They said soft life makes you weak, but me I understand.
“It is not like the meat they sell these days is even good. All these people are using chemicals now to breed the animals”, Aunty Peace yelled as we walked away from the butcher’s shop. So much violence for a woman named Peace. She had spent the past twenty minutes engaged in a heated argument over how much she would pay for a small piece of beef. It had taken all my willpower to usher her out of the store. Now, we were standing in front of a woman who sold eggs. Talking loudly as she pointed to a crate of eggs. “Have you ever eaten egusi with eggs? You should try it. It is even healthier than fish or meat!” I rolled my eyes. My ankles were hurting badly from wearing heels while she was haggling with another woman who sold eggs. Aunty Peace was the kind of woman that tried so hard to wear the fanciest things and tell the grandest stories. We had barely spent over an hour together and I was wondering how long she had had to keep up this act — putting up the front that she was a woman who was doing so well back in the city. I knew that coming to see her was not in my best interest.
Earlier today, when I had first arrived, I was standing in what seemed to be a street from the 80s. The houses made me feel very out of place with my high heels, glossed lips and blonde wig. The buildings looked like something built when Nigeria was in the dark ages, if there ever was such a time. I felt like a time traveller standing in an African village looking for ancient artefacts. Aunty Peace had directed me to this place. Somehow, she wouldn't give me her house address. She just asked me to stand by the corner of a street in front of this shabby-looking church. My mum had sent me a couple of things through her. Aunt Peace was not my favourite person. She always had a condescending air about her. From her gestures to the way her eyes fixated on you disapprovingly, you could tell that she didn’t give you more than a passing thought, stopping only to leave some criticism.
Aunty Peace would come to our house with her kids in toll. All four of them waddling behind her, her scent preceding and choking the room before she appeared. She was my mom’s older sister. I could tell that my mother revered her. She had been the first to go abroad — even if she was deported with her husband, months later. It was strange to be standing at the end of this desolate street, waiting for our seemingly sophisticated Aunty Peace. I heard her voice from behind me. She seemed to have emerged from a tiny road just behind me.
“Maya, how are you?” She took a disapproving glance at me. “I am doing okay, I am just coming from the office”, I said, to give her an explanation for the high heels and shoes. She looked at my heels and asked If I can walk properly in them as she wanted me to go to the market with her.
The haggling had gotten louder and jostled me back to the present, and it was an embarrassing sight as my aunt began to yell curse words at the trader. “Madam, please, how much is it?”, I asked, irritated by the gathering bystanders and stares. Soon I was pulling out my purse to pay for the eggs. I could feel my aunt’s angry eyes fixated on me. Walking away from the store, I could hear her voice behind me. “You have money to waste. Don’t you know that the woman just cheated you and the eggs are not even original?”. How does one recognize original eggs? NAFDAC number? I was too tired to engage in any arguments. I just wanted to grab whatever item my mum had sent and leave. As we neared the junction where she had originally picked me up from, she turned to me, fidgeting with her phone — hitting it till it came on. “Do you have airtime? I left my other phone at home. I normally recharge like 10,000 naira airtime on it every month but it is not here”. Now I was beginning to wonder if she really went to America, as she had told everyone. Even the news of her deportation had only surfaced after she had originally told everyone that she and her husband had come back to invest in a better Nigeria.
She placed a call to one of my cousins to bring the bag that my mother had given to her. Why wouldn’t she take me to her house? My feet hurt and I could use a seat and some water. “My house is inside an estate in this area. I don’t want to stress you with your heels” Same Aunty that had me standing in the market for over an hour, but I understand. Looking around me, it was hard to believe that there was an estate tucked within the area. I got my bag in no time and was ready to leave. She began to describe my way out when I told her I would hail a ride. She looked at me disapprovingly, asking how I could save in Lagos if I was always getting cab rides anywhere I went.
As we stood there waiting for my ride, she told me how my cousins were doing so well at the university, ‘taking the first position in their classes’. “Your mother even told me you were looking for a place to stay. Have you found one?”
“Well, not yet. I’m going to get a really nice place at an affordable price, with a flexible payment option.”, I said, only noticing now how badly worn her slippers were. Either she was a miser like my mum suggested or a chronic poser as my dad called her to my mum’s disapproval. “Better don’t get a big place like that. You know that very soon, you will marry and go to your husband's house. If you start living all this expensive life, no man will want to marry you, plus you will become lazy. How will you be able to push out babies? If you want, I can get you a cheap place around here.” If this was where she lived, then she was the one who needed help, Hiyalo’s being precise. “Aunty”, I said, pulling out my tablet from my handbag. It was my turn to show off. I knew she would tell my mum how I was spending so much on phones and rides. “there’s this company called Hiyalo. You can join their waitlist. They have an awesome product that allows you afford a nice apartment without much stress at all. You can check them out by clicking on the highlighted link here”.
Thankfully, my cab arrived on time. I couldn’t bear to stand anymore, whether it was on my feet or her. I waved her a hasty goodbye as I rushed to the car. That was when she yelled, ”And I wanted to give you this nice wrapper I got as a gift from Italy o, but it is not your size”. I turned down the window and looked her straight in the eyes with a smirk on my face. “Not to worry, aunty, me I understand”. As the car zoomed off, I could see her taking the small dirt road. Was anybody in this Lagos normal?
