By Dabi Lolomari

Miriam sat in the car as her boyfriend, Eddy, manoeuvred his black Lexus, courtesy of his renowned father and revered politician, out of the spacious parking lot of the luxurious Tush Hotel. They had been residing at the Tush for the last couple of months as they awaited their NYSC call letter.

 ‘Good morning, Sir! …good morning princess!’, shouted the two security men and the gardener deferentially as they hailed Eddy with their closed fists up in the air. A gesture, she had come to learn, used in Nigeria to salute and ‘hail’ big men; big men being intended to be men of means and achievements.  But Eddy, at twenty-three years of age, was neither a man of means nor of achievements. His luxurious lifestyle was a result of his father’s wealth, and he was but a fresh graduate who had never worked a day in his life.

She braced herself in the passenger seat with a meek smile as Eddy dismissively shouted ‘I dey come!’ He sped past them almost brushing the security man who had to jump out of the car’s way.

‘I dey come’, she had also learnt, was a cheeky way of deflecting their silent request for money which was implied in between the hailing and the flattering greetings.

Her mind went back to the heated debate they had just had in their cosy hotel room surrounded by lush carpets, velvet curtains and a ‘mortuary standard’ air conditioner.  After serving them breakfast in their luxurious room, the waiter opened up to Eddy in her presence to recount his struggles as the only son to a widowed and sickly mother. He could barely afford to pay his mother’s hospital bills, he had said whilst looking down at his worn-out black shoes, his voice shaky… Eddy had handed him a handful of notes halfway through the story. He already knew where the conversation was headed and wasn’t particularly interested in the details of the story. Eddy tucked into his breakfast eagerly; dismissively nodding his head as the waiter thanked him profusely. The entire conversation had taken place without either attempting to make eye contact.

 ‘Work harder na!’ he muttered to himself as the waiter shut the door on his way out.

Miriam had attempted to explain to Eddy, once again, that from her observations as a recent returnee, most jobs in Nigeria didn’t pay enough to maintain a dignified life; especially not hotel jobs. Miriam was quite observant: she had noticed hotel staff sleeping in hidden corners of the luxurious hotel in the early hours of the morning on her way out to the gym.

‘I’m sure they were too lazy to go home; besides what do you know about these things’,  Eddy had replied nonchalantly at her attempt to explain a reality different from what he knew. He had that all too familiar vacant expression he displayed openly when he was bored of a conversation.

They had had several debates along these lines: with Miriam trying to show him a different side of life and him showing a lack of understanding or interest in what it meant to be on the other side of life. At this juncture, she would usually shut down, her lips pursed, for fear of saying more words. Words that may reveal how in her twenty-three years of life, born and bred in London by a single mother with an absent father, she had started working menial jobs from the age of sixteen and right through university. Cashier? Done.  Sales attendant? Done. Hotel receptionist? Done…. It definitely wasn’t uncommon for a young student to do such jobs abroad and, whilst they were better paid than their Nigerian counterparts, they were still minimum wages that definitely couldn’t afford one a lavish lifestyle.

Back in Nigeria, by Eddy’s side and hanging out with his other silver-spoon kids, she sure did look the part with her milky skin, perfect denture, dimpled smile and her natural waist length, luscious hair. She would smile mysteriously when asked which expensive imported hair products she used on her hair, or which luxurious hair salon she graced. Her hair was merely the result of painstakingly following instructions from online videos on ‘how to grow your hair naturally on a budget’.  She had followed natural hair videos year after year until she had finally achieved a beautiful waist-long mane with cheap products that she could also get from any market back here in Nigeria.

Eddy proceeded to speed down the streets of Abuja to her favourite corn spot in Maitama where they were regulars every Sunday morning.

‘Besides, who stops these people from going to school and bettering their lives’, he grumbled, as they sped past some beggarly-looking figures selling fruits and cigarettes on the roadside.

‘You know, some of them do go to school but still can’t get jobs for lack of connections’, she replied quietly, holding onto the door handle for her dear life. She still couldn’t get used to his fast-driving style, even after six months of dating.

‘Pfft!’, he replied. ‘What are you even saying!!??? How is that possible?’

Miriam looked at his profile with the corners of her eyes. Eddy had been nothing but kind, understanding and generous to her: all the qualities that had made her develop feelings for him. She loved the way he had wined and dined her, pampering her and making her feel special. Yet, she just couldn’t reconcile the way he treated her with his lack of empathy and understanding for those with a less-privileged life. Was she overlooking a red flag? Was she reading too much meaning into his behaviour? Would he change with maturity? Could she change him? Are you meant to change the person you are dating? … so many questions to which she had no answers.

‘Oga well done ooo; madam welcome!’, shouted the corn seller as they approached him and slowed down to a halt.

‘Good day. Give me corn N1000’, said Eddy whilst grabbing some cash from his dashboard.

‘Yessir! I dey give you the best when I get’, said the seller as he enthusiastically stretched out his hand with a black bag filled with steaming hot roasted corn to Miriam.

‘Thank you’, she replied with a broad smile. She loved Nigerian roasted corn.

As Eddy changed gears ready to take off, the corn seller clutched her lowered window with his two charcoal-charred hands as if his life depended on it, ‘Sir, please I managed to get my HND from a polytechnic with so many sacrifices but since then, no job. That is why I have resorted to selling corn on the road. Please Sir, any small job you have for me would be better than this street life. I am very hardworking, Sir’, he said in one breath and in a hopeful tone. It was, once again, that same hopeful tone she had heard earlier in the waiter’s voice.

Miriam watched Eddy’s jaw drop wide open as he starred straight ahead in visible disbelief at what he had just heard. Yet again, totally avoiding any eye contact.

‘No problem’, he muttered as he drove off slowly and carefully; almost as though, if he mistakenly looked at the corn seller, he would have no choice but to face the reality of what he had just heard.

‘I can’t believe it: you were right! Some of these people actually did go to school’, he said quietly after a few minutes of dead silence in the car.

‘Never judge a book by its cover’, she almost whispered.

Was this God? The timing was mind-boggling! Could he ever become more understanding? Would he learn to look beyond people’s cover? Would he ever see beyond her cover? Miriam said a silent prayer: this was the man she was hoping to get married to…someday.

About the Author

An Interior Designer, Lawyer, Teaching Consultant and Journalist/writer, Dabi Lolomari is a CIAPS graduate of Media and Communications. She can be reached on IG: daby_dabz