The yellow Danfo oozed of damp upholstery and the faint, metallic tang of old rusty metals. I pressed my forehead against the vibrating window of the almost rickety bus dancing its way down the streets of Lagos. Outside, traffic was like a stagnant river of red brake lights and fuming exhaust. People yelled and cars honked like it was the stands at the world cup.
It was February 14th.
Earlier, at work, the air conditioner had groaned loudly like a nagging groom. My eyes caught Mr. Adeyemi, as he paced round my desk three times like he was on some spell. The fourth time, I dropped a stack of unfiled invoices on the keyboard. Not minding if it will spoil or disrupt my work.
"Zita, make sure to go through these invoices for me again before you leave," he said. He didn't plead or look like he was. His stare made it look like it was part of my job description. He didn't even wait for her to tell him my name was Zerah and not Zita. He was checking his gold watch, humming a song about a beautiful woman in a red dress. Gave me a last disgusting stare.
"But sir, I have to catch the last bus to Yaba," I said. My voice was thin with tiredness.
"Well I need that to be done today, not tomorrow," he replied, already halfway to the door like my opinion doesn't matter.
Mr Adeyemi was that boss you don't go against. No one has ever had the guts except for Yemi, a GenZ employee who lost her job the exact day she tried it
I stayed until 6:45 PM. The office was empty except for the security guard whistling in the lobby. When I finally locked my filing cabinet, my fingers were already coated with carbon dust. My back tinged and I felt a string of sweat down my lower back.
"Buy your Val! Buy your rose!" a hawker yelled, bringing me back to reality. He was forcefully shoving a plastic-wrapped flower toward the bus window to my face. The petals were of plastic tired crimson, already wilting in the heat.
I ignored him. Even though I had all the strength to yell back that I wasn't buying. I pushed the window shut and pulled out my phone from my bag. Its cracked screen had no new messages, just a notification from my bank reminding me of a loan repayment and a "Happy Val" broadcast message from my hair braider. I had promised to braid my hair that day.
I was unbothered. That was just another random day in the life of a lonely 9-5 lady
I finally got home and got into my apartment. Quietly I walked to my room, the air was still and heavy. I kicked off my flats like they were the cause of my problems. My big toe hurts. It had rubbed a raw spot against the leather, the skin around it was already blistered. My eyes caught my wall mirror i looked like a woman who had just come back from fighting the war
I dumped myself on the edge of the bed and opened my drawer. Then I pulled out a small brown box of chocolate I had bought yesterday, it was neatly wrapped like a gift. And no, I didn't buy it for no "Galentine."
I unwrapped it slowly. It was a bar of expensive dark chocolate and a small bottle of scented oil that smelled like vanilla and sandalwood. I had intentionally spent the money I was saving for braiding my hair on it.
Then I lit a candle. And turned on some old RnB music. I switched off the lights and sat back into the bed. Then I rubbed a little of the oil on my hands and feet, filling the room with sweet scents, masking the lingering dust from Mr. Adeyemi’s files. I closed my eyes and drowned myself in the current mood.
Gently I broke off a square of the chocolate and threw it into my mouth. At first, it was bitter, then sweet. I savoured its taste for some time then I moaned gently.
"Happy Valentine, Zerah," I whispered.
Somehow, I loved the sound of it. The sound of loving myself and being my own valentine.
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