We Are Tired, Feminists!

I’m usually very optimistic but this Uber driver was acting funny. I couldn’t tell if he was tipsy or if he was just stupid, but I was uncomfortable. He kept staring at my thighs! “This man smells like he lives in the beer parlor!” “Would it be weird if I tell him to stop the car, and I move to the backseat?” “Should I just move to the back from the passenger seat and act like I’m a confident drama queen?” I was thinking about that a couple of minutes ago, by the way, when I was still in the car. I told him to stop right in front of the estate. God gave me legs to walk.

Is this the first time for me to walk in the middle of the night all alone? Yes. I slept off in the hospital while watching Yewande, my asthmatic best friend before the nurse woke me up to go home. I wished I could stay. Does she know how unsafe it is? She is a woman, she should’ve understood right?

There is a guy sitting on the pavement before the estate gate with a cigarette in his hand and he’s singing. His eyes are red and I look away. I can feel his pupils staring at my thighs too and I pull my skirt down even though it will come back up after the next two steps I take. Right now, I wish I could teleport — if there is anything like that. I greet the security guard — I can be respectful, but not too friendly — and get into the estate, everywhere is dark and cold, but I must act fierce and bold. Haha, pun intended.

“Ah ah madam! Nawa o, with this short skirt, you wan make man commit sin for this midnight.” The security guy barks.

“Excuse me?” — “Excuse me? Are you crazy? You smoke something this night? Abi you’re just naturally insane!” I say this in my head, and not out loud because I’m alone and his ego might quiver and he can carry me and place me on his dirty mattress and no one will hear my voice again.

“This one na first class ashawo o! You dey speak big big English.” he laughs as I walk away. “No try this one for another person o, them go humble you!”

I’m frightened, I am not ready to fight, but I will have his time another day when I am with at least two of my friends and a soldier and the sun is shining bright. This same gate abi? This same estate, okay now. I don’t stay out late most times, but I know a lot of Lagosians do. So where are you guys? I look back and I can finally catch a breath because the security is nowhere in sight.

It’s so cold and I’m walking down the dark narrow street of Victory Homes Estate by 12am. It wouldn’t have been this narrow if Lagos houses could have parking spaces in their compounds. I see houses here and even Rick Ross can’t stand between the gate and their door. They should park anywhere else but in the streets.

Now I’m turning into the next street before the street before my street. Yes, it’s a long walk, but I can’t explain how uncomfortable I was in that Uber (well, not until now that there is no soul on this street). I can hear laughter from afar, they sound like teenagers playing a game. Okay, some lights are on this street, yay! I can’t really see from a far distance, but I know there are people at the end of the street. God please, I know they are men because women don’t stay out late — maybe in the club but not on the streets of Victory Homes Estate.

I’m walking closer to these people and they are a bunch of guys arguing about football and my heart beats faster. Chioma, that girl was doing pepper spray giveaway but you didn’t send a DM. Look at you now, unarmed. “God, please let these men be so into their argument that they don’t notice my fair thighs. God, I won’t wear short skirt again. God, I won’t sleep off again, but work is stressful and Yewande needs me.” I’m saying my prayers and I can see four of their faces in a heated argument mentioning familiar names like Ronaldo and De Bruyne. Is there something like male privilege? I mean, I want to be out by 12am and talk with women about how more women should be out by 12 am.

I bring out my phone and pretend to call someone as I’m approaching. I’m looking around for a stone, brick, or stick as I gain my confidence and chit chat with Linda, my imaginary friend on the phone. Are you wondering what a stone can do when there are four of them? Yeah, me too but I’m hopeful that at least half of them are scared of me and run away, or respect women and stop the other half. If four of them are crazy, I’d be glad I gave one an injury. Some victory shit, you feel me?

Hey! The phone call is working. They saw me, but I guess, for now, they are just having fun arguing and I spotted a lady sitting behind their circle. She had a bowl with bottles of herbs, scary-looking liquids, and gin in sachets with a guy, probably an omonile, or agbero or a bus conductor — or all of the above, I don’t know they all look the same. You know them, with “Fendi”, “Gucci” and “Adibas” platform slides. I notice that they notice me, so I wave and put on a smile to cover my fear. I bet Linda can hear my heart beating and she’s telling me to be calm. I laugh with her and she’s giving me hot gist “Ehen? Tell me more abeg abeg.” At this point, I pass them and I don’t care what is going on behind me, but I’m moving faster than usual. I’m at the end of the street — we have one more before my street — and I can finally tell Linda bye.

A little story about Linda: She has always been there for me and she is everything to me. She’s my boss, my mum, my grandma, such a dynamic woman. The other day at Krispy Kreme, I was alone watching an episode of Rick and Morty, while waiting for my younger brother to come out of the movie theatre and this man approached me.

“Hi, hello?” He interrupted.

“Yeah? Hi.” — “Nigga, what the hell do you want?” Again, I say this in my head and not out loud. I looked up from my phone, uninterested and annoyed.

“May I?” he asked, pointing at the seat in front of me.

“Yeah, sure.” — “Please, do not ask any further questions. I’m trying to watch Rick and Morty here.” I continued to watch.

