For The Broken One, For the Foolish One.

Photo by Arnel Hasanovic on Unsplash

“Oh God, Genevieve, please don’t sound so sad. Please, it’s not helping!”

“Anana, you loved that job.”

“Ehn, I’m fully aware. Trust me.”

“Now what? What next?” Genevieve asked.

“If you ask me, who will I ask?”

“I feel bad,” Genevieve pouted.

“I feel worse,” Anana retorted playfully. “Let’s just keep loosening this hair. Mr. Geoffrey isn’t back with fuel yet, and it’s getting dark in the living room.”

“Oguta hasn’t gotten better with this light situation.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Would I sound so naive if I said yes?”

“No. You’re an optimist, Genevieve. A bit dramatic. Very expressive. But you’re an optimist.”

“Aww! You’re an optimist too! You just like to form.”

“Whatever.”

“Should we go to the balcony, get some fresh air?”

“Eh…the sand flies...” Anana hesitated.

“I know! But it’ll be good for us.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Anana gave in. “Where’s Bashir?”

“Oh, he went with Mr. Geoffrey.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you know he’s excited to be here.”

“I could tell by the way he demolished that pounded yam and nsala soup during lunch…”

“Anana, don’t judge! It melts in your mouth.”

“True. Okay, let’s go! Wait…wait…wait!” 

“Why are you moving like an old woman?” Genevieve teased.

“My legs are dead! Abi my butt is sore? Help abeg. There you go! Was that so hard?”

“Oh look at you, all excited!”

“Excited?”

“Stop pretending. I know you.”

“You know what?”

“Don’t worry, yeah, he’ll soon wake up from his nap. Then you can release all of that pent up energy on him.”

“Shh! Genevieve, behave.”

“Stop forming and count your blessings. This is is a good sign. He came! He’s here.”

“That could mean anything, Genevieve. Emmanuel is always up for an adventure.”

“Travelling to the East from Lagos by road is not an adventure. It’s time consuming. Uncomfortable. Risky.”

“You’re making solid points.”
“Let’s not forget that he is a workaholic…”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But I have to! Check it out, how many times has he been on a work call since he got here?”

“Three, four times? Hmm. You might be right.”

“I always am. Ooh. This breeze is giving me life! Shey that was my idea too?”

“Genevieve.”

“What?”

“Shh.”

Anana closed her eyes and rested her head on Genevieve’s knee. She looked up to see that Genevieve was closing her eyes too. She took the opportunity to admire her. Genevieve was a warm turmeric, with hazel eyes and soft curves and lemon twists. She had a way of making you fight for more. She opened her eyes.Anana quickly faced her front. “Thank you for being here,” Anana exhaled. Genevieve planted a big kiss on her cheek. They both ignored the spark that followed. 

“I would do anything for you, Anana.”

“I know. And I’m happy he’s here. But you know…this is bigger than him.”

“I know.”

“I built my whole identity in this role. All of my clothes at home are suits. Business casual, business formal, mufti Fridays. And I was almost there. I was almost at the top, at least for my level of experience, my scant connections, the sacrifices I made to show up everyday, even on the days I had no business leaving my house, when cramps would threaten my sanity. I didn’t dye my hair because of company policy. I tucked in my nose piercing to be taken seriously. I hated heels, but I wore them everyday like I loved them. I…I lived to work. Wallahi, this feels like a break up. And you’re right. Now what? What will I do now?”

“Anana, you have enough work experience and contacts, I’m sure that within two months we can get something else—.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about…never mind. Thank you, Genevieve. Will you join me on my morning walk tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Okay. Why are you asking again, if you know what will happen?”

Anana shrugged.

“Bloody optimist,” Genevieve concluded with a smile.

“I can’t help it.”

“And that’s why we love you.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Well, that’s why I love you.” Of course, Anana didn’t hear her. But then again, she wasn’t supposed to.

