Post-NYSC, I moved to Lagos with the only two things I could lay claims on: My dreams and a box full of old clothes. Back home in Enugu, where my parents and younger siblings live, that was minus one mouth to feed. And minus one person queuing for the only toilet in our family house. It was the rainy season and the bushes were wet: Most people don’t let-go of bodily waste in bushes when leaves are still carrying their cute little drops of water, from the last rainfall which may not have totally subsided yet.
And I’m not sure why I thought my story was going to be that of a young lady who moved to a big city, got a job, grew in the job and got blessed by God to live her dreams. Tjat was my plan and life did not argue with me. It let me plan and then presented what it will:
My first job was menial. Second, slavery. (I fought the HR officer before I left). Third job, manageable. (I could put aside atleast 5K every month.) I held on to that one, while I looked out for something better.
Within months my host; a friend who had been graciously paying the rent, wanted us to move into, and share the rent of, a more convenient space. Problem was, I couldn’t afford it, or all the other housing arrangements I was comfortable with. So homelessness was staring at me right in the face. But so was Okey*, an older married man who had the habit of running into me everyday.
The mechanics of our relationship was pretty much set without words; he wanted a nice and youthful body. I wanted rent….and some layers of financial pressure sliced off of my back. And so our first meeting came with an invisible transactional tag to it.
My expectation was to get home nursing disgust in my belly, after the deed, and hoping that a reduction in my financial pressures will cancel it out.
That was not to be; Okey* came with the right tools, the right skill set and the right amount of fire.
Hey! Excuse me! My then 26-year-old boyfriend had nothing on him. I got home feeling fantastic and doubly blessed. That was the beginning of a relationship that grew by the nourishment from repeated physical connections.
Now, more than a year later, as much as money and good sex are good incentives, I’ve never thought of letting him go even though someday (I don’t look forward to) I’ll have to.
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