That weird feeling never announces itself, or its arrival. Just quietly it appears, just the way dust settles on a white cloth.
That Tuesday, my room held me in, shielding me from the harsh heat in Lagos. My AC could barely fight to prove its presence. Generators outside kept groaning like they were arguing with each other. My phone is on the bed. A song I love is playing.
I shut my eyes, hoping it would hit me the way it does, but it doesn’t.
I flicked my eyes open and stared at the ceiling. That is when the question started. That silent throbbing within. Not loud or dramatic. Just that persistent, quiet realization that something is wrong.
I was gradually losing feelings for things. Things I once loved or admired. First, it was the food that tasted normal these days with no excitement. The laughter that doesn't feel whole anymore. The conversations that feel forced. I literally function like I always do but these days, everything feels slightly muted, like life is happening behind glass.
I said nothing to anyone. It is said that truly unwell people don’t tell. Maybe I was truly unwell. Maybe I was going crazy. I guess that explains why I wanted to keep my problem to myself.
So I kept going.
Days stacking on each other. Yet that flatness stays. It wasn't long until I stopped playing music. I felt it was rude to pretend to myself. At night, I'd lie on my bed and review myself, looking for that crack that'll simply explain everything.
Until one evening, I met Mama Chinedu standing in the corridor. It was as if life had decided to place her there or keep bringing her anywhere at all just to put me back like a puzzle that needed to be solved.
Wrapper tied. Face calm. A bowl in her hands and a soft smile on her face. I tried to avoid her and run back inside. But she called out to me instead
“Zerah,” she says, like she has been expecting me.
I turned and forced a smile. "Ma'am, Good afternoon."
“I made your favorite. Come and eat.” she was offered.
I couldn't remember the last time I refused her food but spontaneously this time I refused. I had no excuse to back up my refusal. I knew she wasn't going to give up. So I tried rushing back inside.
But she walked over to me faster than I could imagine. She grabbed my hands and led me to her apartment. "Since when did you start rejecting my food, this girl?"
I wriggled my hands to get free of her grip. "I just ate not long ago." I lied but Mama Chinedu paid me no attention.
Inside her flat, the air is softer. The aroma of food filled everywhere. The television murmurs.
She shoved me into a chair and served me without ceremony. No questions yet. Just rice. Just space. Then she sat beside me staring at me while I pretended to eat. I felt her eyes pierce my soul.
Halfway through the meal, she spoke.
“Ogini? (What is it?)" She asked.
I coughed and sipped on a glass of water. "Nothing. Does it look like something is wrong? The food tastes superb." I spoke all at once hiding my pain.
"You know what I'm talking about, Zee. Stop beating about. You are moving like someone tired of carrying herself.”
I smile. "You really sound poetic but...". I tried covering up again but she cut me short.
"If you deviate again, Zerah. I'll send you home." She threatened. This time she had no inviting look in her face.
I dropped my spoon and relaxed in the chair with a deep breath. “I think I might be… off,” I say. Surprisingly, the word felt safer than the truth. “Everything feels dull.”
She doesn’t frown. She doesn’t rush. She nods.
“When you walk for too long,” she says, “even the road starts to look suspicious.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Maybe it was because I didn't understand what she meant yet every line from her sentence made sense.
“I... I'm afraid. It feels like life lost its colour,” I admitted. “Like I was losing myself.”
Mama Chinedu leaned back in her chair and gave a reassuring smile. “No,” she says. “You are just tired in a world that does not respect tiredness. Is there something you've been seeking for the past few days that seems like it's not working?”
My eyes shot open at that question. That was it. The diagnosis.
I nodded.
"You let your mind worry a lot about it that nothing seems important to you anymore." She leaned forward and held my hand. I felt strength flow from her to mine. "Just let go. Do your best and allow the universe to do the rest."
I didn't know when I shed a tear.
We talked after that, but lightly. About nothing important. About everything that is. When I leave, she presses a takeaway into my hands as if it were part of the solution.
I still wonder how she does it. How does she know me more than I know myself? Maybe Mama Chinedu was more spiritual than human? Maybe she's my guardian angel in disguise.
I couldn't tell exactly. All I could tell was that she had always been right.
