I’m usually uninterested in new things, those of which I do not recognize. In places other than Lagos, I’m a rat on a wheel, working day in day out. Restless. Sad. We see each other so I’d like to assume you know how it feels to be stuck in a loop, to want more, to look out for adventure. I guess my friends didn’t see it that way. We’re all young and turnt, that’s what I thought. Apparently they’re not on the same wavelength as I am. They like to dream and I like to grab the experience by the neck and have it whole like a sickly sweet dessert after a spicy meal. Like the saying, or less like the saying, I want to eat my cake and proceed to have it. I don’t really understand what that has ever meant but I like how it sounds and what I translate it to. 

I’m only here for the holidays and to forget about things for a while, I’ll recollect when next i’m back in the grey of the non-Lagos scene but for now, na me and enjoyment. 

There’s been so many flyers since the month started, there’s an event in every nook and cranny I've checked. How would I know where to start? All I know is how I want to feel. Alive and colourful. The area is no longer gray through my lens, I have rose coloured glasses on to enhance my outlook. I’d take it off only when there’s M’s resting in my belly and singing songs from the lights shining down on my chest. I’d lose my voice this time every other year, the response to my joy is vocal expression. From my belly, Through my eyes and In my chest, there’s colour and an emptiness that would’ve been filled with the agony of continuous deadlines. I’m free. 

My friends and I set out for the night the day we leave the gray area. It’s the night of our reunion. Skirts are right below the bum, Busts are as well present as the stars in our eyes from seeing each other once more. I’m only here for a good time, I don’t have a long time at all. 

I have my blonde and periwinkle colored hair in a ponytail, I like to show off my face. You never know who might need to fall in love. It’s 2am in the club and the red lights are circling around my head. I must’ve seen other colours but red is overpowering. Perhaps, I still had my glasses on. I feel eyes hovering, there’s probably someone stealing glances but I cannot catch them eye to eye. A lingering presence floating between me and the space in the room. 

Olo’moge. I admit, I liked the voice, I thought that was my name. I like to take on characters for the night and now, I have found an identity. Omoge Cinderella. I still have no idea who’s calling me with this name that feels familiar. Honestly, everyone seems familiar when there’s a light in my chest illuminating the world before me. He appeared as a figure at first, I couldn’t decipher whether or not it was a person or a figment of my imagination. Omoge. He was there and he had been calling me. Without hesitation, I asked how he knew my name. Between us, we both knew that wasn’t it but that’s my new identity and I wanted to abide by it. 

I couldn’t see the morning creep in from inside but immediately I stepped out, the sun hit my chest and I remembered I left a heel from my pair. One heel, a purse filled with blue naira notes, and a fulfilled night. The car backed up to pick my friends and I as I started to hear the voice again. Omoge. I saw the figure from yesterday waving my ‘missing’ heel at me as we stared longingly at each other. He didn’t move from the entrance of the building. He's going to look for me, I thought to myself. I wonder how long it would take to find me in this big, shiny city. 

The debrief at home was insane. We all got an Airbnb together so it was easy to leave and return home together, fulfilling our childhood dreams for a few days. Everyone had undressed and changed into brunch outfits. It’s 12:38 pm in the colourful city. We sat in the sitting room of the apartment and laughed so hard listening to our lost voices. Someone brought up the guy I had danced with whom I wanted to believe was not an actual person. I don’t remember how the whole conversation shifted and my matter got tabled. 

We started a google search, just a simple background check to explore the mystery man. Maybe make the reality of yesterday night but there was something else in store. He’d  been arrested in 2021 for illegal possession. Three guns and a video of him right beside them. Three cold, loaded weapons. That alone was enough to make hearts race. But it didn’t end there. Whispers from the streets of Ogba named him as the head of a gang, that was probably a watered down version because the activities attached to him seemed occultic. The police hated him, or more so they were scared. A murder case. His name wasn’t just in the air, it was on the record. Not convicted, no, but questioned. Investigated. Close enough to smell the blood.

The room fell into a terrifying stillness. No one was speaking and I could only hear deep sighs and my friends sinking into the couch. Eyes darted toward me, wide with dread. It was no longer gossip. And for the first time, I realized. Everyone in that room was scared for me. On the other hand, my mind began to drift  from the tension in the room. I was somewhere else entirely, lost in the echo of my name on his lips, the way it curled and floated like a secret. I remembered his hands, how they held mine, so tender, almost reverent. Soft hands. Gentle even. I asked myself questions. It was dissonant. A strange and terrifying beauty. Because if hands that soft could still be dangerous, what did that make the rest of him?

