Growing Pains

Growing in pains _ chapter 3

*Growing in Pains - Chapter 3: Under Rain With You*

Ibadan rain no get mate.

One minute the sun dey laugh for sky like say nothing dey happen. Next minute cloud go gather dark-dark like angry landlord, and _gbim_ rain go start to fall like say heaven wan wash the whole city clean.

That Tuesday evening, the rain fall for Bodija like punishment.

*ADA OKAFOR* stood by her window. Her one-room apartment was small. Blue paint dey peel for corner. The fan on the ceiling dey do _krr krr krr_ every 10 seconds like say e wan retire. NEPA don carry light since 3pm. The only light now na the torch light she put on top of her fridge, and the glow from her Tecno phone.

The air smelled like wet dust and suya from Mama Titi’s stand downstairs.

Her heart was heavy. Not the small heavy. The kind wey dey sit for your chest like stone.

Today for the boutique for Challenge where she dey work as sales girl, her boss Madam Nkechi disgrace her.

_“Ada! You think say because you get nyash and fine face, you fit dey useless? Customer dey wait you dey press phone! Oya pack your things and go if you no wan work!”_

Front of everybody. Front of customers wey dey buy Ankara.

*ADA* smile and say “Sorry ma” but inside her, something break. Again.

She’s 24. She dey hustle. She send money home to Onitsha every month for her younger brother Chinedu school fees. She no get time to be useless. But nobody ask her.

Her phone buzzed on the mattress.

*3 missed calls.*

*7 w******p messages.*

All from one person.

*DAMOLA ADEBAYO.*

She didn’t open them. If she open am, she go cry. If she cry, she no go stop.

Then his voice cut through the rain outside her door.

“Ada! Ada open door!”

*ADA* froze.

How?

She peeped through the curtain. There he was. Soaked.

*DAMOLA ADEBAYO.* 32 years. Tall like iroko tree. Dark skin wey dey shine even for rain. White polo shirt now transparent and sticking to him chest and six-pack. Face cap dripping water. In his left hand, black nylon bag. In his right, big flask.

Her heart did _gbe gbe gbe_.

Three months ago she met him when him come buy Ankara for him sister for the boutique. Him talk too much. Him laugh too loud. Him ask for her number and she say no. He came back the next day. And the next.

“Na because I like your stubborn head,” he told her later. “Any girl wey fit tell Damola no, na her I wan.”

*ADA* sighed. She opened the door.

“You dey craze?” she shouted over the rain. “Wet rain dey beat you, you dey come here? Go your house!”

*DAMOLA* stepped inside without waiting. Water dripped from him to her floor. The room suddenly felt too small. And too warm.

“Make I go house leave you here alone dey sad?” he said like it was nonsense. “No possible.”

He set the nylon on her small table. Inside: hot eba wrapped in foil, rubber of egusi soup, two bottles of malt, a pack of puff-puff still warm, and the flask.

“Pepper soup,” he said, lifting the flask. “With extra pepper and goat meat. The way *ADA* like am when her mood spoil.”

*ADA* wanted to shout. Wanted to say “Don’t do this Damola. Don’t make me soft. Don’t make me believe again.”

But her stomach betrayed her with a loud _grummm_.

*DAMOLA* burst out laughing. That deep laugh that starts from him belle and fills the whole room. “See? Even your belle know say I dey right. Make we chop first before we talk life.”

They sat on the floor. Because her only plastic chair had one leg and she used it to hold her bucket. The torch light made shadows on the wall. Outside, rain dey do _tata tata tata_ on the zinc.

For 10 minutes nobody talk. Just the sound of them chewing and the rain.

Then *DAMOLA* put his spoon down. “Talk to me, Ada.”

*ADA* looked at the floor. “Wetin I wan talk?”

“Wetin make your eyes red like this before rain start? I know you. When you dey like this, na because somebody wound you.”

The words came out before she could stop them. “My boss. Madam Nkechi. She shout me today. Call me useless. For front of customers. Say I be disgrace to Igbo girls.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

Silence. Only rain.

Then *DAMOLA* shifted. He didn’t touch her yet. “Come here.”

“If I come, I go cry.”

“Make you cry na,” he said softly. “Cry for me. *ADA* no be superwoman. You fit break. And when you break, make you break for my hand.”

Something inside *ADA* snapped.

She crawled into his arms and she broke.

Not fine crying. Ugly crying. The kind where snot dey come out and your chest dey shake. She cried for the boss. She cried for her mama for village wey dey sick. She cried for all the times she had to be strong when she was tired.

*DAMOLA* didn’t say “shhh.” He didn’t say “be strong.”

He just held her. One hand rubbing circles on her back. The other hand holding the back of her head to his chest. And he started to pray. Soft. In Yoruba mixed with English.