*

When Mr. Geoffrey and Bashir returned from the gas station, Bashir turned on the generator whilst Mr. Geoffrey answered yet another one of his madam’s frenetic calls. No, Anana was not ready to come back to Lagos yet. Yes, she was doing well. No, the generator had not broken down yet. Yes, her friends were here. By the time she cut the call, Mr. Geoffrey remembered why he was happy to be in Oguta, despite not being with his children, or sleeping in his bed; there’s no better feeling than sleeping on your own Vitafoam. This was a spur of the moment paid vacation, where he could enjoy the village air and swim in the Lake. Fortunately, Anana did not ask for much. She only needed him to buy fuel, take Agnes the cook to the market, and turn off the generator at midnight so that it could rest. Now that there were guests, they would probably keep it on till seven in the morning, which meant he could sleep early and uninterrupted. At first, he was concerned, but then Anana reassured him that she had funds. Her company had given her a very nice severance package. He wasn’t used to seeing her sit still, stand in one place, talk slowly, or her forehead being smooth,  not creased with worry or dread. It was an open secret that everyone in that house off Admiralty Way was happy that finally, finally, she was no longer working in that wretched bank. Maybe that’s why she left Lagos. No one understood her. Anana was young enough to question God, which is what he had hinted to his madam when they were getting ready to leave for Oguta. Give her time, he advised. And bless her, she was really trying. But she still worried. Everyone in the family, even Agnes that just met her a few days ago, worried about her. She was a sweetheart. But he trusted Anana. She would find her way, especially with these friends that were here to keep her company. He liked them. If Anana was willing to listen to them, maybe she would finally be at peace with the will of God. But the big-hearted girl was incredibly stubborn. Time would tell. He heard glasses clink and a round of cheers. Maybe the other man was awake. That one liked to sleep! If they were drinking, that meant food was ready. He made his way to the boy’s quarter: Agnes would set aside his own food and bring it to him. He hoped that Anana spent a few more days in Oguta; he liked being treated like the king that he was. He passed Bashir, who was bringing out a sewing machine from the boot of the Jeep. He looked away, quickly losing interest. Wetin concern him? 

*

Bashir trudged up the stairs, unsure of what to expect. Genevieve had told him not to bring out the machine until they had settled in; it was supposed to be a surprise. That’s what she told him. But she sounded unsure of herself, like it may not be as good of an idea as it seemed. Bashir thought it was pretty straightforward. Anana was unemployed and on the verge of a mental breakdown. She used to sew. So what could possibly be the problem—-?

“Genevieve, are you serious?”

Bashir froze.

“Anana. Calm down.”

“I don’t even own a sewing machine anymore, where did you get that from?”

“I bought it, Genevieve responded.” Bashir cleared his throat. “We bought it,” Genevieve corrected herself.

“And why would you do that?”

“It will be good for you. Bashir, place it on the dining table. I saw a desk somewhere on the other side of the duplex, we can put it down there later. Anana, are you going back to Lagos with us on Sunday?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you see yourself applying for jobs any time soon?”

“No.”

“Okay. Bashir, why are you still holding that thing? Put it on the dining table, don’t be scared. She’s happy we brought the machine for her, can’t you tell? Thank you!” She blew a kiss at him. “Babe, listen. We hadn’t even left Lagos yet when the Spirit told me to get this machine for you.”

“The Spirit or her mother?” Bashir chimed in.

“Why can’t it be both?” 

Bashir and Anana hissed in unison. Genevieve looked between the both of them, strangely proud. They were more similar than different. They even looked alike if your eyes were blurry enough. Bashir was darker, like a bright charcoal, with raspberry lips and beautiful teeth. He had a way of being just enough. Tall enough, muscular enough, kind enough. Genevieve’s grandmother had met him when he came to pick her up and proclaimed that he was the kind of man that made you want to have sons. Of course she hid her approval. He had a seriousness around him, like a timelessness. And it made him very dependable, kind of boring, especially if you were more into bolts and sparks. Fortunately, Genevieve didn’t care for those kinds of things. Why else would she be friends with him? Or Anana for that matter? 

Emmanuel walked into the room, yawning. He gestured at the machine and turned to Anana. “How do you feel about the machine?” he asked carefully. He knew her. Of course, Genevieve knew her too, maybe even more. But he felt her. And that counted for something. He took a step forward. “I know how you feel about sewing.”

“Let’s not make this more than what it is. Thank you, Genevieve. Thank you, Bashir. Thank you, Emmanuel.” She hugged everyone but Emmanuel. Instead, she shook his hand. She could barely look him in the eye. Genevieve and Bashir exchanged looks. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

He nodded, amused by her bashfulness. “You look good,” he said. She really did. Anana was a well baked sienna with powder pink lips and a honey butter tongue. Her hair, typically in two strand twists, was re-released, fuzzy and red and fire. Fire. Fire. Fire.

