Issue 38: If you go back in time, what will you see?

At Ajigbona or what I used to call Damico area in Ife, you can hear the birds when you wake up. Unlike my mother’s farm, there are no cocks crowing early in the morning, but really you don't need them. The birdsongs will do. I wake up to find my friend still sleeping beside me. It is expected; he just pulled off a one-of-a-kind event that must have taken all his strength. I try not to make any noise as I begin to pack my things. While I pack, I am reminded of the multiple times various versions of this same experience have happened, all the times we’ve slept on the same bed or in the same room, or I’ve had to wake up early to pack myself out of the room like a slut fleeing the scene of last night’s work, ashamed, scared to wake the neighbours.

I love sleeping in my bed so much that I find it difficult to sleep well in beds that aren’t mine. Interestingly, I can count all the beds I’ve slept in since I was born. Anytime I’m in a stranger’s bed, I’m always eager to go back to mine, which is why I often decline offers to “sleep over'' or “spend the night”, even though I never hesitate to send out such offers. But it’s different with my friend. About seven years ago, we both slept in the same room after a failed Ponzi scheme. After that, we spent some good time sleeping in the same room in Awo Annex Block 6. It was a small, decrepit mattress on the floor with no bed frame, but that was all we needed then. We would sleep late and wake up even later. During this same period, Game of Thrones season 7 had just come out. Every Monday, we would be woken up by the noise from our fellow GOT fans on the block screaming, “O ti jade o! O ti jade o!” And as fantasy fanatics that we were, my friend and I would rush to the room where the noise came from with our flash drives and get the new episode. Somehow, we never really cared where this person got it from, but we would see the file named gameofthroness7e1toptvseries, so that was enough information. On most days, we never got a top-quality file, but we didn’t care. We just needed to know what was happening to the descendants of Ned Stark and the Dragon Queen. So we would go back to our room, flash drive in hand, ready to devour the work of David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. Which is ironic because two days ago, when I arrived at my friend’s room in Ajigbona, we sat together in bed covered in a duvet and watched the first episode of House of the Dragon, and watched in horror as the demon slayed the heir to the throne in cold blood. I had watched it before, but my friend had not, so it was a delight to sit with him and watch his reaction. He watched in pin-drop silence as the two harbingers of death walked up the steps of King's Landing looking for their victim, a silence that quickly turned to suspense and utter shock as the murder happened. I watched him with delight in my eyes and was taken back to Awo Annex Block 6, to the days of our flash drives, to the days of waking up to someone shouting, “O ti de! O ti jade o!” Some things never change.

After two nights of sleeping in his bed, I wake up and pack my things quietly. I travelled light: two native wears, two singlets, two boxers, my laptop charger, my power pack, my floss pack, and that’s it. After packing, I take my shower and prepare to leave for church. Around this time, my friend is already struggling to update his WhatsApp. I tell him I’m off and take off. As I step out of the compound, I open YouTube Music and play "Be" by Anendlessocean, a song I just learned from his room because he had played it twice already—another thing I miss in this friendship, our shared love for similar music.

On the way to church, I think about the fact that I don’t know anyone in this church anymore. This is the campus fellowship I attended from 2016 to 2019 before I left to serve the university from 2020 to 2021. Now I return as an alumnus, an absent and problematic one at that. I often think about the kind of alumni I would be, the ones the executives advise you to be like or the ones they advise you to beware of. I’d probably be part of the latter. So I return as a prodigal son to the place where I found my Christian faith, solidified it, and also began to question things. As I enter, I am greeted by strange faces and I am reminded of how fleeting our presence is anywhere. I think about the impermanence and transient nature of human relationships and experiences. Humans fade away fast. It's the ideas they leave behind that last. While I sit and try to listen to the preacher, I text a colleague who is also in town and practically beg her to come stay with me in church. She says she’s coming, so I relax and try to listen to what the man is saying. I don’t agree with the bulk of the preaching, so I zone out and use my phone. While I was a student, I would have done the same thing but instead of a phone, I would have written poems in my church jotter. I had learned early how to listen to people talk without hearing anything. So I just go inward and engage my inner thoughts. I do this while I send a message to my friends on WhatsApp, expressing my concern about how old I have become. Just like that, I can say I actually finished school five years ago and I wouldn't be lying. Five years. Half a decade. Wow.

