Survival Has No Manners

I couldn’t stop staring at the message for a long time.

"You deserve better than this school stress. Come, let me spoil you one of these days."

But men always said the same things.

No. I said to myself. I wasn't going to become another Unilag girl living off old men. I had seen enough of them around school. Every night, one black Prado, tinted Lexus, or Benz would park outside the school gate. Girls would step out wearing fancy clothes and carrying iPhones worth more than a lecturer's annual salary.

By morning or afternoon, those same girls would be in class discussing tests and assignments as if nothing happened. The university had a way of making such things look ordinary.

The next morning, I woke up to Ada shaking my shoulder.

"Light don come!" Her excitement made me laugh, because it’s only in Nigeria that electricity feels like a public holiday.

We both jumped out of bed, charging our phones, boiling water, and ironing clothes before NEPA remembered that our happiness wasn't meant to last. Barely thirty minutes later… Pim! Power went out again. Ada hissed.

"I swear these people are evil spirits."

"They've done their daily charity," I added.

We both burst into laughter. Then my thoughts drifted back to the rent.

On my way to campus from Yaba, I squeezed into a danfo heading towards the junction before connecting to a cab. The conductor slapped the side of the vehicle.

"Bariga! Unilag gate! Enter with your change!"

Inside, passengers were packed like sardines as usual. Someone complained about the cost of fuel; another blamed the government. The driver blamed everyone except himself. It was a typical Lagos morning, and as I listened to the endless arguments, I realized something: everybody was surviving. Some honestly, some desperately, and others creatively.

So, who was I to judge anyone?

By the time lectures ended, hunger was already knocking at the door of my stomach. I checked my account again. Still N2,050. I walked past the woman selling jollof rice inside the faculty canteen.

"Fine girl," she called. "You no buy food today?"

I smiled faintly. "Later, Ma."

We both knew later meant never.

Back at the hostel, Ada was unusually quiet.

"The landlord came again."

I didn't answer.

"He said by Friday anybody wey never balance should begin packing."

Friday??? That was in three days. Three miserable days.

That night, I couldn't concentrate on my reading. I picked up my phone again. The message was still there. Unread. My finger hovered over the screen. Maybe replying didn't mean anything. Maybe it was just a conversation. Maybe I was overthinking it.

Maybe...

Before I could change my mind, I typed. "Good evening, sir."

I read the message three times, then I pressed Send. The reply came almost instantly.

"Finally... I was beginning to think you'd never answer."

I felt a strange feeling in my gut, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't responding because I wanted to.

I was responding because survival had begun to bargain for me.