“Thank you,” she replied shyly. They went to the balcony, leaving behind Genevieve and Bashir, who high fived each other behind their backs. 

“Wait right here,” she instructed before going back inside. He sat down. She came back with a bottle of rum, two shot glasses, and a bowl of red cherries. “Wait, I almost forgot! Water! Eh heh, that’s perfect…wait, no, some music! I have speakers.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll be right back! Just wait.” 

And he waited, ignoring his vibrating cell phone. Until he couldn’t.

Anana came back to a raised finger and silent plea for a few minutes. She bit her tongue and poured herself a shot. She searched for a playlist and tried to ignore her irritation. By the time he was done with his call, she was on her third shot.

“Please drink some water,” Emmanuel cajoled. She rolled her eyes but obliged. “I know you hate when I take work calls.” She refused to respond. “Things have been really hectic these days. They want us to work from home because our vendors haven’t shown up to supply fuel for the generator. And there’s this client that only wants to deal with me.”

“I thought you took time off work.”

“I did. I’m just wrapping up some things.” Anana sipped her water loudly. “I think the sewing machine is a good idea.”

“Will you buy the fabric for me?” 

“Genevieve brought some with her.”

“I should have known.”

“She thinks of everything.”

“Cheers,” she cut in, pouring him a shot. “You have to catch up to me. If you can handle it.” He downed his shot and gestured for another. She obliged, pleased. “Cheers to capitalism. The fucking bitch. Are you ready for the third shot?” She dared him with her eyes.

“Are you?” he responded, leaning forward slightly. 

“Ah, I like this side of you.”

“Are you going to keep talking or are you going to drink?” 

“Emmanuel…”

“Anana, cheers. Just drink.”

They drank in unison. Anana exhaled. “Do they drink in your office?” she mused.

“Sometimes.”

“We used to drink every Friday. Exclusively Martell. I could barely drink wine when I first started working there.” She sighed. “I slowly became a pro. Do you know I used to practice drinking at home, to increase my tolerance? I didn’t want them to catch me slipping.” She laughed bitterly. He watched her as he drank some water. “I used to be so scared that one day the jig would be up and I would get in trouble! I almost did, that one time with Chinonso and Tega. I know you know Tega…some would say you know her very well…”

“What are you hinting at?”

“Nothing.” She winked at him. 

“You’re mischievous.”

“And you like it.”

“Anana.”

“E-mma-nuel.”

“Tega and I have always been just friends.”

“What about Funke?”

“Friend.”

“Faridah?”

“Faridah doesn’t…she’s not…let’s just say her ways are not straight.”

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“So you were just fishing.” 

Anana smiled and then frowned. Emmanuel leaned forward.

“The sewing machine is a good idea.”

“I don’t know,” she replied softly. “There’s a reason I stopped sewing.”

“You know. You have a problem with my work life balance, but you were much worse than me at that job. It’s not very healthy.”

“Have you been speaking with my mother recently? That’s all she talks about.”

“Just hold on, I’m getting somewhere. You’re resisting something that makes you happy. Why?”

Anana did not respond. She popped a cherry in her mouth. Emmanuel followed suit. They spat the pits in napkins. Anana reached for the bottle of rum. “Please. Respect yourself,” Emmanuel chided. She shrugged. “Good girl.”

She hissed, trying to contain her smile. “I’m happy you’re here.”  

He nodded. Suddenly, he was shy too. They avoided saying anything else, eating their cherries with extra effort.

However.

When their eyes finally met.

She blushed.

& he blushed back.

*

“How do you feel about all of this?” Bashir asked Genevieve. They were in her room, sorting through fabric. They had just devoured white rice and stew with plantain. Bashir could barely stand. He had never experienced such satiety in his life. He was worried he would cry when he left The East.

“The fabric? The orange and yellow one is cute.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what!”

“Come off it.”

“Bashir!” 

“Genevieve! Geni baby. You know what I’m talking about.”

“This trip isn’t about that, Bashir.”

“We’re here to support her, I know that. But seeing how she is with him. Does it not hurt? Aren’t you hurt?”

“It’s always been like this…”

“This is different. She likes him.”

“That’s why he needs to be here. He makes her happy.”

“Okay o.”

“Let me break it down to you. I like her more than I love her. Does that make any sense to you?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to. This is just courtesy, this conversation.”

