Living With My Grandma
Episode 9 đ
My first week on the university campus wasnât as planned. I got stressed and felt depressed in my solitary confinement. The strenuous registration process almost drained me. Departmental clearance, Faculty clearance, and other things fresherâs were required to do.
On average, Iâd say a typical unizik student, (âZikiteâ) is a bookworm. Students here were majorly bibliophiles. Everyone wanted to graduate with first-class and the hustle was real.
My biggest hurdle was getting up quite early to prepare breakfast and get to class early to occupy the front seat but Iâd always end up at the back seat. The seats at the front were always filled with more students than they could handle; leg space was a luxury. I attended general classes with hundreds of other students, and that was horrible. And that made me detest morning lectures. I preferred afternoon classes because Iâd have enough time to prepare very well.
I also found out that the workload in the University was a lot more intense than in secondary school, especially a particular Physics course I offered in the first semester. I didnât like Physics right from time because it involved numerous and complex formulas and units. I had always preferred Chemistry while I was in secondary school.
Meeting up with the assignments wasnât much of a stress to me even though it could be much sometimes. I am quite an organized kind of person, I love a list and I worked to deadlines. If I had an assignment three weeks away, Iâd do it the last three days before. I was very efficient in that aspect. Sometimes I paid hugely to get them done.
I never got fresherâs fluâI had morning sickness instead. While other freshers were busy doing some kinds of stuffs new men on campus did, I sat in my room, wondering about the embryo inside me. I was worried about what the journey of nine months would look like.
Did I forget to tell you about my accommodation? Oh! Forgive me. My bad! I lived off-campuses and considering my condition, it was better off than sharing a room with students in the female hostel. I needed my privacy, so I lived alone at Ifite. I had no roommate too. It was just me and I alone. Sometimes Iâd be hungry yet nauseous, unable to face my kitchen with its clutch of dirty pans and smells that irritated me. Iâd lazy around, feeding on junk food steadily.
Iâd hold back the morning sickness in classes by taking bitter kola which Kate recommended to me. Kate was one of my lodge mates. Her room was directly opposite and that made us get close to each other. She was God-sent. Every morning, she would check up on me and ask how I was feeling. She was older than I.
Kate was 24 and equally a fresher. She said she rewrote Jamb thrice before finally settling for a course she didnât want. And that made me realize how privileged I was to have gotten admitted in my first attempt. I remember during the orientation and fresherâs week, we were told how privileged we were to be at Unizik.
Kate was homely and knew so much about pregnancy tips. Her elder sister was once in my shoes and she was close to her during that period, so she knew a lot about my experience. She was one person that I shared my story with, not like I trusted her, but because she deserved to know about me with the way and manner she treated me like a sister, although we werenât from the same State.
If I had no classes in the morning, Iâd look for a nearby cafeteria to get myself breakfast. Cooking was one of the things I couldnât deal with during this period of my life. Kate had always been the one forcing me to cook and oftentimes she made the food herself. She was good at preparing local delicacies.
The only funny thing about Kate was her accent. She was a typical Igbo girl. You would easily detect that from her use of English and the way she talked. She was always interchanging âRâ for âLâ. She pronounced Rice (food) as Lice, Road (paths) as Load, and just like that. But I couldnât correct her because I didnât know how she would feel and I was afraid of losing her. So, it had always been other people who made jest of her.
Being an introvert made me have fewer friends. Just a few coursemates with whom I barely share much about myself. I didnât want any of them to know much about me, just to avoid unnecessary drama and gossip about my pregnancy. I barely chatted in our departmental group chat. All I did was read every single message, so I donât miss out on any important info.
I missed out on most social gatherings too, because I dreaded what people would say about me. I missed freshers nights and other uni nights. There was always a buzzing nightlife in Ifite and Tempâsite.
****
Those first few weeks after I started showing up were awful. I was sure everyone on campus was looking at me anytime I passed. I felt like they were all whispering about me behind my back. The stigmas and stereotypes too were depressing. A strain of people looking at me as though it was the biggest mistake of my life.
