Loosened nuts (creative nonfiction)

Some memories hardly fade, especially when our hearts are bound like a bolt and nut to someone we love. The year 2015 marked a significant year in my life all through August 2016, when I met a beautiful lady named Damilola (Dami for short). She was light in color, moderately sized, averagely tall, and had an appealing physique. We had met in the course of political engagements under the students union, and I was instrumental in her becoming a member of the students’ union senate council. Our relationship as politicians blossomed beyond acquaintances. Being one to value friendship before relationships, I had worked on discovering much about her—the likes and dislikes, the hobbies and aspirations, etc.

Our relationship soon exceeded that of ordinary friendship after about three months of being together, and I was also a young man who neither slacked at opportunities nor relented in pursuing what I wanted.

"I would like us to be in a relationship, Dami." I said this to her after one of our evening outings, which we did frequently, knowing she was in a relaxed and happy mood. My heart, however, was stabbed by an invisible knife when I got rejected on the premise that she was not ready for a relationship despite not being in any. This disappointment, however, did not deter me from professing and showing my affection to her in the following months. I practically availed myself of all that was necessary as regards Dami and made her home my second.

We enjoyed the admiration of my fellow political leaders in the Student Union—at least so I thought. After about six months of being together, partly living as though we were couples, I made a second request for a formal relationship and yet got another rejection. This second rejection hurt me a lot as I wallowed in my thoughts, wondering what tangible reason prevented her from accepting me as her boyfriend. The ills of the relationship began to brew with strain when I sensed a lack of commitment and withdrawals from Dami. Though we expressed love often to each other, I was not comfortable not being officially known as people in a relationship, despite the assumption of the public.

Nine months into our tenure as senate council members, sometime around June 2016, when election campaigns heightened and the permutations of alliance and betrayal were at their peak, my beloved Dami revealed her interest in vying for the position for which I was soon to complete my tenure. Caucuses had been formed, and though we were two supposed lovers, we belonged to different political parties because of our different interests. I was torn between helping Dami, which meant I would be betraying my caucus, or supporting my caucus at the detriment of Dami's hopes and trust.

It was in the middle of the political tussle that I discovered Dami was in a relationship with another Senate council member in her constituency, and when I confronted her, she admitted her reason was to secure her constituency's support. I was terribly hurt, especially because I was instrumental in Dami becoming a Senate council member since I was the deputy Senate president of the student union. She confessed to having been in a relationship with the other senator (who was of another religion) since two months prior to my discovery.

I was perplexed as much as I was hurt. I asked Dami to terminate her relationship with him or make a choice between us, but she declined and eventually deceived me into thinking she would do that after the elections. I did not mind the hurt, and I helped Dami privately in her pursuit to succeed me, even though I knew the chances were slim.

Being in a tight situation, I ordered my constituency to vote for Dami, even though they were against my preference, but they respected my choice. Dami eventually did not win the election to succeed me, and she blamed me partly for not coming out publicly to support her. It was a point in my life when I was drawn between the devil and the deep blue sea. And of course, I fell sick to the extent that I could barely walk; my chest hurt with pain and palpitations that I feared for my life. A very good friend and staunch supporter of mine, Richard, stood by me during this trying period and would not let me wallow in pain. He is one good friend I cherish to date.

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"After all that I sacrificed for you, Dami!" I blurted it out via a WhatsApp conversation. I made efforts to support her in all endeavors, including financially, even when it was inconvenient for me.

"I never dipped my hands in your pocket!" She retorted.

Those were pretty much the last of the conversations we had in August of 2016 before I graduated and left Union politics. A month later, on September 7th, I had an accident that almost claimed my life, and Richard and a few other friends stood by me. I was much hurt that Dami was aware (being on the same WhatsApp platform, where the group members were notified) but never deemed it fit to show any concern. My birthday was celebrated a month later, and I realized how much people cared for me while the one person I sacrificed myself for did not reach out to me. I promised myself never to sacrifice for any lady as much as I did for Dami until I got married.

Two years later, when I was eventually healed and done hating the female gender, I put a call through to Dami. She was surprised to see my call, for she had coincidentally come into town and thought I had seen her. We discussed at length and apologized to each other. She confessed how scared she was to reach me when I had the accident, for she did not know how I would react to her. We became friends, but never as we were. The council member she dated got married some years ago and had a child. Last year, when I spoke to Dami, I could only pity her when she disclosed her terrible relationship experiences after we parted ways, especially with her most recent relationship. Though a part of me rejoiced at how hurt she had tasted in the hands of another man, a larger part of me pitied how desperate she had become to have a man to marry.