It was exactly one month before the end of my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) in Asaba when my mother called. What started as a simple conversation about life after service became one I never forgot.
She wanted to know if I planned to return home or stay in Asaba after my service year. Without thinking twice, I told her I wanted to stay and look for a job.
Her reaction surprised me.“What makes you think you can live on your own?” she asked. “How will you pay your rent? Feed yourself? Take care of your bills?”
She reminded me that I already had a home waiting for me, a place where the lights stayed on, food was always available, and I didn’t have to worry about rent or utility bills. To her, returning home wasn’t taking a step backwards. It was the wisest decision.
I argued with her because I wanted to prove that I could build a life for myself. After a long conversation, she finally agreed, even though I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
Determination, however, could not pay rent. Over the next three weeks, I viewed fifteen apartments. Estate agents kept telling me a house was “just by the road,” only for us to end up on an okada heading deep into unfamiliar streets. Some of the apartments had leaking roofs and broken floors. The cheapest decent apartment I found required a total package of about ₦300,000. I had only ₦180,000 saved from my NYSC allowance. Every viewing ended with me doing the same calculation in my head and coming up short.
Then I found one. It wasn’t perfect, but it was clean. I was already thinking about how I would raise the remaining money when the landlord looked at me, shook his head, and said, “I don’t rent to single ladies.”
That was all he said. I thanked him, walked out through the gate, and stood by the roadside for a while before finding my way back to my lodge.
A few days later, I packed my bags and boarded a bus home.
At first, it felt like the right decision.
I got a stable job. I earned a steady salary. I didn’t have to think about rent, electricity bills, or buying groceries. Everything I needed was already there.
Before I knew it, two years had passed.
One evening, I was sitting on the same bed I had slept in since secondary school, scrolling through social media. My friends from NYSC had moved to Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt. Some had started graduate trainee programmes. Others complained about expensive rent, long commutes, and the stress of living alone.
They looked tired. But they also looked different.
I dropped my phone and looked around my room. My books were still on the shelf. My old school uniforms still hung behind the door. The faded curtains were still there. Everything looked exactly the way I had left it after NYSC.
I walked into the kitchen. My mother stood by the pot, stirring the soup with the same steady hands I had watched all my life. She looked up, smiled, and asked if I was hungry. I smiled back.
Later that night, I returned to my room.
I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and searched for jobs in Lagos. After sending my first application, I searched for another. Then, I opened a property website and started looking for apartments.