My heel. 

At brunch, the topic continued. It seemed as though I couldn’t escape and I was being guarded over in case he came looking for me. I felt shrunken and child-like. Barely eating the french toast plates in front of me, I got them to go and that was the first meal I had half eaten since I had landed. Every meal had been consumed whole and immediately. 

My phone chimed. A text from an unknown number. You forgot something, Cinderella. Between you and I, If he asks to meet up, I’ll agree to. For my heel, on my own terms, meaning we were meeting at a safe spot for me. 

The bistro was tucked away on Isaac John street, the outdoors covered in plants leading into the sweet smelling indoor space. I chose the couch by the window, the one with the view I prefer. He walked straight in like a shadow, with a man following suit behind him.  

Tall, dark skin. A constellation of tattoos laced down both arms; symbols, names, moments inked into him like a map. His locs framed his face in black-brown coils, tapering into a sharp fade that made his jawline even more intense. But what struck me most was his eyes. They just seemed certain, and perhaps even soft. He might’ve been a man who had survived things and still had room for gentleness, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He sat across from her and reached into a small paper bag, pulling out her missing heel. Cinderella, Will it fit? He slipped the heel on my foot. I wonder if he knew that was dramatic. 

He didn’t get anything, He wasn’t familiar with the menu. I had pancakes, eggs and bacon. I told him about what I had seen, fearfully. He sighed and went on a ramble about how he grew up; raised by his grandmother and the streets. His father left before he could’ve even been informed of a pregnancy. His mother did what she could, until she couldn’t. The guns never got an explanation. He just claimed they were necessary. I was scared but there was a sense of wonder this sparked in me. 

My fear reduced as the conversation progressed. He mentioned he was into real estate now. I listened, and somehow, between every pause and each sip of the strawberry lemonade, I started to feel there was more to him than I had seen. 

He invited me to his place and I packed a bag when my friends were out and set out the next morning. An apartment complex with a small parking space, there was a staircase leading to where he stayed. There was only a pool table in the sitting room and a singular couch. His people stared at me longingly, like I was precious but odd in some manner. 

For the next two days, I ignored calls, texts and emails. Probably a horrible choice but what’s life without this slight risk. I did send a text to the group.  He’s into real estate now, no guns anymore. I think. No flyers. No loud clubs. I began to memorize his laugh, how he touched the small of my back when he walked past, how his eyes closed whenever I spoke about books by African authors or life in gray cities but this was a fairytale. 

It was time to see my parents, I hadn’t been there since I got back and I decided this was the best time to act in ways they couldn’t recognize by bringing him home with me. 

My parents’ house was sterile and echoing, even the marble floors felt judgmental. He wore his best shirt and left the gold chain behind. Still, my dad barely looked him in the eye, and my mom kept clenching her wine glass time after time. The conversation was brief and stiff. When we left, no one walked them to the gate.

In the car, I sat quiet, staring out at the winding roads. He reached out and placed a hand gently on my thigh. I finally turned to face him, eyes soft. And though her parents and friends had their reservations that I completely understood, I felt magic bloom in my chest, without the rose coloured glasses even. 

And for the first time since leaving the gray world behind, I wasn’t just free.  

I felt like I was home.

I returned to my Airbnb later that day. My friends gathered on me, no questions asked. The agenda for the day was the pop up we had all been dying to go to. Immediately we walked in, I saw the tank that said Omoge Cinderella. It was significant so that’s all I possibly wanted. It seemed maybe it was made for me. I asked an attendant if I could try it on. It was the perfect fit. It reminded me of him. I decided to be realistic. It seemed lovely and I could believe everything that came out of his mouth but it’s Lagos and It’s unsafe. 

I went back to my parents house, ignoring the texts I was receiving from him. I already blocked his number while in the changing room at the pop up— It wasn’t thought of much. I didn’t block him on whatsapp, that was ignorable. I let them know I wasn’t speaking to him anymore, they couldn’t have been happier. Expressing that they wondered what had come over me. I stayed there till the day before my flight. I started to wonder who I was in comparison to who people around me perceived me to be. Even though It never really hurt that I was leaving him behind, like who comes to Lagos in December to fall in love anyway? I was glad I knew what it felt like to be disappointing and colorful. 

It’s time to return to the grey area once more. Bags packed and wheels rolling away, Wearing the Omoge Cinderella tank to safekeep my identity, I think I made enough memories to hold on to till next time.