Chapter 2: Gist and Goodbye

"Ah, so you finally no fit stay again?"

"You struggle enter Abuja and even manage buy house—why you dey leave so soon?"

Their voices carried down the street, mixed with the sounds of okada horns and children hawking sachet water. News about Tobi Adesina's transfer spread like wild harmattan fire. Those who loved gist and those who were just nosy all came to ask questions. None of them knew it was Tobi Adesina himself who asked for the transfer, all because of Simi Ajayi.

"Na wa for Tobi o," old Mama Ebere said under her breath, tying her scarf tighter. "All this because of woman?"

After Simi Ajayi and the main guy, Dayo Okechukwu, Prince for name only, went their separate ways, she no longer wanted to stay in Abuja. So, Tobi Adesina didn't think twice before throwing away the bright future he had worked ten years for. Truly, Tobi fit win Best Supporting Husband for Nollywood.

Sometimes, at night, I'd hear the wall geckos clicking and imagine them gossiping too. 'Na love be this?' they seemed to say.

That day, Tobi Adesina was sitting in the room reading, watching me as I returned from dealing with the neighbours. He took the Ghana-must-go bag of vegetables from me, looking a bit lost.

He hovered by the door like he wanted to ask me something deep, but all he managed was: "Why e come small like this?" he asked.

His salary had never been much, and now most of it went to Simi Ajayi every month. Land in Abuja was crazy expensive; buying this small family compound almost finished all our savings—all the money I managed to save from running a roadside akara stall. I never thought that, after such a short stay, we’d have to sell it. If not for my careful planning, Tobi, who didn’t know anything about money, would have rushed to sell it off and lost almost half its value.

He didn't see all the mental maths I did every month, scraping here and there. I didn’t mention any of this. I just said, "Vegetables for Abuja no be here, e dey cost die."

Tobi Adesina cooked vegetable noodles, looking every bit like a caring husband.

He wore his old Liverpool FC jersey, stirring the pot with a long wooden spoon, humming that same Sunny Ade song he always loved. To outsiders, we looked like the picture of a perfect couple—one of those social media lies.

Back when we lived in faraway Makurdi, the neighbours always praised Tobi as a rare man. They said a lonely girl like me, with no known background, was truly lucky. They never saw how I woke up before dawn and stayed up late, hustling at my stall, racking my brain to make all kinds of masa and fried yam. They only talked about how talented and caring Tobi was.

They never noticed how my fingers became rough, or the times I cried behind the curtains counting coins. It was always Tobi, the golden boy. Sometimes, I wondered if I was invisible.

When I first arrived, I also felt lucky that my mission target was Tobi Adesina. My job was to change his fate—to stop him from giving everything to Simi Ajayi and eventually dying for her sake.

Na so my wahala start—one morning, system just drop me inside Anu’s body, give me mission wey I no ask for. From my first day at university, I transmigrated and got tied to the system. If I count well, I’ve been here for over five years.

Sometimes, when the moon was high, I would touch the old anklet on my leg and wonder if my real body missed me. Five years, but it felt like a lifetime.

Just yesterday, the system told me my mission was done. For some reason, the male and female leads didn’t end up together, and I married Tobi instead.

Staring at the plain bowl of noodle soup on the table, I quietly chanted in my mind, "Jollof rice, jollof rice," and forced myself to finish it. I wished for Mama Fola’s smoky jollof rice, not this watery indomie wey no get pepper. Anyway, in seven days, I’d be able to go back and eat proper food.

I almost laughed at myself. I could see myself sitting in Mama Fola's canteen back home, attacking a big plate of smoky jollof with fried plantain, not this limp noodle swimming in oil.

While I was eating, Tobi spoke up: "Anu, Simi get urgent need. My salary for this month..."

His words trailed off, as if he feared what would come next.

That was when I remembered—today was payday. Looks like, once again, nothing would be left for us.

Even my phone beeped with the alert, and I had to swallow my annoyance with the noodles.

Afraid I would complain like before, Tobi quickly explained: "Harmattan don start. Simi's place dey run out of firewood. You know say she no be like us—she no fit handle cold..."

I cut him off gently: "Okay."

His hand shake small, like he dey fear thunder wey no come.

Tobi looked at me, surprised.

I could see in his eyes the question he was dying to ask: 'You no go fight today?'