“Just say the word, and as soon as we get back to Lagos, Michael will take you out on a date. He’ll show you a good time.”

“Which of the Michaels? You know so many of them.”

“Bakery Michael.”

“Hmm. I like him. Or do I just like the free bread he sends to my office? I think it’s both.”

“He’s been asking for your number. I think there’s something brewing…or maybe something baking.”

“Mr. Bashir. That was a good one.”

“Abi?” They cackled. “God, I’ve missed this.”

“Same,” Genevieve replied. “How’s Tejiri?”

“She is not happy.”

“She’s never happy. But you get off on that.”

“Exactly…wait no, no, no I do not,” said Bashir.

“Yes you do. It’s okay.” She held her hands up. “I’m not judging you.”

“Okay.”

“Have you asked her out yet? Is she your girlfriend?”

“Shouldn’t we go to the Lake tomorrow?”

“I see you’re avoiding my questions.”

“Anana knows someone.”

“Are you serious, Bashir? What aren’t you telling me?” She sighed. “Okay, let’s try and go to the Lake tomorrow.”

“Good! I need to boil some water and—”

“No, let’s drink some Milo together first.”

“Milo…”

“Do you like your Milo milky?”

“I think I’m a fairly balanced person. I like equal proportions…after you.”

“Oh how gentlemanly of you, opening the door like that.”

“But answer this, do you put the milk before the cereal or the cereal before the milk?”

“Cereal before milk.”

“Okay. You’re still somewhat sane.”

They stood in the kitchen, glancing at the balcony. They watched Anana and Emmanuel spit pits in the air. They shook their heads.

“They’re cute.”

“We’re cuter.”

“Yeah, Bashir. Two love-lorn compliance officers who follow all of the rules except the rules of love, shit that would make a good movie.” 

“Me, I’m leaving the compliance o.”

“Shut up. You’re not leaving your uncle’s company.”

“I’m literally working on the resignation letter as we speak.” Geneveive laughed. She stopped when he didn’t join in.

“Bashir.”

“Genevieve, don’t you want more for me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They sipped from their mugs. 

“Your stomach is going to be so messed up tomorrow.” 

Bashir narrowed his eyes but dared not disagree. The writing was on the wall. “Cheers, then.”

“Cheers.”

They clinked mugs.

Around 1am, the generator fluctuated. Bashir, Emmanuel and Mr. Geoffrey went to investigate. By 1:30am, it was obvious that the generator was down for the night. Groans filled the house as windows slid open, with only the thinnest of mosquito net windows assuring them that maybe, just maybe, they would be able to leave Oguta without malaria. It didn’t take long before Anana entered Genevieve’s room, with a battery powered mini fan. The girls took turns.

“God!”

“I know right? It gets hot very quickly in this house.”

“Yes!”

“I can hear Bashir snoring from the other side of the house. That was quick.”

“He ate a lot of food. I’m surprised he even woke up to check out the generator.” 

They giggled. 

Genevieve turned serious. Anana raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked.

“Why did you stop sewing?”

Anana sighed. She tried to smile nonchalantly. “I was too good at it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, I was really good at it. I hooked my mother and friends up, to the point that if I wasn’t working, I was sewing. Mind you, that was like what, six years ago? When I first started working at the bank and had a lot to prove to so many people. So many bastards who ironically got fired or quit. And there was an opportunity to go to Paris…this apprenticeship opportunity where you…you get mentored by the best of the best in haute couture! I was part of the lucky winners. Two months, all expenses paid, to learn and grow! It was fucking Paris! God! But it was unrealistic. I just got this job, this job that I wrote so many exams and went through four interview stages. I wasn’t going to throw it away. So I turned it down. And I didn’t give myself a break. I tried to keep sewing. But it just got me so angry. I got a bit depressed. So I gave the machine out, locked up. And here we are, six years later. Laid off. Forced to face it all.”

For the first time, Genevieve held her tongue. Anana exhaled. She was feeling better. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if I made a mistake. I feel like I didn’t. But sometimes I would pick up these magazines and see people who started with me, soaring. But I always had my job. It was my crutch.” She threw her hands in the air. “Now I don’t have that.”

