Frenemy

It's twelve o'clock already. Your heart skips a beat the moment that the clocks strike twelve. You take deep breaths, your palms are sweaty and you wonder why. It must be the weather, or the fact that you have unpleasant news for Chidile. Over and over, you've pictured her reaction to this news. You've pictured how she will make rapid sentences in Igbo and English and end them with "Ụwa a dị egwu oo; I do not think your head is sitting right on your shoulders". Well, either your head or the head of the subject of complaint. Chidile will be here in the next forty-five minutes. You wish that today she will go against her punctual nature and give you more time to prepare. It has been three weeks since you started to rehearse this news. You have done it so many times and for each time, you see Chidile's disapproving look — each worse than the first. You are certain that Cheta has heard you rehearse this speech, because every time she comes to clean up, she greets and you hear the concern in her words, her eyes asking, "Madam, I dị kwa na mma? Onwe ihe n’eme gị n'isi?" 

One thought leads to another and then you start to remember how you met Chidile. You remember answering a question in French class that the teacher was so amazed that he picked you to represent the school at a competition organised by the state ministry of tourism. On your way to the cafeteria, later that day, a short, plump, eager girl walked up to you and introduced herself, "Hi, I am Chidile. I was amazed when you answered that question in class. I would have answered it, but I did not read my French textbook last night; I was too busy solving mathematics, and so because I did not read I did not expect anyone to know the answer to the question." You were thrown aback because you did not expect such amount of information to come out from this short, plump girl, and also because you had never met anyone who spoke with so much hand gesticulations. Her gesticulations suppressed the disgust you had towards her prideful statement. It took you a few seconds to gather your words. "Well French is easy, if you pay attention. Any dork would have figured the answer out if they had paid attention in class. You do not have to study so much; it's not rocket science." You did not tell her that you had studied French as a child because your mother was obsessed with the city of Paris.

It was then that your game of leaving details in your conversation that seemed unimportant to you began. Sometimes you wonder why you are friends with Chidile. The relationship is marked with more rivalry than it is marked with compassion and affectionate intimacy. It is almost as if you are in a wrestling match, each man showing his physical and mental prowess. In her unsaid words, you can almost hear her say, "May the best man win". Chidile always had an experience that was either far better or far worse than yours, or so she thought. She always had a way of making things about her. You did not really give much thought to it until when Chimaroke almost died. Your Mother called to tell you that your brother almost drowned and he was currently unconscious in the hospital. Chidile came back and met you crying, asking, "Chidiadi, why are you crying like this? Gịnị mere?"

"My brother is unconscious. He almost drowned." You expected comfort and all the drama that came with the African comfort but you did not expect Chidile to make it about her. Whenever she does this, she always calls you "Diadi". "Diadi, do you know I had an uncle who drowned in the great river in our village when I was six? He struggled and struggled before he died. My Uncle did not just give up easily as some people do. The river he drowned in is bigger than the one your brother fell into. He was my favourite uncle and people expected me to cry but then I controlled myself like a strong girl." For the first time you yelled at her. "My brother is not your uncle, Chidile! Chimaroke is my only sibling, and now I am not even sure that he would survive. You have no idea what he is going through in that hospital. If Chimaroke dies, a part of me dies, too. I did not expect that you will make my grief about you." Chidile looks at you like some child who did not know any better. "I knew you will not understand, Chidiadi, but I did not expect you to be inconsiderate about my feelings." Typical Chidile, allways the bright light of the ball, even in grief. That was the second last time you shared your grief with her because she seemed to turn it into a competition.

Chidile was one friend you had had since your secondary school days. She applied to the University of Ibadan because you did. On the day you both filled your JAMB forms, a classmate asked why you applied to that university knowing how difficult it was to get in. Well, you knew that the University was the best for the course you wanted to study and you were determined to put in your best to get into it. Chidile applied because she felt that if you were smart enough to get in, she could get in, too. One thing that really irked Chidile is how much you seemed to do everything with ease. It seemed like you did nothing while she put in all the work and then you came out with the best results — results that she deserved. While in the university, you intentionally skipped some classes but then you were a straight A student while faithful Chidile had one or two B’s. She hated how you would say "Live, don't stress. If you stopped trying to do too much and flow with the lecturer, you will get an A."

