You woke up on a Friday morning to the sound of the Fajr prayer call from the mosque nearby. Your head felt clearer than it had ever been in weeks. You decided it was one of those good days where you didn’t have to wait for your mother’s prompt before getting up to do your chores. So, to get you through the monotonous activities ahead, you stuck your earbuds in, and logged on to your music app to absorb yourself in your perfectly-curated “work playlist.” But you decided against your usual playlist, because you had a specific song in mind that you didn’t mind being shuffled to repeat. You were entering the keywords to The Weeknd’s “I Feel It Coming” when Spotify randomly recommended lists of songs similar to the title of the one you were about to listen to.

At that moment, your eyes caught a Nigerian classic: Dr SID ft. K-switch’s “Over the Moon.” Nostalgia hit you upon discovering this masterpiece again, that you didn’t think twice before hitting play. As the familiar rhythm of Dr SID’s opening burst through your earbuds, you closed your eyes in reminisce, and then, let the euphoria rock you back and forth into your bedroom, having no care in the world to those who were disturbed by the heavy thumpy sounds your legs made, as you moved your body rhythmically to the melodies of the song. Those dirty dishes can wait, you thought.

The song reminded you of a drummer boy in church that you had a crush on, a crush that thinking about it now, was too intense for a 10-year-old. It was the year 2011, and you could not go anywhere without that song being blasted on speakers, radios and film shops. You remembered then, after school-hours, that you looked forward to standing at Idumota junction, that led to your house, with your brother.

You remembered then that there was a bench where you both used to sit just at the fulganizer’s nearby, as you waited for a bike to carry the two of you home at cheap negotiable prices because you were students. But that changed when your brother had an altercation with the fulganizer’s apprentice, Fatai, and your smooth-skinned, glasses-wearing brother was no match against the other rugged-looking, street-smart boy. So, your brother ended up going home with broken glasses and a black-eye. This led to your mother furiously marching behind the two of you later that evening, and you could still remember how your mother’s breasts jiggled rhythmically through her oversized lipton shirt, as she gestured accusingly with her fingers: upwards downwards, while she threatened – bluffed – to arrest the vulcanizer and his apprentice with soldiers.

At your new waiting-spot, your brother negotiated with the bike-men (as he had previously done), while you stood sheepishly behind him, secretly wishing you could spend as much time there, for no better reason other than the shop-owner at the film-house opposite your new spot, played “Over the Moon” on repeat on his speaker. So, for as long as you could, you wanted to take in the satisfying thoughts of your crush, that this song stirred till you saw him on Sunday. In fact, you did not mind that the gutter at your new waiting spot made you feel nauseous. While your brother became more frustrated with bike-men driving past the both of you to better customers that would pay better prices, you would feign concern so as to mask the pleasure you were lost in.

You remembered that on Sundays, seeing him felt like your heart wanted to beat out of your chest. You avoided looking at him most of the time, trying to ignore his existence because if you didn’t, your gaze might be fixated on him rather than the pastor. You knew that wasn’t an option as your mother’s eyes were always on you, and that might have earned you a knock when you got home. This crush made you want to ditch the pinkish ready-made gowns your 10-year-old body was restricted to, and rather wear crop tops and skinny jeans to church.

On the day, the pastor asked the congregation to give the neighbours seated by their side a warm handshake. You remembered the somersault your heart did when your hands finally clasped, as he was seated beside you. All of a sudden, as if high on marijuana, your senses became more heightened, and there, you noticed how long and dirty your fingernails were, making you wish that you had listened to your mother when she shouted for you to cut them the previous night. You must have been awkwardly holding on to his hand for too long because he broke the handshake with a subtle force, a smirk on his face, as if he knew the unspeakable things the handshake did to you. Your 10-year-old ego was bruised by this. Right then and there, you decided to mask your crush for him with contempt. Who did he think he was?

In truth, your crush on him did not totally fade, until you noticed one Sunday that he was missing from the drummer’s seat, and later, the pastor mentioned during the announcement that the Adeyinkas had moved out of Abeokuta. As each week passed, your infatuation with him withered away, and as if the shop-owner got the memo too, another trendy song replaced “Over the Moon” on his speaker. It was almost as if he never existed in the first place, as if your heartbeat synchronizing with the sound of the beat he drummed during praise and worship was all just a figment of your imagination.

The song stopped and you were now seated at the dining table, sweating, smiling and breathing rapidly. You were parched but decided against quenching your thirst. You did not want to water down the adrenaline surging through your veins: you weren’t done yet. Conjuring another stream of buried memories, you recalled another long-forgotten song: Tyler James Williams’ “Don’t Run Away” from the Disney movie Let It Shine. In a refreshing state of frenzy, you played the song and you went back in time to when you were a 13-year-old in an airy classroom, writing your entrance exam into one of the top schools in Abeokuta.

There was a light-skinned, pimply faced-boy who was seated adjacent to you, writing his entrance examination on that day too. With his perfectly trimmed afro-cut, and varsity jacket – exuding the perfect demeanour of teenage-boy machismo – you knew he was going to fit in seamlessly amongst the squad of the coolest guys in school. You didn’t know a boy like him could ever look at a girl like you twice, or maybe it was the serene awkwardness of the classroom that made your eyes meet his multiple times. It was slightly amusing at first, but you eventually found it annoying because there are times you did not intend to look at him, but your eyes would wander to him, as if they had a mind of their own. And, on cue, he would meet your gaze, leading to a few awkward seconds of locked eyes and unspoken interest.

