NO LOVE IN LASGIDI

WHY IS LAGOS LIKE THIS?

The sun is setting as I pull up to Fatimat’s house in Ajah. The drive from Ikoyi feels like a journey across two different worlds. I kill the engine and sit in the car for a moment, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are still puffy, but the anger is starting to replace the sadness. I need to talk to someone who doesn't share my last name.

I knock on the door, and Fatimat opens it almost immediately. She is wearing a silk bonnet and an oversized t-shirt, looking like the definition of comfort. One look at my face and she pulls me inside, slamming the door shut on the noisy Lagos night.

"Halima, baby, you look like you’ve been through a war". She says, leading me to her plush velvet sofa.

She doesn't ask questions yet. She just hands me a glass of cold wine and waits.

I spill everything. I tell her about Femi and the millions that vanished. I tell her about Gozie, the "single" Lekki boy who turned out to have a wife landing at the airport while I was sitting on his couch. I tell her how he shoved my shoes at me like I was a piece of trash. By the time I finish, I am shaking again.

"Fatimat, I have everything. I have the money, the looks, the name. So why am I the one always getting the short end of the stick?" I ask, my voice cracking.

Fatimat sighs, leaning back and taking a long sip of her own drink. She looks at me with eyes that have seen their own fair share of Lagos shege.

"Halima, listen to me," she starts, her voice calm.

"You think you’re alone in this? You think because you’re a billionaire’s daughter, the demons in this city will give you a discount? Abeg, let me tell you about the one that happened to me last year, before I met my current guy. This one will make your own look like a Disney movie". Fatimat adds in disgust.

She leans in closer, a mischievous glint starting to appear in her eyes.

"I met this guy, Segun. Fine boy, six-pack, works in oil and gas, or so he said. He was so smooth, Halima. He would call me 'Queen' and 'My Rib.' One Saturday, he invites me over to his place for a 'private dinner.' He says he’s cooking. I spent three hours doing my makeup, I wore my best lace, I even bought new heels". Fatimat says, angrily.

I find myself leaning in, the weight on my chest lifting just a little bit as I focus on her voice.

"I get to the house and the table is set. Candles everywhere. Music playing. He serves this pasta that tastes like heaven. We are halfway through the meal, the vibes are 10/10, and I’m already thinking about what our wedding hashtag will be. Then, suddenly, we hear a key turn in the lock. Segun’s face goes from chocolate to ash in two seconds". Fatimat continues, hastily.

"Don't tell me". I whisper, my eyes wide.

"Wait, it gets better. The door opens, and this woman walks in. But she’s not alone. She’s carrying a toddler, and she’s followed by an older woman, his mother-in-law. I’m sitting there with a fork halfway to my mouth, and Segun stands up and says, 'Fatimat, meet my sister from the village and her kids. They just arrived unexpectedly". Fatimat laughs, waving her hand.

"His sister?" I ask, almost starting to giggle.

"His sister!" Fatimat shouts.

"The 'sister' looks at me, looks at the candles, looks at the wine, and then she screams, 'Segun! Who is this Ashawo in my husband's house?' Halima, the woman was his wife of six years! She didn't even wait for him to explain. She grabbed the pot of pasta, the one I was enjoying, and she threw the whole thing at Segun’s head. Meatballs were flying everywhere. Sauce was dripping down his face. I had to jump over the sofa to avoid getting stained by tomato puree". Fatimat says, laughing.

I burst out laughing, a genuine, loud sound that surprises even me.

"No way! Fatimat, stop lying!" I shout.

"I swear on my life!" she says, laughing so hard she’s gasping for air.

I am doubled over now, the image of Fatimat hopping down a Lekki street with pasta in her hair finally breaking the dam of my sadness.

"See? You are laughing now". Fatimat says, her smile softening as she reaches out to pat my hand.

"Lagos will show you things, Halima. It doesn't matter if you live in a mansion or a face-me-I-face-you. These men are moving like agents of darkness. But you can't let them win. You can't let them take your joy". She says genuinely.

We sit there for a long time, laughing and sharing more stories, the ones about the guy who asked her to pay for food on the first date, and the one who tried to preach to her about modesty while he was cheating on his fiancé. For the first time in weeks, the air in my lungs feels light.

"I'm done crying. If they want to play, I’m going to show them I’m the coach". I say, wiping a tear of laughter from my eye.

Fatimat raises her glass.

"That’s the Halima I know. Drink your wine, sleep here tonight, and tomorrow, we start the new chapter. No more crying over men who can't even tell the truth to save their lives". She says, smiling.

I nod, feeling a strange kind of peace settle over me. The noise of Ajah outside feels like a celebration.

I look at Fatimat once more and the joy in my heart knows no bounds to have a queen as my friend.

I am Halima, and even though my heart is a mess, I am finally starting to see that in this city, you have to laugh at the madness, or it will eat you alive.