I See Jollof With My Eyes

What is better than believing you are heading towards love?

March 10, 2025.

I am digging a hole of self pity to burrow into at work when I see Chidera's message: Have you ever written to ask a question or answer a question or figure something out?

I stop digging.

In 2013, the now-defunct Psquare released Ifunanya, a double entendre about a person(Ifunanya) and the thing that makes them crazy(Ifunanya). They affirm that while lust is what they are familiar with, this, this thing is different. This thing gives them trust issues, makes them do irrational things, it is Ifunaya that has them standing in the rain, knocking at her door at midnight, that has them pleading for a chance. Caleb Azumah Nelson (Open Water) put it like this, How does one shake off desire? To give it a voice is to sow a seed, knowing that somehow, someway, it will grow. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding. But even if this seed grows, even if the body lives, breathes, flourishes, there is no guarantee of reciprocation. Or that you’ll ever see them again…Besides, sometimes, to resolve desire, it’s better to let the thing bloom. To feel this thing, to let it catch you unaware, to hold onto the ache. What is better than believing you are heading towards love?

I tell Chidera that I have only written to understand love or like Bell Hooks(All About Love), when I drink water or take a dish from the cupboard, I stand before this reminder that we yearn for love—that we seek it—even when we lack hope that it really can be found.

The first time I got heartbroken, I was appalled at how all consuming the pain was; it ate into my head, a raging fever in my chest, and I wanted to ask anybody how it was not possible that they could see this thing eating me from the inside out, threatening to burst out of my sternum. It was relentless this fire burning me, and because I didn’t know to ask for help, or learned how to deal with this, I burned silently, ashamed of this fire wishing like Jacob Banks(Lover (Olowo Ori mi)) Olowo Ori mi ejor, ejor, ejor, e bam be olowo Ori mi that the person who caused me the most pain would be the one to heal me. Take it away! Take it away! Take this feeling away! But they couldn't. They too, were oblivious to my pain.

Mind Musing‘s Art Exhibition tagged Illumination.

All of us are in the Owambe of life.

It has been years of watching, listening, asking questions, of gists, of prayers and supplications, of fears, of walking on water, of drowning, and of finding my feet again. This is a bit of what I have learned:

• I have not met a woman who didn’t have a history of being fumbled

• You must find what you value and choose it. Choose it often, hard, well. Because life will always offer compromises, just a little, no, it doesn’t really matter, we can work it out. I can manage this one, it’s not that bad. They are working on it, their excuses make sense. Tell yourself that you can have it all. If not, what in the world are we here for?

• You must never believe what a man says over what he does. If you are looking for a man’s truth, check his actions. I used ‘‘actions’’ because it must be consistent, look out for patterns.

• There are people who will feed you crumbs, and with them, you must resist the urge to ask for more or an explanation. Yes, they do know what they are doing. Yes, they just don’t want to do it for you. Yes, they have someone else on the side and are stringing you along. Yes, it is YOU they are doing it to. No, it is not about you, it’s them.

• There are men who can only love you with words.

• Women are always hopeful for something in relationships. We rely heavily on what could be rather than what is. We see the potential, we go back to chats to shield ourselves with words they said to us while high on the possibility of our love. Surely, the person who made this statement, who uttered these words, is still the person. Surely, all we have to do is bring it out of them, it’s in them! We ignore the faint traces of red. Why do women listen to what a man is saying rather than what he is doing? Why? How are we so understanding, making excuses for a person who didn't ask us to? How is it easy to part with our minds at promises? mere words? Love is action. Consistent action over time. How do we not see that?

• Some people will make you think that you are too much. That your need for accountability, emotional safety is absurd. Oh, they will never tell you outright, if they did, it would be better, you would be able to point at it and say this is how I knew, this is what they said or did on this dash day of dash 20 dash. But they didn't, they tell you that you are never too much, you balance them. They are willing to do things for you that they can't believe themselves, or make you a playlist containing all the lies they can't tell you in person. But you are shrinking, adjusting to suit them. They pretend like they don’t know why you are flighty, why you hesitate to believe them, why you scrutinize their social media, wondering how a person could live different lives, and why you require constant reassurance. It is because those who take away from you never look like thieves. You can trace their education, background, hobbies, the moments you thought were real, their laugh, their honesty, their fears. It was not possible that this was intentional. This excavation of your soul cannot possibly be them.

