Dressed in Black
life had broken my heart to pieces
Can we know for certain what we like without being exposed to it? Or is there an innate inclination that pushes us to experience things that resonate with who we are at our core, even parts we do not know exist? I can tell from looking at certain meals or activities that I would have a hard time enjoying them. I am often correct. I knew I’d never enjoy Indomie from the first day my grandma cooked it for me. The list goes on and on.
But sometimes, something pushes me to go on an experience, pushes me to try; boldness comes upon me like a baptism, and I say things and do things that change the trajectory of my life forever. That might be dramatic, but hear me out.
A calling from within:
Of all the gifts I was not blessed with, not being able to sing probably hurts the most. I love to sing. At any given opportunity, you’d find me humming, singing and losing myself as I drift off-key, but I did not realise how much I love to hear someone sing to me until some time ago. It was a scorching Saturday afternoon, and I was hungry, and decided I wanted ewa agoyin and bread. But I was on a call, a long one, the type that’s often punctuated with silence but never a full stop. I did not want the call to end; the company was good, so I decided to take a walk while we spoke.
Boarding a keke would have gotten me to my destination faster, but why would I do that? The use of boarding rather than entering really tickles the Nigerian in me, but I digress. Walking and talking to someone over the phone often leads you to uncharted territory. Your tongue loosens, and boldness drapes over you like a coat of many colours, sparking jealousy from the version of yourself that would cower even within the comfort of your room.
I substituted silence with jokes and commentary on everything my eyes had the privilege of witnessing on my journey. She kept giggling, and her laughter made my heart dance, like when palms playing tinko tinko find a rhythm.
So in a fleeting moment, before rational thinking could steal my courage and my jokes lost their power to pull down her walls, I asked her to sing. I do not know what compelled the request. Up until then, that was not the type of request I’d make, not in my right senses, and even while intoxicated, not even then would my mind conjure such a bold request.
But there I was, fueled by hunger and a need to get lost within a voice I had never heard sing. “Can you sing for me?” The words left my mouth, and silence ran back into the pitch without a referee telling him he could not return. I no longer heard the blaring horns from bikes and cars warning pedestrians of their closeness to the street. I heard my heartbeat increase, and wished the road would be one with me.
“So, what do you want me to sing?” Any song would do the trick. I became the woman who told Jesus that even the dogs were allowed to eat from the crumbs that fell from the table. I wanted any crumbs she’d give me. If she sang the national anthem, I’d be utterly satisfied. If the thing she muttered were the lyrics of GTB’s 737, I’d be elated. My response was, “Anything that you know the lyrics to and you’re comfortable with.” Her inner deliberation was audible to the deaf, and after what felt like an eternity, she picked Dressed in Black by Sia. I know Titanium because of Pitch Perfect, but this was the first time I heard the title of the song, and I did not know what to expect. In haste, I pulled out my phone and googled the lyrics. This should be fun, I thought to myself.
The realisation
Hopefully, you have been following my rant up until now, and note that I said earlier that no one had sang for me up until now. I mean, I’ve heard people sing, I’ve been talking to people, and they sing in between conversations, but no one had sung to me. She cleared her throat and chuckled, then she started to sing. In my first book, I was accused of using this phrase liberally, but my heart became melted butter. I read the lyrics as she sang, and a stream of emotions welled up in my heart. Was that the day all my walls came crashing down? I do not know, I cannot remember how, but I knew the road to my heart was not the proverbial food, but melodies from a Nigerian woman with an A in her name. As she sang, I turned back to head home. I had tasted something better than ewa agoyin and bread. She would go on and sing two other songs that day, but I can only remember the first; there is always something about the first and the way it holds you to ransom.
I never knew that being sung to could make my knees buckle, but it was a realisation I wholeheartedly welcomed. I had tasted it, and there was no going back. I returned home, and my coat of many colours was taken away, and I settled into the state I once was. The call ended soon after, and would be the genesis to many nights spent listening to her sing to me and me falling with every note, pitch and lyrics. Like Rapunzel, songs were the trigger to let down my hair so you could climb into my heart.
This is my second essay/piece in the space of a week. I’m meant to be writing my dissertation, but this would serve as a productive distraction. Nini reached out, and I said no piece until October/November, but here I am. Thank you for your patience; it warms my heart. So, to you reading this, what is one thing you tried that completely changed your life?
Hmmmm
productive distraction. ✨