I remember that Tuesday you solemnly made your way into Pedagogic block 7 of the University of Bamenda and my life. You were late for Mr Tiambou’s class. Your green gown swept the floor as you timidly walked into the hall, scanning front and back for an empty seat, astonishment and confusion etched on your face. Wondering where life had landed you and how you were to cope in this place which had nothing similar to anything you had experienced before. You hesitantly took a seat by me. It meant nothing to me at that moment, except maybe that I noticed you spoke French as I did.
I remember the day we decided to move into the same dormitory. We did this to split expenses for rent and lighten the burden on our parents. Mine had asked me a hundred times where I knew you from and had warned me against the dangers of living with an atoum – that’s what they called strangers. I laugh today at how daring I was and how we playfully arrived at that decision. I can still hear the voice of our landlady telling my dad, “Do not worry, they are kids. They will be okay.”
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And for sure, we were okay. We saw the fun in experiencing the world together. The moments we spent between classes, studying, clubbing, getting drunk, and exploring remain engraved on every part of my mind. Like a source of living water, I dig deep into them every time I feel drained and overwhelmed by the burdens of life.
Under the tree which stood opposite the school football field, we talked about our first loves and the boys we crushed on. I remember how we cried on each other’s shoulders anytime we were heartbroken and funny enough, we still do that, eight years after. We foresaw ourselves, as independent, working our dream jobs, married to the love of our lives, and mothers of amazing kids. It always felt good to dream together.
It’s been five years today since we graduated, packed our luggage, and carried our fears for the future to face new paths. The memories still lay there in the small village of Bambili. I wonder if whoever occupied our room after us felt the strong bond we shared there. If the echo of our gossip and laughter resounds to them. I revisit these memories every time.
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I remember how scared we were to face life alone from there on. We had become part of each other’s life. We would catch up through long phone calls and messages, filling up one another on everything we thought the other had missed. I even wrote this poem to signify my distress.
I gazed around with intimidation
They all looked as if on me they will sprawl
I caught her stare, she smiled at me!
My heart was in pain
Her shoulders a haven of comfort
She smiled at me; my grief taken away.
I felt drained by the pain of life
No hand on which to cling,
She smiled at me; I found the joy of love.
My memory beholds your sweetness
Anytime I look at the sun, I will smile
Because I see the glow of your eyes.
As you feel the breath of the wind,
Know my hands travel to you,
Oh, my friend, clinging to my heart for eternity.
With the complexities of adulthood, it sometimes becomes difficult to keep in touch and keep the bond. As the years go by, our age mates are getting married, having children, bush falling, and realizing their dreams, while others are dying. It is overwhelming to think about the things unaccomplished, the pressure of age and society, and battling daily to stay afloat. Years drift and we realize we spend more time chasing the win, forgetting to live life carefreely as we did back in the university.
I love the moments you unexpectedly popped up at my door or office after covering miles. How I joyfully ran into your arms, to the amazement of passersby and how we jumped and laughed as we did back in the day when we walked down the streets of Bambili after a tedious school day.
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Time might have elapsed, but nothing has changed. We are still the little girls with bigger dreams and responsibilities. Through these hurdles, I have the courage to battle because we hold the light for each other. The journey is easier with you by my side.
We are far from realizing all we had envisaged for ourselves. We lose track, are defeated, depressed, and still fighting to make ends meet to gain our so cherished independence. We aren’t married, have no kids, we don’t even know what a dream job looks like, and the heartbreaks keep accumulating. We cry and laugh when we think about this, but we keep hoping for a beautiful tomorrow because we have one another to hang on to.
I have pictures and videos of those beautiful years piled up on my computer. You know, the computer Uncle CY gifted me back then in school. Our companion on lonely days. I am finding a way to move them to my drive, so I can access them at any time. I dream of showing these pictures to my kids and telling them about the adventures of the girls who defied life.
My colleagues know everything about you even though they have never met you. They see how my eyes brighten up when I talk about you. Every day, we make new encounters, and sometimes I am jealous and scared you’ll find someone more exciting than me. I know the bond we share can’t be equalized. Your place in my heart is irreplaceable.
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Life is such a mystery and trying to figure out why things happen the way they do is one of my fortes. People say I am too deep, always linking life to a stage play with fate as stage director, steadily moving its pawns. The goal at the end of the day is not who acts better, but the magic of things happening as they should. Every single day is worth telling the story of my journey with you. A story of laughter and cries, where I believe fate had a great role to play.
Sometimes I think about the days we will be old, if life permits us, and foresee ourselves seated on the patio with our grandchildren playing around us. I know you’ll be naughty enough to drink alcohol and smoke a club even if the doctors tell you otherwise, and I will probably do the same because what is a rule if it’s not broken by two? We will sit there, watching the sunset, letting silence inundate us while meditating upon the beautiful gift life offered us on that fateful day you entered Pedagogic block 7 of the University of Bamenda.
This Creative Nonfiction was published in the December 2022 edition of the WSA magazine.
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