I never knew how deep in the water I was until Mama Chinedu pulled me out.
Recently I found myself asking a whole lot of questions. Small questions, harmless questions, odd questions at times that I get scared of what comes out of my mind. I lied to myself that I was being normal but I was hurting inside.
“Do you think it’s possible to be cursed with delay?” I asked Mama Chinedu one Saturday evening while we sat at the garage tree picking beans.
She looked at me at first. Not with surprise. Not with pity. In fact, she acted like nothing was wrong. Like she didn't understand where I was heading to. Just that calm, motherly look she always had.
The. She asked slowly, “Delay?”
I nodded.
“Are you all right, Zerah?” she asked again.
I smiled and didn't say anything again. I didn't want to look stupid. I quickly changed the topic. But the burden still hung tight to my chest. It got even heavier.
The truth was, I already knew my life wasn't that bad. I had a paying job, I lived In my own apartment with furniture and appliances bought with my sweat. I was getting along with Lagos, but somehow, I wanted to be flying rather than just crawling. Slow and steady, they say, wins the race. But I wanted to win the race not by a margin but by miles.
Lately, I've been like Oliver Twist, wanting more in the fast lane. The promotions, the fairytale weddings, baby showers, new cars. I was tired of carrying files from one office to the other. Tired of entering the early morning and late evenings molue (buses) with soaked armpits all over my face. I was tired of pretending like I was comfortable with what I presently had.
I never knew Mama Chinedu had already seen through me but chose to ignore since. Sometimes I wonder how she does it. How she sees through everything I did. Maybe it came with her age. Or maybe it was out of the love she has for me. Of course, I was like the daughter she never had and she was like a mum sent to me by God in Lagos.
"Get up,” she said. “We’re going for a little drive.” She took the tray of beans from me and took it inside. While I waited for her at the garage wondering why all of a sudden she wanted to go for a drive.
She returned and got into her car. Soon we were driving into the streets of Lagos. It was a silent drive, nobody was saying much at first. We just drive in silence looking out the window to the familiar chaos Lagos was known for. Lagos traffic doesn't disappoint.
Mama Chinedu hummed to an old Fela song on the radio.
We got close to a junction, Mama Chinedu wound down her window and pointed to a woman in a makeshift kiosk selling puff puff (Nigerian snack)
“Do you see that woman selling puff-puff?”
I looked. She was almost of Mama Chinedu age just that her struggle with life was already showing on her face. She had sat with a young lady who looked exactly like her. They looked happy.
I nodded to Mama Chinedu and asked. “What about her? .
“She was my classmate. She got married earlier than me. That's her daughter seated there with her. I think she probably has five children at home. It was all going well for her while I was still finding myself in life." She parked in a corner not quite far from the lady. "Her condition got worse when she lost her husband one day and started soliciting help from our class group on WhatsApp. If it wasn't for her sick kid. Then it was for rent. We set her up to do what she's doing now. But see how she's still with joy. Still running her own race.”
Mama Chinedu changed gears and drove off. I didn't understand why she was telling me all that. I thought we were on an evening drive.
We kept driving till she stopped at Ikeja Under Bridge, and she pointed again.
“That man there, shining shoes. See him?” I followed her hands to a shoe mender laughing with his customer, wiping leather like it was gold. “I've known that man for years since I came to Lagos. And you know what he told me the first time I stopped to have him work on my shoe?"
I shook my head. By now I was beginning to understand where Mama Chinedu was heading with her stories.
"He said he doesn’t ask why another man drives a Benz. He just focuses on his own work, diligently, consistently, and with prayers. He said for now he's content with what he does but still hoping and pushing for a better life. In his words, the comparison will only kill his joy”
I was quiet. I had my head low at this point.
She reached for my hands, “Zerah, you've been asking some difficult questions lately. At first, I pretended like I wasn't aware of what was going on. But I think it’s time we talk.”
I looked at her. I almost had tears in my eyes. “I just want to understand, Ma'am. Why am I still... here? It's like I’m.....”
"Stuck?" Mama Chinedu completed my words. Looking me in the eye. Then she turned off the ignition.
“My daughter, life is not a race. We just make that mistake of carrying a stopwatch in our minds, timing ourselves, and progress. The truth is everyone's path can't move at the same speed.”
I blinked quickly. Holding back hot tears. “It's been years since I started life on my own. I've been working hard, Ma'am. I barely rest. But it still feels like I'm not making progress.”
She let her hands drop to my lap.
“Curiosity is not bad in itself. But when you start looking at another person’s plate while your own is still warm, it can steal your joy. It can steal your peace. It can even steal your sense of self. Even slow progress is still progress."
I tried to talk but my words faltered. “So what should I do?” I asked finally finding the right word
She smiled, held my hands again, and squeezed lightly. “Live, Zee, live. Breathe. Believe. Be thankful. Work. Rest. And repeat. Focus. Pray to God. Wait for your own clock, not anyone else’s.”
I nodded. I was already thankful for having a soul like Mama Chinedu. I was more calm than before. I looked at her and whispered. "Thank you, Ma'am."
She smiled. "You're doing great, Zee".
Then she keyed the car again and turned to the road. We were on our way home now. We got home and Mama Chinedu stopped for me to get down before adding. "Stop by for your own share of the beans later tonight.'
I turned and nodded to her. "I will." I smiled. Then she zoomed off to park her car at the garage.
I got into my apartment and dropped to the floor. Then, I let the tears I've been holding back drop. This time not for being slow in life. But for punishing myself with so much comparison with others.