• It helps to have an example about what a healthy relationship looks like, no, I am not talking about that trendy couple online. If we see that something exists, then we can aspire to it. You will never know that jollof rice is available if you don’t see anyone eating it.

• I understand that half the frustration and anger that come with liking a person who doesn't treat you right is how easy it is to do the opposite. What is difficult about sending a text?, How it makes you doubt yourself, to want to shrink yourself into biteable sizes for them, perhaps you are expecting too much, maybe you should lower your standards a bit, or get used to being constantly disappointed. I see you. But in those moments, you must insist on yourself, choose your peace. If you can see jollof, you must believe that jollof will reach your table no matter how occupied the waiters look. All of us are in the owambe of life. Nah, I play too much.

Not all Jollof is Jollof

In a recent adulting conversation with Favour, we talked about how increasingly hard it is to settle now for what we would have easily settled for in the past, but because we have seen, perceived, and even tasted a little jollof, it makes settling hard and you learn that unfortunately or not, there will be many opportunities to infact settle, and each time you have to let them go, mentally and physically, you wonder if this is not the best you can find, if it is not okay to settle. Perhaps you find quotes to support your claim, ''A relationship works if the man is more into the girl'', ''Don't trust men'' ''All men are scum, go into a relationship preparing for the worst''. We have lost it!

This is how we encourage each other; For the one who has/had difficulty letting go, you must never believe that God's best for you is in the past. With God, it only gets better. You must always remember, for you who seemingly heard God and are staying in an unfulfilling relationship with a man who gives you no peace, God's gift ADDS NO SORROW. You must choose Jollof rice. Think of it, Pray about it, aspire to it, learn to discern it from concoction- all good with no depth, white rice- almost there but not quite it, and tomato paste quickies. Because on the day full-fledged jollof rice arrives, it will come full with assorted, coleslaw, moi moi, fried beef, cocktail, mocktail, juice, wine and when you take a bite, it will all be worth it and real ones know Jollof no dey ever finish, the servers have hoarded it, that woman with big gele took five packs and the good thing is, our father is the host, for him party, food no dey ever finish, party no dey stop.

S/O to Ire for the photo of her plate

No Jollof goes down well alone.

I am seated in the lobby waiting to watch Sinners and thinking about how awkward and nerve-racking meeting people has been in my journey to be more outgoing in 2025, wondering how and when couples become at ease with each other, when I see them, People walking in. You can tell a lot about a person from how they walk into a room; the ones with drooped shoulders, avoiding eyes, those who walk swiftly down the hall, their companion shuffling behind trying to catch up, the girl clinging to her man as they walk, clearly shy. The ones together but separated into their anxiety. I am reminded of how this must feel, too aware of your surrounding, lights, people, food, chewing, you catch yourself talking over your companion, half listening, your eyes and mind moving faster than you can chew, the comparison with the people around you, you will something funny to rescue you from yourself, awkwardness in one body, anxiety sparkling.

How are you in a room full of people with your partner? How do you not die of nerves, overthink? You want to say all the right things, the corny but romantic things, that sounds smart, easy, right. But even this, you overthink, even this you fail at.

I hope for the outliers. The ones who lean into each other on the queue, the ones whose hands are permanently infused, the ones who can inhabit silence comfortably, the ones at ease in their skin, in each other’s skin, the rest of us simply being witnesses to their love.

Why on earth do we love?

Because we need witnesses to our lives. Even when we make moves in silence, we want someone documenting those moves, a trumpeter that sees, that understands, that’s silently there, watching, taking care. Yes, you do things, yet you want someone to see that you are doing things. To see your late-night sacrifices, your early morning grumpiness, to never offer us banana without groundnut, to keep 5alive in the fridge because they know we are coming around and because it sweetens it for some reason. I didn’t see Thomas Edison work on the light bulb, and yet, I know he made 1000 attempts. We want to be known where it is not so much a matter of the head than it is of the heart.

Love this song because it makes me think of me.