After five minutes, I got comfortable until he spoke again. “Hello? I’m Chris.” He waved so I could see his hand while concentrating on my phone screen.

Do you know what happened? Yeah, Linda called. She shapeshifted into my mum, I don’t know how she does it, but it is what it is. All I can say is, I said “Hello, mummy?” and I stood up. God will punish Chris because I was really enjoying the sweet aroma of Krispy Kreme as I watched cartoons but I had to leave. I hear y’all saying he just wanted to get to know me, I know what y’all have to say. Oh well, if you feel my pain, say thank you to Linda. To the rest of the bunch: I’m sorry, not sorry.

The street before my street and all I can say is “Thank you, Jesus.” I have to say that until I get home because now I see more men! Do I turn back? Should I use my shirt to cover my face? Should I start speaking in tongues and act as if I’m an evangelist? I can’t act now. Oh, God. Okay, Chioma, calm down, you got this. Chioma, you got this only if you have a weapon o. Chioma, these ones will collect your phone if you call Linda o. How are my two personalities clashing at this moment? I’m so tensed. Okay, I see some women. They have nose rings and colored braids. I think I see them flirting, but that’s none of my business, all I want right now is to be at home.

I just passed a bunch of them, someone whistled. I’m approaching another bunch, “Jesus, I don’t wanna die young like agbalumo.” Chioma, are you fucking kidding me? Okay, I gotta laugh, but I’m scared. Why don’t you have your glasses? Now, you can’t see. Dumb bitch. This street has just two streetlights if I’m not mistaken. I just successfully passed a group of gatemen, or a gateman and his friends. One of them said, “Fine sister!” and I replied, “Well done o!”. What else can I do? Now I can see I’m almost at the end of the street before mine. “God you brought me this far, don’t leave me.” I’m approaching a kiosk, where more men are, with just one lady. She looks like their friend or the girlfriend of one of them. I have no clue, I’m just assuming. They are smoking and drinking the sachet gin, the same kind the other woman was selling. “Please, do not bring your high ass over here. High or drunk, whatever.”

I just passed them, phew! Although I still feel stares and I can still hear them, but I’m almost at the junction to turn into my street, with lights and people that are alive. I can see the light reflecting on this street from afar. God damn, my feet hurt. It rained while I was asleep in the hospital, so the streets are a bit slippery. Okay, enough talk. I hear people coming behind me. I can’t hear clearly, but it’s two men conversing. Two men whispering, why are they whispering? Why would you whisper by 12:30 am, when you’re not under your blanket engaging in midnight calls? Should I slow down for them to pass? What if they are coming for me? Should I run? Can they run faster than me? What if I slip and fall? This is not funny. This is NOT funny.

The footsteps get louder and faster, and then they stop. They’ve done this two times. Oh my God, I don’t want to look back. I’m just 21, I don’t want to get kidnapped. My heart is racing and I’m sweating like I ran a cross-country marathon. They are coming closer, I think I can hear what they’re whispering.

“Run am now, I no fit do am abeg.” The first guy says.

“Guy, man up! Do this thing. Na you talk say you wan do am. See something wey dey your front, better catch am before e commot!” The second guy talks, he sounds older.

Run what? Catch what, me? I’m a “something”? I better run and run for my life. I need to be strategic about this quickly. Oh God, the ground is slippery. I can’t run and fall down. I can’t run and be caught. Does it matter though? At least, I tried and fell. I ran and I was caught. I’m so scared. “God, please can you see me?”. I’m breathing heavily and I hope they can’t smell my fear. The stories I read online are passing through my brain like scenes of different movies. My throat is sore, I’m gasping for air, and I’m trying not to shake as I move a little faster. “Two more houses, and I’ll be on my street.” My house is the third on the street, on the right. If you are reading this, call my sister: 09078654345. Call her! Tell her to bring the cutlass. I’m hoping I can scream loud enough for everyone on my street to wake up, hopefully, someone is awake already.

The footsteps are getting closer and my leg muscles tighten. I’m ready to sprint, and I hope my sister is aware. I hope you have called her! “Okay, Chioma remove your slippers, think fast! If a nail pricks you, it’s better than getting raped.”

“Bros, give me this phone. Text this babe, call this babe. Why you dey fear? I go call am with your phone, she go know say you no get mind.” The older one laughs, and runs past me. The ‘timid’ guy runs after him, trying to collect his phone back. They are both laughing and they run past the junction to my street.

“Ahhhhh!” I just screamed! No, not in my head! I screamed! The two boys just looked back right now! They are still running and laughing, wondering if I’m insane, but it’s best they run. I don’t look back but I feel the people behind me staring. I always feel their eyes, and their silence speaks. I move quickly to my street — where there is light! — and I suddenly fall on my knees. Yes, my heart is back in its place, my throat is healing and my stomach doesn’t feel like an ocean. I scrabble for my gate keys and run towards my house.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.”

My title remains misleading to compel those against feminism to see why we are feminists!

You can check out my story about Uchechi who remained in love with her abuser, just for the longest.