Finding Peace

A short story about friendship, challenges and reconciliation — from Christiana Ojonoka Agboni

When Martina began leaving my texts and messages unanswered, and later unread, my first thought was that something had gone wrong with her. I began calling her phone numbers, the three of them. None connected. I was aware that electricity was hard to come by in their place and she used the family diesel generator to charge her mobile phone every day. She had been doing that and we were never out of reach for more than a day. This was going to three days. My heart was shattered when I couldn’t reach her.

Slowly I began to think of what might have happened and finally the answer became clear. I couldn’t believe it at first. It stared me in the face for three whole days before I could wrap my head around the fact that Martina had indeed blocked me on social media and banned my phone numbers from calling or texting her. All because of a minor misunderstanding.

We used to have worse quarrels, and always made up that same day. But what I considered as nothing tore us apart. That was my mistake — forgetting the kind of person Martina was.

Martina had always been sensitive, aloof and managed to be alone in a crowd. In the whole Banking and finance Department of Federal University, Lokoja, Martina stood apart. She was called different names by our fellow course mates, ‘snob’ was the least of it. They felt she was better than the rest of us. She had pride and an ego the size of Nigeria.

Her looks didn’t hurt. Her eyes managed to be both dreamy and appealing with the lashes straight and full. Her lips formed a perfect cupid’s bow and her skin was as ebony as they come, dark and shiny with a sheen. She did not walk, she glided. Yet, no one ever approached her. The boys who did never had anything to say as she completely ignored them. The girls knew better than to talk to her. She was the departmental loner and seemed to be loving it until I became her friend.

For three years, I didn’t know if I spoke more than five words to Martina. One day in our final year, I came late and saw that she had come late as well. We smuggled into the backseat of the class and before the lecture ended, we had discussed investment banking. The pros and the con’s. Talking to her came naturally to me. I sensed her need to talk and went for it.

That same evening, I lifted her phone number from our departmental WhatsApp group and chatted her up. She responded immediately and that was the beginning of our friendship.

We had a lot of things to say.

“I’ve had a lot of painful experiences from being friends with people, they always want something from me, I’ve been betrayed by people I call friends. That’s why I prefer to be alone rather than go through the heartaches again.” She confided in me once.

“I perfectly understand you. Many of my so called friends are leeches too.” I told her.

We were so alike and yet obviously different. Her reasoning fascinated me. She had a pretty brain in her pretty head and that was the switch for me.

“I like your name, Vera sounds glamorous, it goes so well with your exotic looks,” she told me once. I literally walked on air for days after that. I fell in love with my milk chocolate skin all over again.

“You’re a breath of fresh air. I’m glad you don’t fit into the norm.” I told her.

It felt good to talk about things others wouldn’t easily understand. We discussed sensitive issues and before long we had a tightly knit friendship that I thought would withstand the storms of life.

Our friendship was a roller coaster. Martina was a temperamental being with a high sense of self-importance she could not easily subdue. Her sensitivity radar blipped faster than anyone else. I noticed all these and made allowances for her. I relied on the fact that I could tolerate people and whenever I felt her begin to wallow, I became her anchor.

“You have the perfect friendship, one of mutual understanding of who you both are at the core.” Our course mates said. I believed them.

You know how it is not every perfect thing that’s perfect for you, I did not know that then. My friendship with Martina became the handshake that passed the elbow and I became the little child who was not smaller than her offence.

A month into our final year second semester, Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) went on strike. We went home and after two months, there was no news of the strike being called off. My course mates who were tired of being sitting ducks began looking for things to do, I decided to do same.

Martina and I mostly chatted online. She was in faraway Niger state and I was in Lagos state.

“I want to learn hairdressing babe, you should find something to learn as well.” I told her one day.

She told me that the last thing on her mind was finding anything to do, that she was praying to just survive a day at a time. She sounded defeated and it irked me. A lot.

I proceeded to do what I’d always done whenever I felt she wanted to wallow. I told her I was disappointed in her, she should know better that life was for those who faced it with all they’ve got. It backfired horribly.

“Good luck and please leave me alone.” She texted me.

“Stuff your excuses. Only self-pitying people like you needs luck.” I replied her in fury.

That was when she told me how she was battling serious depression, and that her parents’ constant fighting ended with her mother leaving the house. She was trying to hold up her siblings and keep her head above water. She ended by saying I was acting out of character and being insensitive.

Circumstances can change one in an instant, it happened to me and Martina. I accused her of not confiding in me all she was dealing with. I turned malicious, throwing caution to the wind, I berated her depressed soul. I told her how her haughty spirit and obnoxious self esteem would lead to her downfall. I was like a broken pipe, pouring kerosene on top of a raging fire.

I typed my whole epistle in righteous indignation and waited for her to respond. She didn’t. I waited for a day, I apologized. My messages went answered. For three days, it was the same story and a week later, I realized she had cut me off.

I was pissed, rage swelled in me. I couldn’t’ believe what Martina had done. It felt surreal, like a dream, but it was reality. It was my life. I condemned her bitterly. I called her terrible names and wished a thousand evil on her. I began to blame myself, wishing I had never met her or talked to her.

The incident shook me deeply. Anytime I remembered it, my heart oozed afresh with a wound that wouldn’t heal. Guilt set in and my peace of mind fled.

I began to do an inner analysis of the whole situation and discovered that I was a little insensitive and pushy. I did that because I was comfortable in our friendship. Knowing how proud she was, I told her what to do, it must have hurt. My not knowing what she was going through was a solid excuse but I decided not to let that matter. Though she cut our friendship off abruptly, I needed to gain back my peace that had suddenly deserted me.

Two wrongs never made a right. I gave myself enough pep talks to enable me make the move for reconciliation. I waited for four agonizing and frustrating months for ASUU to call off the strike. The months crawled slowly — it felt like four years.

Martina never looked in my direction when we resumed. She would see me coming and face the opposite direction. I was undeterred. I was like a hound that had scented its prey.

I cornered her between two library desks one day, punched her lightly and gave a bright fake smile. We both cleared our throats loudly at the same time looking everywhere but at each other.

“I was an insensitive brat, forgive me, Martina.” I took one of her hands and squeezed.

“Oh Vera, I am so sorry.” Her voice caught and I hugged her close. Inhaling her perfume.

“I missed you,” we said in unison.

“Maybe you could do my hair sometimes,” she said as her face brightened with a full smile. I nodded, smiling too not wanting to tell her just then that I never learnt hairdressing, I couldn’t concentrate. I was busy feeling guilty.

“I brought a purple palazzo for you,” she informed me and I squeaked in delight.

The librarian on duty cleared her throat behind us.

I gave Martina a jaunty wave which she returned with a sunny smile. I ducked between the desks to slip out of the library.

Martina and I might never be as close as before but I was confident in the fact that there was no animosity between us any longer. There was a certain peace that comes from reconciliation, I found it.

Christiana Ojonoka Agboni is a Nigerian writer. She writes Literary Fiction, Christian Fiction, Crime Fiction and Romance. Her stories have appeared in Writers Space Africa magazine, and ‘Hell Hath No Fury,” an anthology of Christmas romance, as an amazon best seller. She is also a free lance writer with InfoGuide Nigeria. When she is not writing, she is busy reading or teaching people to read, and write. Christiana can be found on twitter@ChrisAgboni. Her website @http://bloggingwchristine.wordpress.com