From Nigeria With Love

The screen is split into three. We are ladies in our twenties, chapping white teeth like children when our eyes meet each other’s digitized faces. Of the three of us, I’m the only one still in Nigeria. These sporadic calls are one of the many ways we ensure the cord of our friendship isn’t easily broken. Our relationship, like plants, will wither if we do not nurture it.

On most days, we water the friendship with trending Instagram memes; we wrap little rays of sunlight into minute-long voice notes that we hope the other would wake up to in their time zone. We remember to share news in a timely fashion. Anything after two weeks suggests you have forgotten your friend.

We interrogate whoever is in the dock for more answers. In between, we trade anecdotes from much younger days—‘Do you remember Mr X, our math teacher in Louisville?’ Then we slip into fleeting arguments about the last time we physically saw each other: ‘Was it at the Adeniran Ogunsanya Mall in Lagos? Or at Iye’s wedding in Ibadan? Speaking of weddings, we’re all still unmarried. Are we serious like this?’ We tease ourselves. As ringlets of emotions feather across the call—excitement, nostalgia and sadness—I take a second to appreciate the beautiful, imminent passage of time. We are now grown women.

I was nine when I met Chibabes and FT. Our parents had independently thought it a brilliant idea to drop off clueless, impressionable, young girls at a stringent Catholic secondary school in the middle of nowhere. As the days grew into weeks and the weeks into months, we navigated the new world of incessant assignments, despotic seniors, ‘Madam Koi-koi’ rumours and all the other problems of a typical Nigerian boarding school. Our friendship didn’t happen at once; we crept into our love story. It helped that schools are replete with opportunities for friendships—repeated run-ins at the dormitory, sports field or a pew at the chapel.

15 years later, thousands of miles apart, we are on this call, taking turns rehashing life updates previously shared on our Forever Friends WhatsApp group chat. The group description, which is usually the celebration of a recent achievement or the anticipation of a goal, is captioned: ‘Anjola and FT get into an Ivy League School’. The display picture is from the last time we saw each other—at a dainty cake shop on Bode Thomas Street. We are holding treat bags with broad, bright smiles smeared on our faces.

As an act of finality, we reel out future plans which are mostly uncertain: quit a job, take a course, change cities. Like laundry spread out on sun-kissed grass, we are met with warmth as we lay out our fears about our various career paths. It is a safe space.

The tempo of our conversation wanes and we prepare to wrap up. I feel reinvigorated, happy to have taken yet another step toward protecting what we have. We try to determine when our next call should be, but it is to no avail. There are no see you soons but lots of I love yous peppered with let’s stay in touch. And we really do hope to stay in touch.