It was a weekend evening, and Memedoh had returned early from the library to pick up the kids.
Mama I.B., the elderly woman who often watched over them, met her with her usual laughter.
"My daughter," Mama began, "people keep asking me if these children are my grandchildren. I just tell them yes, before they start another round of questions."
Memedoh chuckled, shaking her head. "Mama, don't mind people o. They're too good at poking their noses into what doesn't concern them — always looking for who to gossip about. Sometimes I think gossip is the bone that holds some relationships together."
Mama laughed heartily, wiping her hands on her wrapper.
Memedoh knew Mama I.B. had been a blessing. She often tried to appreciate her in small ways — buying her little things, patronizing her shop almost every evening. She still remembered the day she came earlier than usual and found a woman selling ready-made clothes outside. Mama I.B. had admired a lovely fabric but hesitated to buy it. Memedoh paid for it quietly. The old woman's joy that day had stayed with her.
The sun was dipping low that evening, spilling gold over the horizon. It was the kind of soft, brown sunset that made everything look peaceful.
"Mommy, today you came early!" Itara said, running toward her.
"Yes, my dear," she smiled, gathering them into her arms. "I came because of all of you. I don't want to keep leaving you in Mama's shop every time. Aren't you happy to see me?"
Itara blushed shyly, saying nothing.
"Mommy, are you going out again?" little Memeidah asked, looking up curiously as they strolled home— he'd begun to notice her frequent outings.
"No o, I'm here with you people," she laughed, swooshing her face against Aquilla's cheek. The little girl's smile stretched wide, the joy of momma's presence filling her heart.
"Will you let us watch cartoon?" he asked hopefully.
Itara's eyes brightened, waiting for her mother's answer.
"Cartoon?" Memedoh teased, unlocking the door as they stepped inside.
"Yes!" they chorused.
She sighed playfully. "Hmm… only after you finish your weekend assignments."
Their shoulders dropped instantly.
"Why na, Mummy? Tomorrow is not school," they protested.
"I know," she replied, unhanging her bag, "that's exactly why you should do it now and forget about it."
"This plenty homework that Mr. Princewill gave us—Mummy, I can't finish it," Itara mumbled.
She smiled and went to the kitchen, preparing them tea and sandwiches for dinner— the easiest option for an evening that had already been strained."
"Mommy, no moi moi tonight?" Memeidah and Itara asked, peeking through the doorway.
"Don't you two ever get tired of eating moi moi?" she said, raising a brow. "Please, no moi moi tonight."
They sighed dramatically and walked away.
After dinner, she played games with them and finally allowed one cartoon episode. When it ended, she drew from it during their night lessons — her usual bedtime routine. Every night, she gathered them and told short tales, weaving lessons into laughter. The children were always eager to listen.
When the story ended, Itara gasped. "Ah ah! That's the end?"
"Yes, my love," Memedoh said, reaching for her pen to jot a few notes for work.
"Mama, continue na," Memeidah's small voice pleaded.
"Aww, I'm through for tonight," she replied with a smile.
"So what happened to the little bird? It never went back home?" he asked, his voice half-asleep.
She chuckled softly, lifting Aquilla, who was already fast asleep. "Come on, it's time for a good weekend rest. Don't worry — part two will come out tomorrow." she said to ease their disatisfaction.
Their faint groans of protest made her laugh. She turned off the light, the room now calm, filled with the scent of tea and childhood warmth. Outside, the night had folded into a deep hush — the kind that reminded her that even strength needs a soft place to rest.
_______
The next evening was no brighter than the last; the 7 p.m. stars were already peeking through. The district was a pleasant—streetlights gleamed softly, painting the pedestrian lines in a silvery glow. Sleek cars and noisy public tricycles bustled past, giving way to quieter streets like the one where Memedoh lived. The area had evolved over the years into a modestly classy neighborhood.
Memedoh had long planned to rent a more comfortable apartment—something cozier but still within the same district. Yet, the cost involved wasn't encouraging. Her carefulness with money—what Leanna often called her "financial fastidiousness"—kept holding her back.
When she moved from her previous apartment, it was Leanna who gave her the greatest push.
"O girl, you no go leave that your compound where talk no dey finish? So tey you don become proprietress, you still dey that place wey no get level."
[Girl, won't you leave that compound where there's always gossip? You've even become a school owner, yet you're still living in that low-standard place.]
Leanna would tease her every time Memedoh complained about her neighbors to her and Agnes. Now, with time, Memedoh began to feel the same need—to move to a more standard environment.
Her friends—Agnes, Leanna, Oferikah and Favour—had all upgraded to finer apartments. They now visited her less often.
