FriendsAcquaintance?
8
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Nights have passed since that pivotal conversation with Special. His words still echo in my mind, their weight lingering like a silent promise. As I walk through the bustling streets of Cork, my thoughts swirl like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The events following that night are making me rethink my relationship with Itohan.
One of the events was of me asking Bridget, my landlady, if Itohan can move in with me. I hadn’t spoken to Bridget on Sunday as promised, so later that week when I found Bridget in the kitchen, I told her to charge me double, so Itohan can stay.
Bridget agreed.
Excited, Itohan moved in. Two days later, Bridget returned our money and told us to move out the next day.
Yes, she did that! Knowing fully well that with the housing crisis, we have nowhere to go. She gave no reason and well… the next day, Itohan and I skipped classes, and went house hunting .
We were lucky to find accommodation in a townhouse shown to us by a nice Irish man. However… we couldn’t move till the next day. And with the betrayal I felt towards Bridget, I agreed with Itohan to sleep outside—on the streets—rather than plead to stay in her house. Because who does that? Who tells their tenants to leave after barely two days without reason? Ignore the fact that she returned our funds in full.
We slept outside on a bench in the cold that night within the school premises, not for lack of trying but because of the cost of finding quick lodgings. I was shivering like a fish out of water. The next day, while joyously heading to our new apartment, I bought my first duvet.
Given the complication of the situation involving Itohan, I didn’t whisper a word to Special.
Itohan has been a constant presence since my arrival in Ireland. We’ve had good times and weathered storms of our own. But since that night at Oliver’s party, an unexpected shift has occurred. It’s as if an invisible barrier has been erected between us, a wall that whispers secrets I’m unable to share.
I can sense Itohan’s concern, her intuition sharpened by the subtle changes in my demeanor. The familiar lightness in our banter has become tinged with a hint of hesitation. I feel it when her gaze lingers a fraction longer, as if she’s trying to decipher the words I’m not saying.
The rapport that flowed effortlessly between us now feels strained, like a thread stretched thin. It’s not that we’re distant, we still see during school hours, study after hours, but… there’s a feeling of unease beneath the surface. I find myself choosing my words more carefully, my once-spontaneous responses are now filtered through a sieve of caution.
Juggling between schoolwork, trying to get a good night rest—because our neighbors are undergrad boys who make a hell of noise—I make a new friend who is from Congo. Her name is Mary. She lives in a double-bed room and is looking for a roommate to reduce her monthly expenses.
After days of bearing the endless noisemaking from the undergrad boys, Itohan reports the issue to the Landlord thinking it would resolve the issue, instead, the Landlord gives us a date to move out, which would mark our two-week stay here.
It’s apparent my communication with Special is strained because of my living accommodation. All I know is that he is getting interviews and call backs. Sometimes I wish Itohan had not spoken out about Bridget being a hater, but that’s who she is. I don’t blame her. I just wish we didn’t have to deal with accommodation issues right now.
The day before our due date to move, Itohan lets me know she has found somewhere referred to her by some Indian boy from school, but they won’t take the two of us. I could see the remorse in her eyes. It’s no fault of hers. Afterall, we didn’t come to Ireland together. All week long, I was busy with a class project leaving her to do the house viewing run. I don’t blame her for choosing herself first. Despite this, Special’s words from weeks ago return to taunt me.
With only one night left here, I reach out to Mary, and she was more than happy to welcome me. Going from having my own bed to sharing a bed with someone? It’s like going from high up, to coming all the way down.
Finally, I had a chat with Special about the whole situation, and although he never said it, in my head, I could feel him telling me, I warned you, but… It’s okay to learn the hard way. He encouraged me to move in with Mary and with time, all this would be a thing of the past.
So far, living with Mary isn’t as bad as I imagined. I just wish our housemates aren’t so dirty. The kitchen is almost always in a mess. The irony of it all is that our housemates are Japanese.
Itohan’s attempts to re-connect is evident. She invites me to gatherings and social events. Yet, during those times, I can’t shake the feeling that she knows there’s an unspoken tension between us. Does she sense the distance? Is she picking up on the undertones and friction in our interactions?
Despite yearning for the easy camaraderie we once had, for the unguarded moments that used to define our friendship, I’m caught in the crosscurrents of my emotions, unsure of how act normal around her.
As I navigate the city’s streets, I can’t help but wonder how long this tension will persist. Only time will tell…
*****
Time slips through my fingers like fine sand, each grain representing a day that blends seamlessly into the next. Cork, with its ivy-clad buildings and bustling streets, has become my have n and my challenge. Since my last heartfelt conversation with Linda, so much has unfolded, and a lot is changing.
Mary and I finally got a job in a factory that molds plastic bottles for FCMGs that worked with our class schedule. Thanks to Mary for motivating me every step of the way. The pay is decent. My role involves moving bottles, trolleys, and arranging stuff. It’s not hard, it’s just that I get to stand for hours and that shit hurts.
When I speak with Special about it, he promises to massage my feet endlessly when I visit. The thought of that alone keeps me going when I’m on schedule.
When my supervisor hands me my first pay, because obviously this job is not legal, I teared up. Why do countries make immigrant students incapable of this joy? Why tell them not to work for a certain time when their counterparts study and work? I would understand this law or policy for an undergrad, but for graduate students?
They can do better.
I wish I could retract all the nasty jokes and words I said to Special back then. Life hits you differently when you’re earning your own money in a foreign country. It feels good to be back in the zone again!
Days fade into nights, and I am immersed in the demanding currents of my master’s program. The weight of assignments, projects, and exams presses down on me, there’s nothing more demanding than assignments that don’t pay you money.
Outside the academic world, I am embroiled in the search for internships, a quest that will shape my career’s trajectory. The glow of my laptop screen becomes my canvas, where I meticulously craft résumés and compose cover letters that are both persuasive and sincere to each role I apply to.
Special, my steadfast confidante, remains a guiding star in the constellations of my life. Together, we refine my résumés, selecting words that highlight my skills and ambitions. His encouragement ignites a fire within me, a newfound confidence that propels me onward.
With each application I submit, a surge of hope courses through me—I am one step closer to my aspirations. I even called Ifedayo to follow up on his promise and his response was, meh. Choosing to remain positive, I’m looking forward to good news. My pra yer is that I don’t go down the same path I did when I was in Nigeria because the systems here work better.
One other thing I want to do when I get a good paying job is to bring my brothers here. There’s more to life than waking up at 4a.m. to jump buses, then get paid stipends.