Geneveive patted her on the shoulder. It was her turn to use the fan. Anana handed it to her. She stared into the darkness. “I’m really happy you got me the machine. Like once I get past the defensiveness and regret. It’s really beautiful.” Genevieve nodded, even though Anana couldn’t see her. “I think that’s why I ran over here. Because that house…they wouldn’t give me one day to grieve without offering solutions and next steps. And yes, I realize it’s good to keep your hands busy. But sometimes, I just want to curl up in my bed and watch Netflix all day without dramatizing this…this protagonist rising above the ashes and chasing a long forgotten dream. I don’t want to admit that I’m wrong. Because I think I was wrong. I was wrong, Geneveive.”

“I think you did the best you could with what you knew at the time.”

Anana chuckled bitterly. “Time doesn’t recognize that you did your best.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I should have gone to Paris.”

“And if that hadn’t worked out you would regret not staying at your job.”

“Hmm.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Hmm.” Anana reached for Genevieve’s hand. “You’re a good friend, Genevieve.”

“I mean, duh.”

“And you always show up for me, oftentimes at your inconvenience.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“That’s right. Because we are friends. We show each other our playing cards. We don’t mince words. And the only secrets we keep are melodramatic, soapy, unfulfilled visions where we expect to make perfect decisions even though we don’t know shit until we know shit.”

“Amen sister.”

“But there is something you got wrong.”

“Hmm?”

Ananna kissed Genevieve’s fingers. “Emmanuel makes me giddy. He doesn’t excite me. You do.”

Anana stood up from the bed and spoke into the darkness. “I like Emmanuel, a lot. And this may turn into a romantic situation, it may just be another thing that bursts into flames. But you? I love you. In ways you can’t even imagine.” She smiled. Genevieve couldn’t see it, but she felt it. “Good night, Genevieve.”

“Good night, Anana.”

*

Shortly afterward, Bashir woke up to a text message notification. With the little strength he had, he rubbed his eyes and stared. It was a text from Genevieve telling him to give Michael her number. 

He nodded, pleased with his role. And then his stomach growled.

Oh no.

*

“Good morning, Anana. Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“No, you’re good. I just acknowledged my grandfather at his tombstone in the morning.” She poured some water on the ground before taking a sip. “I’m surprised to see you here, Emmanuel. Shouldn’t you be passed out by now?”

“Ha ha. Stop acting like we didn’t used to stay up all night texting back in the day.”

“Yeah, back in the day. You’re getting old.”

“I see we got jokes, yeah. Let’s be joking and walking. This is a pretty big compound.”

“Yes! For all the trees! My grandmother loves her trees. That’s the orange tree, the avocado tree, the mango tree. Our neighbor has a palm tree. Back when she lived here full time, we would always have a glass of palm wine at night. Even the children sipped. Do you go to your village?”

“Not really.”

“Will you ever?”

“I don’t know actually.”

Anana hands felt lonely, like they needed to be held. She quickly tucked them into her pockets. They fell into step. Anana looked up to see Genevieve waving at her from the balcony, groggily, before going back into the house. “She actually woke up today.”

“She woke up yesterday too. She tried to wake me up to go on the walk instead.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” They smiled at each other and continued to walk in silence. He cleared his throat. Anana looked up. “I’m not much of a talker…I don’t talk unless I need to. And I feel like I need to…because I…we’re similar. We work to live. And look at us now. You’re broken. I’m a fool, answering calls and text messages at 10pm, because I can. But why? What’s the point?” He shrugged. She shrugged back. “I’m not going to quit my job tomorrow. I may not change my ways anytime soon. But just know that this season, it’s a blessing. You have been given a chance, with no other option, to recreate your life. And knowing you, I know you will create a beautiful life.” He stopped in his tracks. She stopped, confused. “Give me your hand.” She obliged. “Anana, you know I like you. I like you very much. And I know I work a lot, and I know you’re on this path of rediscovery, and God knows when you’ll come back to Lagos, you’re already asking Mr. Geoffrey to look for paint to re-paint your room, that’s just incredible- how did you get so adjusted so quickly?- and you’re glowing. You’re glowing. And I really like you. And I want to get to know the new you. And we’re…I could have done this elsewhere, the Lake would have been perfect but Bashir…he’s fighting for his life as we speak in that bathroom, it was a horror sharing that room with him. Anyways. When you do get back to Lagos. I want to take you out on a date. Uninterrupted. I will put my phone on do not disturb. I’ll change as much as I can get away with. Let me take you out on a date. Please.”

She smiled. 

“Okay.”

They shook hands.