The One That Got Away

(Akachi)

There are two deaths I question myself about; one, which I’m still yet to move on from.

“There’s this guy, Black, who makes really nice meshai at flat”.

Akachi’s affirmations of getting the very best meshai (a meal of bread and egg) from Black got me to leave the campus that day. It felt weird, as years of being a boarder in secondary school made walking through the university’s gate feel like I was defaulting in some way. Still, I went with him as we had, after all, met for the first time at a meshai spot within the campus.

Our friendship started like most of the closest I have- me reaching out first. “You know having more than one egg a day is not healthy”, I had said to him that evening as we waited for our orders to be fulfilled. He had looked at me and asked what department I was in as if to say, “What gives you the right to school me” The satisfaction of telling him I was majoring in Food Science and Technology kept me smug the entire time we spent talking after which we exchanged contact as he walked me to my hostel. This I had agreed to because as a student in the English department and a writer like myself, I figured we’d have it easy communicating.

When you indulge in self-pity, you naturally turn away from others’ pain, even from your loved one’s- Handmade Love

The death of my friendship with Akachi was a murder- one which I am all too familiar with its culprit. I knew I was too invested in worrying about the probing questions my roommate, who happened to be a member of my fellowship, would ask if I stayed out late that evening even as we headed to Black’s stall, still, as the most indecisive teenager of the century, I let him make the decision. The meshai was indeed great, and he had paid- he was chivalrous like that. We walked back into school towards my hostel and talked about nothing and everything. My fear grew with each step as we got closer to my hostel. It was late, and I was sure to be questioned. My resentment grew too- why did I have to be scared of talking to her, who was younger than me? I knew all too well the answer to that question- that I didn’t want to be ‘that sister’ to my campus fellowship, and it was bound to happen if I got questioned by her and answered honestly. Although I was certainly not involved with him in the way it was most likely to be seen, I preferred those details skipped.

My memories from that moment are gone, but for the smell of the broken sewers of the hostel as we came to a stop. I was selfish to the end that the only memories I’m sure of from that night were of how filled up I was, and how bad the sewers smelled. “We are from different worlds, and I need to go back to mine”, I had said. Somewhere between pursuing my religion and living, I had decided he was a lesser sacrifice. Walking away from him that night, I was sure he’d never reach out to me again, yet I dared to call the very next day- I’d already been blocked. How do you kill something today and expect it alive the very next day? Well, I did.

He died the next year, suicide. I still remember our last conversation. He had asked how I was, “Nzube, kedu?” like we were friends who had not met up in a while. As I remembered the screened calls and texts and finally giving up, it was odd not feeling hurt as I responded, “I’m fine” He looked healthy; said he needed to go sleep as he planned on reading through the night. I also had come around to meet with someone, so I didn’t try to linger.

It’s been years, but I still wonder if things would’ve turned out differently if I had lingered. Had I been a bit less self-absorbed while we were friends, would he have felt comforted enough to try life one more day at a time? One time he had said to me, “I wouldn’t have asked for your number if I knew you were a church girl.” Funny how I’d thought I’d have a positive impact on him because I was a church girl. I know now the church girl was one person who led him another step farther from the church. How does one, after all, not despise being cut off because I was Christain and he wasn’t? I felt all the more worthless because I never would’ve addressed all of my shortcomings if he didn’t die as he did. I only recognised the death of our friendship because he died. I thought myself the one who was ignored when I was only the one that got away.

You see, like stars shine the brightest before they die, humans tend to be remembered the most moments, days, and perhaps years after their physical death. Death sometimes is acknowledged a bit too late.