Chidile would often hide internship and scholarship opportunities because she felt like if she did not get them, you would not either.  Still you got a paid internship with a huge firm that rejected her own application. When she found out, she looked at you and said, "You got in. I did not expect you to, since they did not pick me." You knew she would be livid but then you expected her to hide it.

If Chidile was so competitive — almost like your enemy — why then were you her friend? For the past ten years that you have been friends, that question kept popping up. "Why Chidile?" It feels like you both have been enemies more than you have been friends. Your relationship with her had not always been about winning though. At some point, the competition did not even seem intense, neither was there a "best man" winning. Honestly, often when Chidile was not competing, she made a very good friend. Maybe it felt like that because she was quick to attack those who picked on you. As a child, defending yourself was not one of your strengths, but Chidile took it upon herself to guard you. Chidile would also fight against anyone who tried to make themselves your rivals. She was the only one worthy enough to be your rival. Was it that or was it her ofeọha that made you stay?

It's twelve-thirty and Chidile will be at your place soon. Fifteen minutes left to organise your speech and end your trip down memory lane. You know that one thing Chidile detests is the fact that you get what she wants and then you throw it away. You do not show the appreciation that she would have shown if she had gotten it. That carefree spirit of yours has always irked her. "Chidiadi, life is not breeze," she said once. "You do not act as you like with whatever you have. You cannot go wherever you want whenever you chose to. You need to have a sense of focus. Sit, plan and act. There are things that dictate how your life should be. Stop living your hakuna-matata life." There were days that seemed like really solid advice but sometimes you had questions. What if life was a breeze, pushing you to any direction it felt like? What if your planning involved you moving around like a dog without a leash around its neck? What if you made plans for the impromptu moments in life? Should you not live and let live? You never asked her these questions because she would not understand the concept of breeze living.

Even though you have rehearsed your speech for months, you can not bring yourself to tell Chidile about Osita. How do you tell your friend who is supposed to be your maid of honour that she should not worry about the aṣoebi because you have called off your engagement? How do you explain that your relationship with Osita did not feel real? How do you explain that the moment you said "yes", you realised that the relationship was going to be like those in the movies where the couples realise that they ought to be just friends? It's too much to take in. This would not have been complicated at all if Chidile had not liked Osita. You did not know she wanted him badly until he asked you out. Her pained smile revealed it all, as she gave her friendly advice. "Chidiadi, now that you’re in a relationship, you must stop this your hakuna-matata lifestyle so that he will not leave you for someone more serious." Like her.

When Osita asked you to marry him, you were too excited to think about the fact that your relationship in fact seemed way too platonic — there really wasn’t any spark. It was as though you were friends rather than lovers. You did not remember that there wasn’t any actual common ground. You wanted to move around; he wanted to be stationary. You loved him but he was just preferred more as friend. You were too excited to remember that you had foreseen that the relationship would end. Very sad that your response to a man's proposal was under the influence of youthful exuberance. It will take a while to forget Osita's look when you told him the day you called off the engagement that your relationship was abstract. Chidile would — in fact — definitely kill you. How dare you take the man she likes and break up with him? How dare you treat him like nsi? The next bomshell you would tell her was that you quit your job and you were going to move to France. Why did it please you so much to throw your life away? Why did your success and achievements mean so little to you?

It's twelve forty five and the bell rings. Chidile is here, it's show time. You get dressed and go to meet her in the sitting room. Typical Chidile, dressed in corporate pants and a chiffon top that screamed "I'm a freaking boss lady! Who are you?", acrylic nails and a straightened wig. She looked every part of her elegance ideology. Did you intentionally plan to offend Chidile? That has to be the only reason you are dressed in a pair of sweat shirt and pants that are one size too big and your hair and nails are undone. Chidile began, "Chidiadi, you have a big house yet you look homeless. A woman ought to be..."

