Early last year, my sister began making plans to leave the country and study abroad. The country's economy was in bad shape, which only strengthened her determination to leave. She found a job where she was overworked and underpaid, but thank God it was at a hospital not far from my grandma's house. The pay wasn’t enough to cover basic bills like rent, so my grandma was more than happy for her to stay with her.
My sister is the kind of person who people see as strict because she’s always serious and careful. So, when she started working with an agent to arrange her leave, she used the little money she had saved and earned to finance everything. Things were going smoothly.
When I finished my exams, I went to stay with her at my grandma's house. Everything seemed fine until she received a call one night. She went into the room to take it, and when she came out, she plugged her phone back in. We had been watching a movie, but after plugging her phone, she went back into the room. I knew something was wrong because she didn’t return to watch the film.
I waited for a while, but when she didn’t come back, I went to check on her. She was lying on the bed with her eyes closed but wasn’t sleeping.
“Aren’t you watching the film anymore?” I asked as I sat beside her.
“No,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Nothing.”
I didn’t want to press, so I left the room, sensing she wasn’t in the mood.
The next day, a Friday, my sister woke up in a foul mood. She got up late, didn’t go to work, and didn’t speak to anyone—not even our grandmother. She only left her room once that morning to get food from the kitchen. By the afternoon, when her mood hadn’t improved, I decided to confront her.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I entered her room.
“Nothing,” she tried to shrug it off.
“It’s not nothing. Ever since that call last night, you’ve been moody.”
She didn’t answer right away, but I wasn’t going to let it go. “I’m still waiting for an answer,” I pressed.
Eventually, she told me the truth. The travel agent had called to tell her some story, which ended with her needing to restart the entire process of applying to leave the country. I understood her frustration—she’d put so much effort into this, and now it was all for nothing.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “There’ll be another way. Everything will work out.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but I could see she was far from fine. She had all this bottled-up anger.
Three days passed, and she was still in the same mood—waking up on the wrong side of the bed every day. So, I came up with a plan. I didn’t know if it would work or backfire, but it was worth a shot. She wasn’t just grumpy; she was starting to act like a zombie.
One thing my sister hates is when people touch her stuff without permission. That day, I took one of her shirts—the one she had warned me multiple times never to touch.
I walked into the parlor where she was seated, made sure she saw me wearing her shirt, and casually said, “Do you have like 3k you can lend me?”
“What are you doing?” she asked, noticing the shirt.
“What?” I acted clueless.
“Go and take that off,” she said, rolling her eyes and returning to her phone.
“It’s just a shirt. I’ll give it back when I get back,” I replied with a sassy tone, adding fuel to the fire.
“What do you mean, for my shirt? Are you okay?” She exploded, and we got into a heated argument. It was so intense that my grandma had to intervene. Normally, my sister never raised her voice like that, so I knew my plan was working when she started yelling.
Once I was sure enough steam had been let off, I returned the shirt and let the argument fizzle out. She went into the room, and I stayed in the parlor.
Later that evening, she came out of the room looking different.
“Nora, I’m going to Oku’s house,” she said, already dressed to leave.
“Why?” I asked.
“I just want to visit them,” she replied with a warm smile I hadn’t seen in a while.
I couldn’t help but smile too, knowing I had helped her release the stress and anger she’d been holding inside.
