Dating : November, in retrospect

You had an unremarkable birth. Or so you think, because you’ve never really heard any stories from your mother.

But, so it happened.

The gods were on their best behavior the day they moulded your soul and gently placed it in your mother’s womb, and on the day she spewed you out from between her thighs.

No perfect flaws. No remarkable perfections.

Your father died before your mother could have any more children, so you were thrown into adulthood earlier than planned. A small, unremarkable life was all you could even wish for, and you were content with the thought that running your small livestock farm would get you there.

Until Neneuwa found her way into your farm, and your life.

This big-city girl had no place in your small-town life because everything about her was remarkable. The way she talked. The way she smiled. The way she loved.

On the day you met, you were on your way to deliver eggs when you saw her small silver Nissan parked by the road close to your farm. She was lost and on her way to the famous waterfall — the only waterfall — in Ezeagu.

‘Do you stay around?’ She asked, looking quite exasperated after you gave her directions. ‘I’ve been trying to locate this place for over an hour.’

‘OK. Let me show you.’

Your brain was saying one thing, while your lips were saying another. So, you parked your wagon — still full of the eggs that Mazi Anozie wanted to collect on credit — properly on the road and joined her in her car. Besides, you had heard about the warm springs and falls all your life but had never once visited.

It was a weekday in early November, so the area was empty and the falls were underwhelming.

‘I thought it’d be taller,’ She said.

‘Me too.’

‘So, you’ve never come here?’

‘I am a farmer. I have other things to do.’

‘You should always make time for things that will make you happy.’

‘Why do you think this dry place will make me happy?’

She looked at you right in the eye, and laughed, a rich laugh whose vibrations resonated too well with you. So, you smiled, scared.

She told you about the things she thinks will make her happy and you tell her how content you feel when feeding your chickens. She urges you to explore more. She’s in Enugu for a while waiting for her school in Lagos to resume from a strike, so she’s always bored. She invites you to follow her on her adventures and you can’t say no.

So, you fall in love with her many times in the weeks that followed and in the many places you visit.

It was hard not to — everything about Nene was remarkable. The way she talked, the way she loved, the way she fucked.

On the day she convinced you to go back home with her, your brain was saying one thing but your lips were agreeing. Again. Her hands were all over you, your body was humming and you were dizzy.

You were in her car. Then in her room. Then meeting her father.

It escalated, fast.

The permanent scowl on his face as he regarded you, dragged you back to reality.

‘Have you considered that my daughter here is a soon-to-be pharmacist?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you considered that she is now completing her bachelor’s in pharmacy and will proceed to do her MPhil in the UK?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you considered, young man, what kind of future you, an unschooled farmer, will have with her?’

It was too soon to be thinking about the future. But you had thought about it, passively, and deep down you knew there was none. None that had the both of you in it.

Everything about loving Nene was remarkable. But not the way it ended. She simply left — no teary goodbyes, no false promises to keep in touch.

So, you continue to live your unremarkable life, dotted with sweet memories of a brief, remarkable love you once had.