"You no wan visit me again na," Memedoh said on the phone that evening.
[Now you don't want to visit me again, ?]
"Na you no wan change to place wey go fit me," Leanna retorted, chewing gum as usual. "I no dey that your compound level."
[It's you that doesn't want to move to a place that fits my standard. I can't come to that compound of yours anymore.]
"I dunno why you go dey rent house wey uncivilized people fit afford. Them go just dey behave rubbish, everything go be issue. Only that one day wey we come, nothing we no see."
[I don't understand why you're renting a place that low-class people can afford. They just act anyhow—everything turns into an issue. That day we visited, it was chaos.]
Leanna continued,
"Don't you see those married couples that live upstairs? That woman just dey jealous your children."
[That woman upstairs is jealous of your children .]
"Yeah, I perceived something like that," Memedoh admitted.
"See how she was asking, 'Where's their father now?' Is it her concern?
[See how she asked, 'Where's their father?'—what's her business? ]. Leanna scoffed.
No mind am, she dey find wetin she go take laugh me as she think say I dey reason her."
[She just wants to mock me because she thinks I care about her opinion.]
Memedoh retorted.
"Na em I drop the sweet lie for am, make she craze if she want."
[That's why I told her a sweet lie—let her go crazy if she wants.] Leanna smirked.
"Omo, that your lying that day ehn!"
[Really, that lie you told that day was something else!]
Memedoh laughed.
"Hmm, I wonder wetin you, you for talk. You wey be Professor Morality," [Hmm, I wonder what you would've said. You, our Professor Morality].
Leanna teased.
"You don come o," [There you go again,] Memedoh replied, laughing.
"Wait jor, I give her talk wey go make her go reason her marriage," Leanna said with a smirk.
[Hold on, I gave her something that'll make her reflect on her own marriage.]
Memedoh chuckled, recalling that day. She had stepped out to buy a quick meal for them, since Leanna and Agnes were already seated, chatting in their usual "classy" manner.
"Ah ah, I told her, 'Their dad is abroad. He works offshore. How many times you wan dey see that kind man? If na once a year sef, e don try.'"
[ I told her, 'Their dad is abroad working offshore. How often do you expect to see such a man? Even once a year is something.']
"Agnes my G, she flow well with me na. She even helped stew the rice," [Agnes, my girl, flowed with the story perfectly. She even helped cook the stew for the rice I cooked.]
Leanna said, laughing.
"You no see as the children dey fresh?"
[Didn't you see how healthy those kids look?]
"Omo, Amara come complete am," she continued. "If it were me, make him no come sef, make him just dey send money dey come. I go dey give am love for phone call."
[Then Amara completed it: 'If it were me, he shouldn't even come back—just keep sending money. I'll give him love over the phone.'"]
When I was entering the compound, I could already hear you all laughing." Memedoh recalled, smiling.
"That your other neighbor—that young girl—just dey her veranda, acting as if she was on call . For where? Person wey dey listen pass me wey dey yarn the gist. Omo, those your neighbors, do pack out. Go find better place. No dey form calculator. No be only you dey spend carefully,"
[That other neighbor of yours, that young girl, was pretending to be on the phone—but she was listening more than I was talking! Girl, move out of that place already. Stop over-calculating—you're not the only one who budgets.]
Leanna teased.
"I know, nonsense people no dey ever finish," Memedoh sighed. "But at least everybody go wear their steeze well. They will act like sey dem no send."
[I know. Nonsense people never finish. But at least there, everyone will act like they don't care.]
"Come, my girl, do pack comot for that compound—get better place," Leanna pressed. "Unless no come tell me say I no dey visit you. I no know wetin make you never wan get your own Emeka reach now."
[Listen, girl, just move out and rent a better place. Don't come saying I don't visit you. I don't understand why you haven't found your own man till now.]
" Look at how my man treats me—no serious stress at all. This need of moving out. If it were me, my man would've handled it ASAP. Don't dull yourself; desire for better ease," she concluded.
—————
They had bade each other goodbye and ended the call, but her mind wandered. It wasn't the first time she'd heard such talk. It captured that quiet, inherited bias that believed a woman's comfort must hinge on male provision — a tone that made independence seem like punishment and self-reliant women look as though they were trying too hard or suffering unnecessarily.
Memedoh smiled faintly, appreciating her friend for calling, though deep down she understood what Leanna didn't: that sometimes, growth takes longer when you're building solidly from the ground up.
_________________
The need to move to a better apartment rose quietly in Memedoh's chest after the call. Leanna's words, though couched in playful banter, carried a sting of truth. She knew her friend's love for flamboyance often clouded reason, yet she couldn't deny there was some sense in what she said.
