“Deolaaaaaa, wa lo pon mi wa o.“

Iya Sola’s voice echoed across the house, a soft nudge to Deola who was stretched out on the floor of her room to go and fetch some water. Iya Sola was what they called her mother. It was who she became after having her first child, Sola, who is Deola’s eldest sibling. Deola had been hoping to get some coolness from the tiles on the ground when she heard her name. She was in semi-sleep. That space where you are in the throes of sleep yet conscious enough to pick a handfan and try to wave some cool air your way. It was a hot day. While the sun was not yet out, the morning was already heating up. One of those mornings when the breeze plays hide-and-seek and you have to know just when to move to catch some air.

There has been no light for days now. Initially there was the battle of generators. That split second between when PHCN takes light and when every apartment hurries to put on their generators. Then the noise hits you like a badly put together symphony. In a matter of minutes, you get used to it. And that becomes the norm for the next two days. Like many things in Nigeria, everything is dependent on power supply. 24 hours of no electricity could mean 3 days of no running water. Having a generator doesn’t necessarily shield you from anything, it only gives you that momentary feeling of being in control of something, at least. One thing out of the many things outside your control as an average Nigerian.

That feeling of at-least-when-I-need-power-I-can-generate-mine. Nigerian citizen: 1 – government: 0. Ntoin, Nigerian government!

Usually that win is shortlived. Especially when power has been out for hours or days. Then the generators start to run less frequently because fuel is expensive and then everyone starts to groan.

That was the situation in Deola’s house that morning. The house was starting to run low on water because of the power situation and since she’d been back from youth service, her mother had weighed the cost of calling mai ruwa to bring water against the cost of Deola going to fetch water 3 houses away. The latter had won. Now it was Deola’s job to fill up drums in the house with water everytime they needed water. Apart from the occasional cars passing and a few household noises, the neighbourhood was pretty quiet. Thankfully, her youngest siblings had gone to school which left Deola some time to think.

As she left the house kegs and Osuka in hand,  Deola thought about the last job she applied to.

She didn’t look like she needed their job, they said.

“Are you sure we can talk to you like this? Big girl like you applying for sales attendant.”

“She even has a degree, this one will be our oga here o.”
“Don’t you have boyfriend that can link you up?”

“You want to come and waste your fine girl here.”

She had left there in fury.

Angry at the comments, even more angry at the unemployment situation in the country. She weighed her options. She had called her friends from school, the ones with connection and asked them to link her up if they know of any vacancy. She used to call weekly and soon enough, she started to realise that they were avoiding her calls. It’s been two years now. No job. Nothing. So it had been easy for her mother to draft her into the water fetching business. Among other things. At least, a way to be useful around the house.

As she filled up the last keg with water and proceeded to lift it to her head, she remembered a wild card. Gbemiga. She dropped the water and borrowed airtime yet again from her mobile network.

“Hello”

“Deola, o ranti mi leni! You remembered me today. Fine girl, how are you now?”

“Sir, I’m not fine o.”

“I’ve told you to stop calling me sir. Call me, Gbemiga”.

“Er..ermm… Gbemiga, I’m not fine o. I need a job. You know I finished service about two years now. Since then, no work. Help me.”

“You this girl ehn, why didn’t you call me? Because I asked you out? Iyen o se nkankan. You know what? Come and see me tomorrow. A friend of mine is looking for an admin officer. I will send you my office address now.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, I really appreciate.”

“Do you have transport fare?”

Deola hesitated.

How does she ask her mother for transport fare yet again for yet another job opportunity that she was not sure about?

“Deola, we are not strangers. You can tell me. Don’t worry, call out your account number.”

Deola mumbled a quick thank you as she reeled out her bank details and ended the call.

Her heart was beating fast. What did she just do?

An SMS notification came in. She saw a bank credit alert of N50,000.

Deola walked home with a confidence she had not felt in years.

“Deola, o ti de. Where is the water?”

“Iya Sola, my head is paining me. Please call the mai ruwa. I’ll pay for the water.”

Deola walked away towards her room. Her mother looked on in surprise.

Shouts of “Up Nepa!” rang in the air. Power has finally been restored.

****