It has been only two weeks since I moved into this compound, and I was already regretting signing the tenancy agreement. My reasons had nothing to do with the size of the room. Neither was it the noisy children in the neighboring compound. It had nothing to do with the noise from the ever busy street nor was it the long distance I had to trek to the market. Already, I knew that to afford luxury housing in Lagos, one had to spend a huge amount of money.
My problem was Mama Chinedu until I really got to know her and her beautiful soul.
At first, Mama Chinedu was everywhere in my business. Trying to know where I worked and lived before, wanted to bring me meals, and always had her eyes on me even when I wasn't watching. And as an introvert, it bothered me. Like a thorn in my flesh.
“Good morning, my daughter! Hope you slept well?"
"You stayed late at work today."
"Are you not going to work today?"
"You didn’t go to church?"
All these questions and more. In fact, they were new every morning.
In my first week as a new tenant in that compound, I always smiled back at her and answered politely. It was wrong to ignore an elderly woman trying to be friendly. But by the next week, I found myself avoiding her.
I would hide at the sound of her voice. Sometimes I would even wait inside until she was gone before I would come outside. And when she knocked on my door, I would pretend not to be home.
Trust me, It wasn’t me being rude, no. It was me, loving and guarding my space. The more reason I had left my parents’ house. It was me being the private human I had always been.
But I thought Mama Chinedu never understood boundaries.
Until one evening, I had finished washing my clothes and unlocked my door to go spread them at the line behind the house.
I was halfway done when I heard her voice. She was making her way behind the house. I began spreading my clothes quickly. I didn't want to have her standing there with me. Throwing questions both personal and irrelevant at me.
"Chinedu, drop that ball! If you break any window here, you will pay for it o!" Her voice filled the entire compound, shaking the air. I rolled my eyes.
"Lord please," I muttered a silent prayer under my breath. I didn't want her to meet me there.
Soon, I heard her footsteps as she approached me.
"My daughter, you didn't go to church today?" she asked, dropping her buckets
I took a deep breath. “Yes, Ma'am. I overslept.” I replied, still focused on spreading my clothes quickly.
She dropped her buckets, took out this big, thick duvet, and threw it over the line. "I guess it's because of your work right? You barely have time for yourself."
I nodded. I didn't want to give a reply and prolong the conversation. I prayed she would get the memo.
But Mama Chinedu wasn't giving up. As I picked up my bucket to leave, she spoke.
"You know. You remind me so much of my late daughter," she said suddenly. Her hands were steady on the line, but her voice became softer, quieter, and laced with emotions. She had abandoned her clothes and turned to look at me.
I paused. Looked at her with a raised brow, depicting my confusion. "Your late daughter?"
"Yes. Her name was Chisom. She was my first child and only daughter." She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"I'm sorry Ma'am." I apologized.
“It's fine". She replied, sniffing a little. "You look so much like her. Hardworking, independent, always rushing to work. She never allowed me to take care of her. To her, she was supposed to be the one taking care of me as I was getting old, she would say.” Now, her smile was from the heart.
I smiled at her as I listened.
"What happened?" I asked.
"It was a work trip." She paused. Her eyes were welling up with tears. "She promised to call. But the call never came. She never arrived at her destination." Mama Chinedu exhaled.
I felt my breath get caught in my throat. "I'm sorry Ma'am." I apologized again.
Then she looked at me. Like really looked at me with a slight nod. “I know I might be disturbing, but you both have a lot in common. I just can't help it.” She let out a dry laugh.
And for the first time since I moved in, I saw Mama Chinedu differently. This time, not as a nosy neighbor, not as a meddlesome old woman, but as a mother who had loved and lost her daughter.
I tried to speak but my throat was dry. “I'm sorry Ma'am.” was all I could say for the third time.
She nodded and dismissed it with a wave. “It happened years back. I guess I'm over it now." She added.
I turned to walk back into my house. But something within me held me back. I slowly walked up to her. And without a second thought, I hugged her tightly.
She didn't fidget. Neither did she throw me off. She hugged me back in a warm embrace.
"You're free to disturb me anytime, Ma'am," I said before pulling free from her arms. Then I walked back into my apartment. I could still feel her eyes on me as I walked.
That was the day everything changed.
I hate the feeling been watched all the time one of my brother had a similar experience until he voiced out at her
Wow. You know sometimes, we just need to listen to others' stories to understand their reason for such attitude like Mama Chinedu. Glad you gave her listening ears, too because some other girls would have left her even while standing. Now, you understand her and would want to be around her often. So touching story of her late daughter.
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STOPThere are many people who sometimes approach us just for a little company or because we remind them of someone special. It was nice that you were able to establish a beautiful friendship with the lady in the end.
Thanks for sharing your experience with us.
Excellent day.