On the first day of attending your new school, you held your head high to feign confidence against the kids lurking in the classrooms’ corridor, whispering, laughing, giggling and definitely curious about who the new girl was. You were still holding your head up high when the receptionist led you to a classroom, which was a stark contrast to the chaotic rendezvous you had just passed in the corridors. The teacher gave you a welcoming smile and pointed towards an empty seat situated by the window side. You settled in and you knew you should lower your gaze by now, even if it is to get a proper glimpse of your new classroom – whose prying stares were now making the back of your neck tingle – but it was as if your head had become stiff.

The pressure around your neck had started to loosen up as cliques of girls came to introduce themselves in twos and threes. With a deep breath, you finally turned to scan the classroom, taking in unfamiliar faces. Then your eyes fell on a familiar figure: the boy from the entrance examination. He had been watching you intently all along. Soulmates are real, you thought. He walked over to you during closing time, stressing his left hand, “Hi, I’m Nzubechi,” and you took his hand and told him your name.

The following weeks, you both did everything together: went to the tuck shop, the field and science lab together. It was a friendship that blossomed just as fast as it went downhill. You knew there was an undeniable chemistry between the both of you that would foster into an amorous relationship overtime. But, gradually, the constant teases from everyone started to irritate you. You would be returning from the ICT room, and some boy would jump in front of you and yell, “Hey, Nzubechi says he wants you to be the mother of his kids!” and those within earshot would laugh.

You told yourself that you needed to push him away so that the ceaseless taunts would stop, but the truth was that you always had a flair for self-sabotage. So, you began to brush him off. Days went by, and finally, he got the memo and you both drifted. Those days were filled with you ignoring his existence all day in school, but returning home to blast Tyler James Williams’ “Don’t Run Away” on your Nokia Asha 200, as you relived the memories of the glances of him that you were able to steal that day in school while he was not looking.

The feeling was so intense that you would dissect every lyric of the song on your 2go status, leaving cryptic messages. You would post, “this is more than a crush, more than a like, more than a love,” because what you felt was too strong. You would post, “don’t run away from the truth,” when in reality you were running away from your feelings for him. You would post, “baby ama make you mine and I ain’t giving up.” when you were in fact giving up and not making anybody yours. You were aware that the caricature you had engaged yourself in could have easily been avoided. But where was the fun in that when you could just get lost in the thrills of fantasy, ridding yourself of what it is you wanted in real life, and instead, wallow in the melancholy it brought. That should be all there is but Nzubechi’s light, pimply-face morphed into a dark and flawless one.

You opened your eyes to the frozen visage of Reinhard Bonkee on the wall and you realized you were now in the sitting room. The new face held a new story and you deliberated on going down another rabbit hole of memories, but nevertheless, you played “Pillowtalk’” by Zayn and a new cascade of memories were unleashed. This song enshrined not a spectacular love story like the others, but instead a story of your first heartbreak. A heartbreak that desensitized your 15-year-old self to love, leading to a numbing experience from subsequent heartaches, even your recently ended 2-year relationship.

It all started with a boy whose sole purpose in your meeting was simply to rock your world. You knew of his history with juggling girls in school, that when all of a sudden, he started love bombing you, stifling you with a love you didn’t want, you knew trouble was coming your way. His attention drifted towards you when your skin became lighter, as you had begun bleaching it. You knew that was the reason for this new found infatuation with you. He would frequently chat to you on 2go with exaggerated love emojis, uploading your pictures as his DP, and writing your name on his status. You found it all to be unnecessary theatrics and you avoided him as much as you could, particularly because you were still submerged in your fantasies with Nzubechi.

It was the year 2016, around the time “Pillowtalk” was released. You loved the song on the first day you heard it on Trace, it didn’t need to grow on you. It was a song that you’d brag to your friends about the next day in school, that it would definitely be number 1 on the billboard charts for weeks. Meanwhile, you began to let your guard down, not realizing that the boy had mastered the art of love-bombing and you started to find all of his gestures cute. Nzubechi was history by now.

You giggled when he uploaded your picture on Facebook and when he would reserve a seat for you beside his at the science lab. It was surreal and it kept going on like that for a term that you thought that perhaps you were special, and you had changed him after all. For something that you had expected all along at the beginning, it still hit you like a bus when he stopped replying to your messages on 2go, and uploaded a picture of his arms around another girl, deleting yours from his Facebook.  It all happened so fast. You listened to “Pillowtalk” every day after school after a long overwhelming day of seeing them holding hands in school (he never held your hands like that) and seeing her picture on his profile.

You would feign being unbothered to your friends in school, when in truth, you had bottles of La-casera littered at your bed-side at home. You chose La-casera, because the yellowish urine color of the apple drink made it feel like it was indeed something strong enough to drown your sorrows away. Your own version of alcohol, because you wanted to be like the girls you saw in movies, crying with their tears mixed with mascara as they sipped liquor from a spirit glass cup, lighted cigarette on one hand, and their glistening eyes mirroring the flames that consumed the pictures of their exes.

The song stopped and you laughed hysterically, throwing your head back and you could feel happy tears brewing at the corner of your eyes. You could hear your mother’s cry from her bedroom asking what the matter was. You were feeling burnt out already and you knew she would eventually have to prompt you to do your chores today, yet again. But at least, you were glad you had recollected these fun memories. It all started with the first song, and then you realized that it encapsulates what you felt for each of them. Indeed, for these boys, you really felt like you were flying over the moon like an astronaut, just like the song says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Oleg Sergeichik on Unsplash