" — Chidile, I broke up with Osita. I called off the engagement. I do not want to get married to him anymore." The person who stood in front of you wide eyed with her mouth agape did not look like Chidile. It takes a moment for her to regain herself

"Chidiadi, I na-apụ ara?" It had warrant, as you predicted, if you were mad. "I do not think that your head is sitting right on your shoulders. How do you let such a man go? Do you not know that there are only five men like Osita in this world?" As if she took the survey and knew the exact number. "We have two in this country, one in this state and you just treated that one like nsi. I knew that you were not right for him! A pity he was too infatuated with you to see me. Osita needs a more serious person and not someone who lives in hakuna-matata land. Chidiadi, I knew that you never valued the good things you have, but I did not think you would ruin a relationship with such a wonderful man. It's a pity I let you have him! I should have..." You start to laugh hysterically, which cuts her short, and the fact that you are shabbily dressed adds character to your laughter. She looks at you like some drug addict whose addiction has caused her to lose her mind. 

"Chidile, you really need to get off your high horse. Have you ever wondered why Osita did not date you?" You ended your laugh. "It was because he needed a companion and not a rival. Somebody that he could do random stuff with, have unplanned moments with. He did not need a woman with whom his every step had to be calculated and well planned. A woman who will be a breath of fresh air and not a stuffy room. I love Osita but then our relationship could never go beyond friendship. I am grateful that he would not be daft enough to end up with you. I am no longer with him, but he will never see you; that will be like placing himself in a never ending chokehold." The feeling of pleasure that you had when you saw how much your words stung her. You did not give her enough time to brace up for the next bombshell before you dropped it. "I quit my job, and I am moving to France. Everything is set; I leave next week." You could swear you saw the glint of tears in her eyes before she quickly blinked them back. Was she crying because of your harsh words or because you were leaving? At this moment, it really wasn’t so clear.

Then she started accusing you, "Chidiadi, why are you throwing your life away? You have an amazing job and you are throwing it all away to live your mother's dream? I do not blame you. It's because you get whatever you want even though you do not work as hard as the rest of us." How could Chidile understand that you were going to France for a self-discovery journey and not just to explore? And did she not know it was definitely more than living out your mother's obsession? It is your life and you will live every moment of it just the way you want to. "I do not care about what you think, Chidile. I am tired of always competing with you. I do not know which is more tiring: seeing you lose or winning always. You always make everything about you. There is no moment when we are not in a show for the "best man" to win. I want to breathe and live like breeze biko. I no longer want to hear your tales of woe: how what I have should have been yours, how your experiences are more intense than mine would ever be. If I must have a friend, that person should feel like a home and not a prison cell. Sometimes it's okay to have unplanned moments. Not every emotion or moment should have a specific pattern. It is actually okay to laugh, breathe, relax and not strive for everything. It's okay to make mistakes and not have everything planned out. Chidile, I want to enjoy every moment of my breeze-living and not to get caught up in your expectations and all the things you have going on. I have lost interest in this competition. You can have whatever I leave behind. I really could not care less."

There is never a time that Chidile can be caught speechless, but today her mouth hung open, with words refusing to come out. The struggle between her brain and her vocal cords was more intense than a wrestler trying to break out of a submission move. Finally her tongue broke out and she spoke. "Chidiadi, after all these years, is this truly how you feel about our friendship? Well it is your life; do as you please. I hope you have no regrets in the end — but if you do, I hope that you do not come running to me." You would agree that that had got to be the shortest speech Chidile had ever given you. At least she did not make it about her — not so much. You really outdid yourself this time, to make her lose her words. You still played your little game of leaving out details. You did not tell her that you did not sell your house just in case moving to France did not work out. You also did not tell her that you were going to France to work as a blogger for a leading fashion brand. You also did not tell her that you could still come back to your job here, and of course you did not tell her about your relationship with Ikenna and how it felt like it was really synced. 

You said to her, "Chidile, even if I make mistakes, I'll figure things out. At least you would not have to be the star of my grief show. I can be sure that when I am grieving over my mistakes, you would not be there to turn it into a competition of who has made the most mistakes." She left your house quickly so you wouldn’t see the tears that were about to drop from her eyes. When she closed the door, there was a sharp pain you felt in your heart, and it is followed by a feeling of relief. Freedom must come at a cost, you think to yourself. Although you realise that there will be no more delicious ofeọha from Chidile, it does not bother you much because you know that losing having never to eat a uniquely well-cooked native soup again is a small price to pay for your breeze-living.