Since she moved into her current home, life there had been manageable — not ideal, but decent enough. That was until the power supply crisis came. The transformer serving their building got damaged, plunging the compound into endless darkness.
When the landlord was contacted, basing off the state and caring less, he casually told the lawyer that he would only bear twenty-five percent of the repair cost. The rest, he insisted, should be split equally among the tenants. The lawyer conveyed the message; what followed was silence.
Days passed. Every tenant withdrew, citing one excuse or another. Some asked for more time, others simply avoided the discussion. Memedoh couldn't stand the nightly hum of her generator or the slow burn of fuel expenses. The constant power cuts made her children's study time as well as hers a struggle, her skin care production and research schedule unpredictable, and her rest completely discomforting. The noise from neighboring generators every day was deafening, blending into the thick humidity of the evenings. She had deadlines to meet, online sessions , and orders to process — all of which depended on stable electricity. The thought of waiting endlessly for others to act made her chest tighten. Something in her knew she couldn't keep living that way.
______________
It was about to clock the 7th week, darkness lingered in the compound yet so painfully the district's has been enjoying very steady power supply lately. The frustration had begun to sit heavy on Memedoh's mind. It felt like she should just live in her store, she couldn't bear the inconvenience she realizes when she comes home.
She decided to reach out to her neighbors individually as she wondered the reason for their quietness— three of them, on different occasions — hoping to stir some collective action before the matter dragged any further.
Memedoh decided to speak with her neighbors one by one. The compound — a one-storey L-shaped building of five tenants — had once felt like a small, friendly community. But lately, the power issue had dimmed more than the lights.
The first was Adora, the young lady who lived downstairs, adjacent to her apartment — The one Leanna spoke of.
Memedoh met her one humid evening on her balcony, sipping a chilled drink while scrolling on her phone.
"Hi, Adora," Memedoh began, her tone calm and cordial. "I wanted to discuss the power issue. The lawyer mentioned that everyone would have to contribute their part. I thought it might be good to talk about how we can handle it."
Adora dropped her phone slowly, her lips tightening. "Oh, that," she said, shifting in her chair. "Honestly, that's beyond my budget right now. I just renewed my rent last month and bought a few things for my room. Maybe let's see the landlord will still handle it — after all, he said if we can't wait, right?"
"I understand," Memedoh replied. "But if we all wait for him, it might take too long. There's so much essential reasons we need power supply. I'm sure it's affecting you too."
Adora smiled faintly, almost pitying. "Yeah, it's inconvenient, I know. But… it's not something I can jump into right now. Let's see how things go; maybe when he's ready, I'll make my contribution." She picked up her phone again, signaling the end of the conversation.
Memedoh forced a polite smile and left.
The following afternoon, after yet another night spent listening to the low hum of her generator, Memedoh decided she'd speak to the couple upstairs —Mr and Mrs Ken. She had met with Mrs Ken earlier that week, who had been quick to complain about the landlord's decision.
"Imagine o, it's his house and he's saying he'll pay only twenty-five percent," the woman had said. "If something goes wrong with the roof tomorrow, will he ask us to climb and fix it too?"
Memedoh had smiled faintly, trying not to sound too forward.
"That's exactly why I think it's best we all agree on a plan and share the cost. If we wait for him, we'll stay in darkness longer than we should."
The woman had nodded absentmindedly then, but her tone carried more irritation than intent.
Now, a few days later, Memedoh met both husband and wife at the corridor balcony where they often sat in the evenings. The man was reading on his tab while his wife ...
"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Ken," she greeted politely.
"Evening, Madam Memedoh," the man replied, lowering his tab. "How is it now?" He asked courteously
"I'm good"
" So I actually came concerning the light issue" she said gently. I wanted to know if you've given it any more thought." She said calmly.
The man sighed, leaning back on his chair.
"Look, My sister, I won't lie to you—this doesn't make any sense. It's not even our responsibility in the first place. The landlord owns the house, so he should be the one to fix his property. If we keep accepting things like this, landlords will just keep taking advantage of tenants."
"You're right, sir," Memedoh said carefully, choosing her words. "But you know how the trend is now. Houses are in high demand around here. If we push too hard, he could easily say we should move out instead."
He chuckled dryly, shaking his head.
"You have a point . But does that make it right? Why I should be paying for what's not my responsibility? And even if I were to contribute, I can't drop that kind of money now. It's not that its a small amount. And you know it, Or is it all that easy for you?"
His tone carried that quiet sting — the kind that wasn't overtly insulting but deeply dismissive.
