Last updated on October 14th, 2025 at 01:10 pm
I hate to admit it, but that three-day training was exactly what I needed. It was intense, and I was so busy that I barely had the time to think about anything. I couldn’t even catch up with my friends or respond to any chats. After each day, I landed in my hotel room exhausted and wiped. So that’s what I did for three days. Wake, eat, prepare, go to the training venue, return to the hotel, sleep. Thankfully, food was served in between the sessions; if not, I might have starved.
Anyway, I’m glad to be home now. I took a flight back to Calabar first thing this morning and after a two-hour delay, I made it back. I only have to unpack and get settled so I can attend to work and my friends. I’m certain that my parents’ call is among the calls I’ve missed it. This is another thing with being single, you become responsible for only yourself and generally, less accountable to any other person. Not saying it’s bad.
—
Two days after the event, I finally get to my phone. Work piled up so much that it took longer to resolve it than expected. Not really surprising, but apart from the routine collaboration mails and mails from brands I work with, I had mails from other training institutions wanting me to join their event as one of the trainers. Attending to my email alone took over two hours. When I eventually finished work yesterday, I took a break, shut down my laptop and attended to the ten missed calls I had.
Today, I’ve cleared a lot of work already, getting into the groove, then I finally open my WhatsApp and shudder at the number of unread messages. I go into the kitchen, grab a drink, then begin attending to my chats. For some reason, strange people have my contact and it’s a mix of career-related questions and… blatant dating proposals. Really. Not that it’s new, in my career and even my daily life, I’ve had my fair share of women coming on to me. I rapidly block these strange numbers and attend to my actual contacts.
—
After spending an insane amount of time on WhatsApp alone, I decided to disconnect from my phone. Grabbing my keys and wallet, I lock my door and head to my car with no destination in mind and many times, it’s like this. I enjoy these moments. After a while, I let myself think about the call with my parents yesterday. They mentioned that Constance was around and had been asking of me. I’m twenty-seven and she’s now thirty-five, yet I was immediately taken back to when I was fourteen. My parents’ oblivion is still something I struggle with. As soon as they mentioned her, I told them I had something to do and ended the call. I couldn’t bear it.
Constance had been messaging me a few months before I returned to Nigeria. She’s been saying that she loves me, reminding me of the “good days,” and emphasising that we could continue from “where we left off since we’re not related.” Her being single is really not my concern or a big deal, but her guts to still approach me wrecks me. For over a year, I’ve been unwilling to face the fact that her messages have triggered me. Yes, I’ve been disoriented because my abuser is trying to get back into my life.
I drive around for some minutes, weaving around empty roads and tarred streets, driving further away from my house. I wish I could run away. It was partly the reason I travelled to the UK, to be far from everything, to detach. I can easily take off again, but something makes me feel that I’ll only be delaying the inevitable. Yet, confronting Constance feels like a huge knot in my chest. It scares me to think that she might not consider the wrong in what she did and her messages confirm this.
I can’t believe she thinks it was right for her to have abused a child. What makes it right in her world? How messed up is she? Repeatedly, I’ve questioned my memory, my perception of what happened, after all, I was young. Did I really enjoy it? Did I try to orchestrate it by going to her? I personally don’t know the statistics on the boy child abuse, but it’s more common than expected, yet it gets no attention. The same reason it’s ignored shares the same root as the lackadaisical treatment that the girl child gets.
—
I don’t get home until late at night. Per usual, I stopped at an eatery so I don’t have to sort out dinner. I take a quick shower, wear my pyjamas and pick up my phone. As expected, there are missed calls in my notification bar, which I promptly delete. I go to my WhatsApp and finally scroll to the status. What I see shocks me. I drop my phone on the couch, take a rough breath, then pick up my phone. It’s…Angela. The only girl I ever wanted to give up everything for.
She was at the event. She posted just today, a picture of her, different poses and some of another lady and her. I save the pictures of her, I don’t know why, but I save everything. She was at the training. A million questions come to my mind at once. If she was at any of the classes, I would have seen her. Did she follow a friend? Was I that detached to not have seen her? What would have happened if I had seen her? Did she see me?