_“Oluwa, hold my girl. She strong too much. Too strong. Give her rest. Give her joy. Make anybody wey wan disgrace her, disgrace go meet them. Emi ni tire, Ada. Even for your pain. Na me be your own.”_

I’m yours. Even in your pain.

When the tears stopped, *ADA*’s eyes were swollen and her nose was blocked. But her chest felt lighter.

*DAMOLA* used the edge of his wet polo to wipe her face. “You sabi say you fine even when you dey cry like pikin?”

“Shut up,” *ADA* mumbled.

“I no go shut up,” he grinned. “Make rain beat me for 40 minutes come here, na to come dey quiet? No.”

He took her hand. His palm was rough from driving keke and lifting cartons, but warm.

“*ADA*, make I talk true to you.”

She braced herself.

“I like you. No be small like. I _like_ you. The kind wey make me dey think about you when I dey count money for office. The kind wey make me leave meeting and drive come here because the thought of you sleeping with pain for your heart dey pain me pass rain wey dey beat me.”

*ADA* shook her head. “Men dey talk like this everyday, Damola.”

“Ah, but I no be every man,” he said. And his eyes got serious. “I grow for Ajegunle. I sabi hunger. I sabi wetin mean to work from 5am to 11pm and still no get enough. I sabi wetin mean to see good thing and fear to touch am because wetin if e break and cut your hand?”

He squeezed her hand.

“But you... *ADA OKAFOR*. You worth the risk. You worth me to come here for rain. You worth me to fight for.”

The rain outside started to slow. From heavy _tata_ to small _pik pik_.

“Give me one chance,” *DAMOLA* begged. “Just one. Make I prove to you say not all men go leave you when wahala come. Not all men go call you useless and walk away. Give me one chance to be your safe place.”

*ADA*’s heart was beating so loud she was sure he could hear it.

She thought about her past. About Emeka who left her when her mama fall sick and she needed money. About how she swore “no man again.”

But *DAMOLA* was here. Soaked. With food. With soft eyes.

She reached up. Touched his wet cheek. “You’re cold.”

“And you’re smiling,” he whispered.

She was. Small. Shaky. But real.

“Okay,” she said. Voice barely there. “One chance, Damola.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since he left Dugbe.

Then he did the thing that made *ADA* forget the boss, forget the bills, forget the pain for one second.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Long. Soft. Like he was sealing a covenant.

_“Omo mi,”_ he murmured against her skin. _“My own. From today.”_

*ADA* closed her eyes. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel alone in the dark.

They talked till 11pm. About stupid things. About his first keke wey break down for Third Gate. About how *ADA* used to sell pure water for Onitsha before she come Ibadan. About how they both hate okra soup but pretend to like it for elders.

When *DAMOLA* finally stood to go, the rain had stopped. The ground outside was shiny.

“Make I drop you?” he asked, joking.

“Get out,” *ADA* laughed and pushed him.

At the door he turned back. “Tomorrow I go come see you for boutique. Make I buy something so Madam Nkechi go know say my girl get customer wey get money.”

“Don’t start,” *ADA* warned but she was smiling.

“I go start,” he winked. “Because *ADA* deserve person wey go announce am.”

After he left, *ADA* stood in her small room. The food smell still dey. The torch still dey. But something changed.

She opened her journal and wrote:

_“Growing in pains. But today, I didn’t grow alone. Damola came in the rain. Maybe... maybe growing can be soft too.”_

She slept that night without crying.

---

The next morning, Ibadan was bright. Too bright. Like the rain washed away everything except wahala.

*ADA* wore her best Ankara dress to work. The blue and gold one. Walked into the boutique with her head high.

Madam Nkechi looked up from her desk. “You come late.”

“I’m on time, ma,” *ADA* said calmly.

And that’s when the door opened.

*DAMOLA ADEBAYO.* In black polo, jeans, and sunglasses. Looking like money.

“Good morning,” he said loud. “I wan buy Ankara for my mama. The expensive one. 50k and above.”

Madam Nkechi’s eyes widened. “Oga welcome sir! Ada, come and attend to this customer well o!”

*DAMOLA* looked straight at *ADA* and winked.

And *ADA* understood.

This was him. Keeping his promise.

Growing in pains? Yes.

But with *DAMOLA*, the pain no longer taste like loneliness.

It tasted like hope.

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*End of Chapter 3*

*Word count: ∼3020*

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*Lead Characters Recap:*

- *ADA OKAFOR* - 24, Igbo girl, boutique sales girl, sending money home, soft heart under tough skin

- *DAMOLA ADEBAYO* - 32, Yoruba guy, logistics owner, Ajegunle boy, loud love, soft heart

How far? 😭❤️ That one touch you?

*Chapter 4 gist*: Madam Nkechi go start to dey use *ADA* and *DAMOLA* matter play politics. And *DAMOLA* ex go show face.

stay tuned to read the next chapter

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