Even when I didnât know many people on campus, I faced a lot of judgment. I did my best to cover it up, wearing oversized sweatshirts for weeks, but like the Igbo people would say and if interpreted, they would say that one cannot cover pregnancy with hand. With the increase in the size of my belly, the judgment became more apparent and isolating. It was difficult to be outside. As the pregnancy progressed, I felt enormous walking to and fro campus to my apartment.
I realized pregnancy quickly forces a young person to become a mature adult, it was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting to balance it with school stress. Mentally, I was exhausted from having to split my attention between school and taking care of myself. Emotionally, it was exhausting because people either judged me for being young, single, and pregnant or they simply give me looks of pity for those same reasons. I have overheard people say silly things about my plight. It was one of the hardest situations I had to face in my life.
Darlington called me on phone and we chatted too. We made plans when it would be convenient for me to go for an antenatal checkup. He was caring about my well-being and I felt it during those periods with his steady calls. It even seemed like he was my boyfriend. We talked almost every day and grandma would sometimes talk with me through his phone. I missed them, that sometimes, I felt like going back home.
My mom still called me too. I remember the first call I had with her in school and how we both cried â a lot. But getting it off my chest helped me feel better. I turned to her frequently on the tough days that followed. And Iâm grateful for her support. She continually encouraged me to stay positive when I was full of negativity. My father hardly called and I wasnât surprised.
I didnât go broke in my early days at the University. I guess because of my pregnancy, mom credited my account with a reasonable amount of money every two weeks. She knew I needed it for my upkeep and antenatal. I felt dad probably gave her money to send too because I didnât get a credit alert from him.
My uncle, Clinton equally kept to his words. He also sent me money too, and he would call to check up on me. So, money wasnât a challenge, just the stress of going about with the baby inside of me.
Gradually, I got more inclined toward campus life. Well, maybe the best life for some people, because it was a world on its own. Everyone had the freedom to do what they like. There were different characters and individuals youâd meet on campus, the âAjebosâ those rich folks from a wealthy homes, always showing off with flashy cars, expensive wear, living a luxurious lifestyle. There were also church people; the prayer warriors, always going for one fellowship or the other and turning every building into a fellowship center.
How about the wannabe politicians? The comrades. They are always on cooperate wears and suits even when the sun is scorching. Then the student celebrities? The lone wolf? The ones that go in a clique? The non-academic students? The city guys, and the âIâKnowâBookâ folks but a few to mention.
So many kinds of people youâd meet here.
One hot afternoon, I was at the cybercafe inside the campus to photocopy some documents. I had a cold Pepsi in my left hand to cool off the heat. The sun was extremely scorching. I stood there waiting for my turn. There were other students too, who wanted to photocopy some materials.
Then I overhead a voice from behind. Something was familiar about this particular voice, it sends some sensation down my spines. When I turned to see whoâs voice was that, well, your guess is as good as mine, Meska was the one. Our eyes met in seconds. I was startled. My heart suddenly began to beat faster and I couldnât tell why. I watched his eyes as they went below, gazing at my belly. He was shocked.
There were two other girls by his side, his coursemates or perhaps his friends. I quickly averted my eyes and faced front. Damn! Meska was looking fresh and cute. This time, the center of his head was braided. No longer the usual âGallasâ style he was known with. I was having random thoughts, something in me felt I should look back and be sure it was him, Meska was coming in my direction when finally I turned.
Jeez, my whole body was shuddering.
Meska walked up to me at the cyber cafĂ©. He stared into my eyes and for some seconds we didnât say anything to each other.
âZiggy,â he finally broke the short silence.
âYes! Whatâs it?â I thundered.
He was shocked by my rude and quick response. He probably didnât believe Iâd shout at him.
âZiggy, what happened?â
âWhat happened to what?â
âWhatâs up with this your big stomach?â
âPlease and please, I beg you in the name of whatever you serve, this is a public place, donât just start asking me useless questions.â I was boiling in anger.
âHmm, this girl has changed,â he said in a low tone. He stood there staring at me. He was simply short of words.
