By Salim Yunusa
After countless series of fights and arguments with my circle, I finally passed into law the decree to stop receiving phone calls after 10pm, unless they’re absolute emergencies. When it comes to my life, it is a dictatorship and I am the only General in this battalion. I generally find phone calls intrusive, and tedious, no matter the intentions behind them. Yes, I’m a jerk, deal with it!
Adulting is a daily, rigorous task that saps your energy and your inner pool of peace and youth, unless you replenish the two with Country yogurt, some chicken wings and prayers all the time. It is only right that the only voices I should be hearing and communicating with are the voices in my head, telling me to calm down and be strong for another day. I’ve made my peace with this – the world should, too.
Everything was fine and dandy until I met a damsel in Damaturu. Cheesy, right? I thought so too. But hey,at least you smiled. Among the many amazing things I saw and beautiful people I met was this person. As a person who’s coming out of a long relationship that ended based on silly technicalities, I was still in a pretty bad place, with no intentions to move on. I was an empty shell filled with hollow thoughts. I was dead inside. It was better that way; than to keep harbouring emotions that were destroying me inside, eating me up raw and making me keel in guilt and anger. So, it was so surprising when the conversations glided, vibes synced and sparks flew. Then came the thoughts. Then the calculations. Then the phone calls. Could I have struck gold and found myself a sunflower in the wet Sahara?
Now, I’m eager for the nights to come; although accompanied mostly by darkness, it also comes with laughter. Although it comes with an eerie silence which weirdly gives me peace, it comes along with lively conversations. The nights are no longer dead, even as bodies lay stiff on beds and brains shut down.
10 minutes before the 10th hour of the clock chimes at night, my mind goes into a frenzy; to hurriedly put an end to the day’s activities. To say goodnight to everyone. To curl into my safe space and allow my vulnerabilities seep in the open. Then finally, to place that call, which would be answered by an excited, chatty voice that is bursting with news and updates. I find my lips asking questions I normally find uninteresting and mundane; questions I hate with passion such as, “which baby is crying at this time?” Or “what did you have for dinner?”
I find myself slipping, then being fully immersed into her world, where I traverse the contours of her thoughts, swim through oceans of emotions and dissect reality with words and plans. I catch myself expressing my thoughts or telling silly stories – becoming loose and free – two ingredients that scream danger to any heart that’s willing to stay free of any external love.
There isn’t a manual on how not to fall – or fall – in love. Each time, it is distinctly different; each time, one gets scared, excited and hopeful like the first time one fell in love. It is such a wondrous, deceitful feeling of accomplishing something – like finally grasping happiness with your bare hands or riding on a unicorn. That sweet feeling when you mention sweet nothings to each other, inflating your already big head and ego.
As expected, sleep eludes me for another hour due to the phone call, stressing my eyelids and my bedtime. But as I finally close my eyes, a satisfied smirk spread on my face and I slip into dreamland with thoughts and fantasies beyond sand dunes and the smooth surface of Northern highways.