Memedoh inhaled slowly before replying.
"It's not about who can or can't pay, sir. I just think we all need to find a solution before the situation gets worse. I'm sure you've noticed how stable the power supply has become, others have been enjoying all this while."
The woman beside him scoffed lightly, murmuring,
"Hmmm, some people just like to rush. Me, I don't have that kind of spare money lying around. Even if I have, I won't spend it on what landlord suppose handle.
Abi (right)? The man nodded in agreement, waking he's tab screen
"Exactly. Let him fix it. We can't be doing landlord's job for him. Besides, it's not like there's no alternative. We all have personal generator."
Memedoh smiled faintly, though her chest tightened again. "Alright, sir. I just felt it was better if we stood together on it. I understand."
"No issues," the man said, dismissively. "If you talk to lawyer again, tell him for now we no ready yet" [tell him, for now we're not yet ready]
She nodded politely and walked away. But as she descended the stairs, her steps felt heavier than before. Their words weren't cruel, but the undertone was clear — they didn't take her seriously. To them, she was just another woman making noise about what she couldn't possibly afford.
And as the evening light dimmed around the compound, Memedoh realized something: sometimes, indifference cuts deeper than insult.
What kind of people was she living among?
________
She had kept aside money for her next rent — a discipline she practiced to escape future tension — but this time, she chose differently.
Memedoh called the lawyer and told him she would handle the repair herself, even if it meant sacrificing her rent savings.
It didn't take long before one of the male tenants, perhaps pricked by pride at being outdone by a young woman, hurried to contribute his share. With that, the total cost finally balanced out.
A few days later, Memedoh found herself at the power company's office. The procedures were exhausting — forms, queues, signatures — and worse, they had proposed not a repair but a full transformer replacement.
"Sir, you're the one to run this process," she said over the phone, her tone cracking with frustration. "I'm speaking too much English already. Come and complete this thing yourself — how can someone stress this much over something meant to be a collective responsibility?"
"Madam, why are you talking to me this way?" the lawyer replied, his voice stiff. "What's so difficult about the process?"
"Am I the one to sign for a new transformer serving another man's property?" she shot back, exhausted and annoyed.
"Oh, you didn't tell me that part," the lawyer said, taken aback.
"I've been calling for your presence, and you keep sending documents. I'm not the caretaker here — I just need light, that's all," she replied firmly.
He paused, realizing her frustration was justified. "You're right," he admitted. "You've done well. I'll handle the rest."
Though their last call had left him unsettled, the lawyer couldn't help but be impressed by her initiative. He decided the other tenants' shares would be strictly added to their next rent payments. When he came around, he studied Memedoh — the same woman he had once regarded with quiet pity.
He had thought of her as fragile, a struggling mother barely keeping up, someone to whom he had shown unusual leniency when she first moved in. But now, he saw something else — a quiet, unyielding strength beneath her simplicity.
From that day, the atmosphere in the compound changed. Conversations that once flowed freely became guarded; greetings turned brief and hollow. Faces that once smiled at her now traded whispers when she walked past.
None of them had ever imagined she could shoulder such an expense alone. Not someone as quietly modest as Memedoh, with nothing loud or flashy to hint at capability. In their eyes, she had become too assertive, too capable — an uncomfortable reflection of what they themselves were not.
But to Memedoh, it wasn't pride — it was survival. One of those rare moments when a burden met her prepared, even at a heavy cost.
It stirred a quiet blend of envy and discomfort — especially among the two neighbors who had once dismissed her call for everyone to contribute. Her friends noticed it too during their rare visits.
Looking back on those moments — and realizing that this was where the friction with her neighbors had begun — made her start to take Leanna's proposition more seriously. The place was modest, the kind anyone with steady work and a bit of savings could afford. Yet, its simplicity came with no real privacy; walls seemed to breathe other people's business, and conversations traveled faster than light.
Worse still were the murmurs — whispers about her being too young to have three children, and no visible man in sight. The looks she got on the street, half curious and half judgmental, were reminders that gossip had a longer memory than kindness.
"I need a place that mirrors who I'm becoming," she thought. "Somewhere people mind their own affairs and respect the peace of others."
It was clear now — it was time to plan her next step upward.
Her friends had started behaving differently too, carrying a new air of self-importance whenever they came around. For them, changing apartments was a symbol of status; for her, it was about reclaiming emotional peace — about finding a space where stability and serenity met.
She knew she was worth that change.
Already, she could sense how some of her friends used her living condition as a quiet contrast to elevate themselves — to seem of finer quality, more "in control" of life. She was determined to end that narrative.
This time, she told herself, they won't know where I live. Not for a long while.