A hụrụ m gị n'anya

A favourite thing to do is to ask a person how they met their partner, and I have heard the most ordinary stories. It is then I realise, your groceries or books won’t always fall, you won’t always look into each other’s eyes and feel gravity desert you, the ordinary doesn't always tell you it will be extraordinary, and yet, how can we tell that we are falling? Is it in the process or after the fact? How does that feel, or better still, is it a feeling or a knowing? And in what degree? I don’t have any answers. This piece is not about answers.

The Igbo word for love is a hụrụ m gị n'anya. It means I see you with my eyes. I see you. It is what love is, the ability to be seen, to be constantly known and learned. In these days, when I am assailed by the need for companionship, I talk to God about it, I imagine the sort of companion I need, all the ways I would give and receive. I am learning myself and with that, learning what I need, want, and what I cannot accept. Yes, I require constant communication, daily, effusively. No, I will not remind you about my birthday or that I have a test tomorrow if I have mentioned it before. Yes, I will yap your ears off because the world is constantly moving and I want to tell you all about it. Yes, you must buy me books by my favourite authors, actively support my dreams, plan dates, and tell me all the ways in which I take your breath away. I want someone I can be silent with and then loud and then silent, who doesn't think I have multiple personality disorder. I want a love that makes love songs make sense, I am tired of doing legwork to Obimo(sorry, AG Baby).

Love is Ordinary

In Save My Soul, the artist, Dwin the Stoic, is imploring his girl, he tells her I've been searching for love in all the wrong places, seeing different faces but it is only you who will save my soul. I know, the first time I heard it, I knew Jesus would not be pleased, but was it not Ajebo hustlers (In Love ft Fave) who said you be my melody na you be my life. Artists always sound like they would rather die than not be with their love interest. It is why I love music, because (Small Worlds, Caleb Azumah Nelson), sound helps us get closer to what we feel. Besides, language always has to be so exact and I never know exactly how I feel.

When I started writing this two months ago, I wanted to talk about the ordinariness of people, of love. It shifted quickly to anger because I was having certain conversations with women in that moment, and I was livid about what I was seeing, hearing, and experiencing, and I wanted someone to carry that anger for me. This writing has evolved, in the sense that a lot of that anger has dissipated with time and a resolve in its place. This piece, I don’t know what it is.

I told you when I first started that hardly do you plan for love, love is ordinary. Sometimes, unbelievably so. I used to think that when I announced that I was in love, or am now, a girlfriend, our conversations would change. Their vulnerability and trust automatic, even if I haven’t earned it, and their devotion absolute. Our conversations should carry a note worthy of a ‘‘serious, committed relationship.’’ A weight heavy with the lines we have crossed. Yet while these are not untrue, relationships are ordinary. It is still friendship, still texting, still enjoyment, and a freedom to discuss what you couldn’t, to say things, feel things, and be things that you couldn’t be before. Maybe that's the root of fear. You fear that you will be seen, your flaws, your troll, your unsharpness, your need to be protected in body and mind, but you do not want to admit that; you want it to happen automatically, to meet someone for whom all those scars will fall. Queen and Slim put it this way: I want a guy to show me myself. I want him to love me so deeply that I'm not afraid to show how ugly I can be. I want him to show me scars I never knew I had. But I don't want him to make them go away, I want him to hold my hand while I nurse them myself. And I want him to cherish the bruises they leave behind.

This is one of my favourite stories of how someone I know met her partner. She was at a book event when she approached the table to buy a book, they picked it at the same time and had a little argument about who took it first, then she asked him to play rock, paper, scissors for it. She won twice. To date, he denies it every time. It is what romance is made of, and yet in that moment, it was ordinary, her oblivious to what would become spectacular, and this is what I mean, love is ordinary, you do not set out on the spectacular, but along the way, it meets you. It is only in retrospect that you realise that all along you had been living in a fairytale. And if on the off chance it ends, it ends. But we must be able to say we tried, we did right by them, and showed up honestly each time.

After all, what is better than believing you are heading towards love?

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I believe that one of the hallmarks of a good writer is that they write about their times. It is what I aim to do fearlessly. Today, anger. Tomorrow, God knows what. I want to flow into things without overthinking them. Creative Non-fiction is consuming because it requires honesty that I am not sure I can give all the time, but I remember that if there’s a piece I want to read that hasn’t been written, then I must write it. I must. This is one of it.

Until next month, Daalu.

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