My friend comes and we gist. Until the day before, I had not seen her in about two years. We make little jokes and reminisce about old times, about when we were both students, and talk about things that have changed now. After some time, we’re called to the altar to do what ancient graduates are good for, sharing certificates and taking pictures. We do these things and smile awkwardly in front of a crowd that does not know us. Funny how five years ago, I was the general secretary of this same church, and if I had stood on that altar, everyone would know who I was. As someone who actually does not like the spotlight, I like this present experience. It feels quiet, like living in stealth mode.

After the church service, my friend and I meet with the few faces we still recognize and catch up on old times. We also give advice that will probably not be taken (I know this because we were young once). After this, my friend leaves to read because, unfortunately, she’s still a student at the Nigerian Law School. We hug, and I say goodbye while I take a walk with another friend of mine, whom I had never met physically until now. We talk about her academics, and I find myself giving interesting advice. She worries she won't get a first class in English, and I tell her she doesn’t need a first class unless she wants to go to grad school. She’s smart and quick; it’s one of the things I love about her. I tell her to focus on finishing with good grades and no carryovers. She mentions she currently writes for a tech company as a content writer. She says she wants to write for Zikoko. She asks if I know Dwin the Stoic, saying she likes him and he used to work at Zikoko. I tell her I’ve met Dwin once after a club night, but I don’t know him personally. Then I tell her it’s not only Dwin; Jola also used to write for Zikoko. Same goes for Odun of Piggyvest. My friend is surprised, and I’m glad that she is. I like it when I see light and desire in people’s eyes. She’s so young and so desirous of big things already. This is the beauty of life, that we can dream of things that are seemingly out of reach, and we can find people to keep our dreams alive for us. Maybe I hold a soft spot for her because she’s also from my hometown, Ogbomoso. And like me, she writes, she questions things, and she wants to do big things. She’s a beautiful person who wants to do big things. After we hug, I say goodbye and take a straight bike to Ajingbon. There, I pick up my bag and find my way to the bus stop. After checking about three bus stops, I find one with a car that’s almost full going to Ibadan. I take that and I’m sandwiched between a plus-sized woman and a plus-sized man. I text my friend on WhatsApp saying, “I forgot to pay for two seats again.”

While in the car, I post tweets and continue listening to the song of the year: "Be" by Anendlessocean. It reminds me of my friend Treasure for three reasons. First, because she featured in one of the singer’s music videos, and I remember someone tweeting at the singer saying, “Ever since you featured that Zikoko girl, I don comot my eyes for you.” I found this very funny because why would you call my friend The Zikoko Girl just because she took over Zikoko’s IG page a while ago? Hilarious, really. The second reason: everywhere I go, people ask questions about my friend, and I wonder, wait, how do you even know this person?

In Ibadan, I take a car going to Lagos. I’m the last one to enter, so I can’t pay for an extra seat. On the way to Lagos, I check Twitter again and scroll through the replies to my friend Moremi’s tweet that has now blown up. It’s funny how you can sit somewhere in the corner of your room and write something first for yourself, then post it online. All of a sudden, hundreds of people like and comment, showing they can relate, and in no time, over twenty thousand people have read your thoughts. Amazing.

In Lagos, I get dropped off at Ojota and take a ride home. My Uber driver asks if I heard that the Embassy church is burning. I say yes, someone sent me a video. He says he’s unsure which route to take to avoid traffic because of that, so I direct him. We get home without encountering any traffic. I enter my sitting room and put my head under the AC for about five minutes. I text Headboy saying, “I miss my home.” She asks how being back in my home feels. I say what I always tell everyone: I love that I’m now in my own space, with my own bed, and most importantly, I like that it’s quiet. That’s what I am always going back home for. No matter how far I travel, I have to return for that one thing: the quiet.