fully well that it was the after effect of me intently watching ‘Bastille Day’ the previous night. But really if I want to be anyone in that movie, it sure has to be Idris Elba. And then my phone started ringing….

“Adetoun…”

“Ma… ”

“A sun b’oroji…”

I smiled at that remark, knowing fully well my mum is doing same at the other end while calling me a prolonged sleeper.

“…Please Toun, add custard to the list. Buy the 2kg pack. I forgot to tell you this morning before leaving. Have you eaten? ”

“No… ”

“At 10am? ”

“I will… ”

“…Don’t complain about stomach ache to me o. As a lady you should eat early, later now… ”

“Mum I’ve heard you!”

“Leave that your room now and go and get something to eat.”

“Yes ma, goodbye…”

“I’m the one calling, let me do the ‘goodbye’…”

“OK o”

And then we both started laughing before she disrupted the call from her end.

My mum has been my constant companion and friend, and has been doing more than enough as a single parent since my dad left us when I was five. Dad died in an avoidable accident at work; as a result of neglect courtesy of his Indian boss. Some times when I bury myself in Bollywood movies and even sing some of their songs like I was born in Maharashtra,I feel like I’m betraying dad.

I got up from my bed and did the necessary chores in the house. I ate to my fill, while I was moving from one social media platform to another. These days I’m beginning to get tired of Instagram and its vanity. I got mum’s list from the dining table and added ‘custard 2kg’, then I went into my room for my purse.

After using the ATM, I decided to take a walk down to the mini mart where I would be ticking off mum’s list, and then I saw Nana!

I know I saw her first but she called my name first with that her bell-like-Tom-and-Jerry’s-Tweety’s voice.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I should be asking you that, this is my area,” I told her, not feeling too excited about this meeting.

“It’s so nice to see you,” she said, while hugging me again.

On my part, the hug and excitement from Nana doesn’t feel right, but who knows what time does to people.

Nana was my roommate in Moremi, at the University of Lagos, while I was in my second year. Her Ghanaian mum and Nigerian dad would come to visit her almost every weekend, bringing stuff Nana would bring into the room like an insurmountable load; acting like it’s a pity the rest of us were forgotten orphans, and giving instructions about how to tread around her things, so your leg doesn’t on its own go under her bed, inside her box, to crush her yet to be opened Coco Pods, or your tongue trudging towards her mayonnaise. Oshi radarada, what rubbish!

“Nana it was so nice to see you, I have to get going now,” I finally get to say through her non-stop blabbering. I didn’t want to have any more tormenting conversation with her.

“Give me your number.” I did.

“Say hello to your mum for me. ” I won’t.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Two hours later, I got back home beaming. My day was made. It was because of Nana.

After saying the “byes”, and I was leaving hastily, Nana called me back.

“Adetoun, please can I get like a thousand from you. See I know God brought you here because of me. My ATM card is not working, I’m stranded…”

“It’s okay,” I cut her from her unending rants, opened my purse and gave her three thousand naira.

“No, a thousand is okay…”

“Never mind…”I gave her a curt smile from my eye that says something about life being a bitch, before I turned and strutted on like Cheetah Girls.