âGuy, come. Henry just called now. He said our project supervisor wouldnât sign our work unless we are present, and he said we should be there in the next ten minutes.â Announced one of the girls he left behind. Meska followed them immediately as they left. And that reminded me Meska was in his finals. It was quite relieving, knowing his days on the University campus were numbered. I was glad he would soon round up and leave the school.
But that doesnât change the fact that he already ruined my day with his presence. When he left, I was still flared up. Some folks around the cyber cafĂ© constantly stole a gaze in my direction because Meska wanted to create a scene he wouldnât like the outcome. The way I would have disgraced him before his friends, he would wish he never knew me. I was even ready to punch him if he tried anything stupid.
I later left the place when I was done photocopying my documents for departmental clearance.
***
Later in the night, I was scrolling through my phone when a WhatsApp message popped up on my screen from an unsaved contact. I was quick to recall the number, it was that of Meska. I had long deleted his number from my phone. I opened his message and our previous conversation surfaced on my phone.
âZiggyâ was his first text followed by âAre you pregnant?â I read both but I didnât reply to him.
âYouâre not replying. Can you just talk? Who is responsible?â I still didnât bother typing anything after reading his texts? He stopped.
Minutes later, he called my line twice, I ignored him like a heap of shit by the roadside. I even felt like blocking his contact but still couldnât do it. The drama of the dissolution of our relationship was as undignified and painful. I still missed Meska but at the same time, I needed to work on myself, and I needed to be alone to achieve that.
I kept scrolling through my phone. Nobody was there to keep my company. Kate traveled for the weekend; it was on a Friday. I was in too much pain to eat, to watch TV, too. Surprised? No, you shouldnât. I bought a TV because I was always indoors, so I needed something to keep me busy and keep my mind off certain things. I had a medium generator too.
The next day, Meska texted again. He said if I could tell him where I lived or perhaps pay him a visit at his lodge. He also suggested we meet up somewhere and talk. âYou ainât gonna see again. You saw me by mistake. So, say whatever you want to say, Iâm all ears.â I finally replied to him. He started typing immediately.
After three minutes, he was still typing, and I wondered what it was he had been typing.
After five minutes or so, his message finally popped up on my screen. I didnât want him to feel I was desperate to read his messages. I intentionally went offline and returned after a few minutes. I opened it to behold a long text written in four paragraphs. He wasnât showing up online when I read his long text.
The summary of his long epistle was a call for reconciliation. Meska apologized for cheating. He said it was all his fault. He said he was sorry for the pain he must gave caused me. He said he knew he fucked up and wants to make things better this time. In the second paragraph, he said he is no longer with the girl. They had parted ways too. In the third paragraph, Meska said his financial status has changed too and he really wants me back. And finally, he said he had this feeling he was the one responsible for my pregnancy. He said he would take care of my baby and me till I give birth.
By the time I was done reading his messages, tears dropped on my screen and I wiped them with my left hand. Everything I read was ringing in my head. But I couldnât imagine going back to the same person who caused me so much pain. I battled with what Iâd tell him and at the same time, I felt emotional my his long text. A part of me still missed Meska. He was my first lobe, and everything we shared and did together was still fresh in my memory.
I picked up my phone and started typing what seemed like a long response and it went thus: Itâs over between us. Our views of the world are too different. Youâre a terrible person. Youâre selfish and fake. You used and dumped me. You broke my heart in the worst manner and never cared where I slept that night. Youâre cruel and heartless. I donât deserve you, I deserve someone better. And for the baby, itâs not yours. Youâre not the father of my unborn baby, so donât give yourself hope. I paused and stared at the text.
Seconds later, I cleared them all. Yes, I didnât send it to him. He didnât deserve my response and explanation. So, instead of replying to Meska, I suffered by not texting back. I sincerely didnât want him to know he was the one responsible for the pregnancy. He might start pestering me.
For days, I couldnât think properly. Some part of me felt Meska actually meant well to me and might probably need a second chance to prove himself while the other part of me felt like moving on.
I was confused. What do you think I should do? I still have feelings for him.
To be continuedâŠ
