Just want to sit

Last updated on March 13th, 2024 at 08:55 am

Fuel scarcity is at an all-time high. I wake up and almost hiss, I’m so close to hissing. But hissing is bad. I plug in my earpiece instead and listen to the sound of the ocean on YouTube. I can’t even concentrate, everywhere is unnecessarily loud. Where have they been getting fuel from? Whoever supplies us electricity must be going through hard times right now and we’re affected, as usual. What should I do with less than six hours of light daily?

I remember my bowls of food in the fridge and hurry to the kitchen. They appear to be fine, in the freezer that is. Speaking of the power outage, why does electricity in Nigeria work less than I do? The power supply is only available for six hours a day, but I work for more than eight hours. Even the newly constructed roads last for maybe six months and I have lasted at my current job, exhausted as I am, for more than three years. Why?

I need to hustle for fuel. Yes. Everything in Nigeria has to be a hustle and a sprinkle of ease, not the other way. But first, I’m grumpy and hot so I go to sit outside my apartment.

My balcony is immediately a no; have you heard my neighbour’s generator? That little thing screams as if it’s in torture, maybe it is. You just can’t tell these days what and who is in perpetual torture. I move to the other side of my apartment, lucky me, so much space. It’s noisy here as well, but manageable—if that’s what you call the sound of more than one generator from afar. Oh! I think my other neighbour is about to put on his generator. No peace for the wicked.

I sit eventually. Simply sitting outside your apartment seems to be more of a hassle than it should be. I sit and stare. I always consider my life’s choices every single moment. Should I have rented this apartment? Should I have moved to another state? Should I have been born here? Should I have gotten that rechargeable fan? I can’t sit for long though, I need to get fuel as I said earlier, work calls. It’s a weekend but if I don’t put in these extra hours, I might be setting myself up for failure in the new week. My neighbour just put on his generator too and there are about a million flies where I’m seated, so I really can’t sit for long. It must be all the honey dripping from my body as a sweet girl, the flies won’t just let me be.

I don’t get up immediately though, what’s the negligible bother of houseflies perching on my honey-coated melanin skin? The drip is heavy. Even the extra noise from the generator that has just been switched on cannot deter me.

As a Nigerian, you need a little stubbornness. That’s what I say to myself, a little adamance, sorry procrastination, from the pending tasks that await me in the house. I eventually get up. It took a lot of fuss, not so? I eventually do and go to grab the gallon of fuel. Mouth still stinking from my morning breath, I set sail and begin the day’s hustle.

One or two neck stretches and the consequent sounds and I’m satisfied, my body has gotten the memo.