I had just stepped out of the house to rinse a cup I used to make beverages for myself when I saw Emmanuel, my cousin who lived a few blocks away, walk in. Unlike him, his glow was gone. The Emmanuel I knew would be shouting my name right from the gate. But today he had his head low and his eyes without any joy.
"Emma, how far na (how are you)." I asked
“Can I sit here for a while?” Emmanuel replied, ignoring my question..
I pushed him a seat. "Sure. Sit."
He dumped himself on the chair like he had no energy in him. He didn’t talk at first. Just sat there, elbows on his knees, staring into the overgrown grass by the fence.
I dropped my cup on a bench and sat beside him, drying my hands on my shorts. It was weird yet scary seeing Emma in such a mood.
“You want water, drink, anything?” I asked, trying to make him comfortable.
He shook his head.
I rubbed his back. "Ogini (What is it)?
After a long pause, he sighed and said, “I'm just tired.”
“Of what? Work?”
“No. Not work. Just… just everything.”
I looked at him. Emmanuel wasn’t the type who opens up easily about his problems. He either withdraws from people and fights his problems head-on. He was the strong, quiet type, always secretive and trying not to bother others with his troubles. But that evening, he looked like someone whose strength had cracked.
“Nothing is working bro. Nothing. I've tried everything I can, but it crashes before I hit that big point,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. At that point, I understood what he meant. He was at that stage in life as a young person where you question your existence. Where you fight yourself. You feel you're not giving your best. You feel the universe is against you. That stage where you find no joy in anything.
I didn’t know what to say other than “I know that feeling.” Somehow, as they came out, it felt too small, too cold. He found me worthy to talk to and not for me to talk about my own worries
“It just cost me my three-year-old relationship. She said I was too emotionally distant. But I'm just a guy trying to improve my life, my siblings, and my struggling mother. She said my quest to make it has left me tough. Without feelings, without emotions. That I'm not soft enough. But the truth is I didn’t know how to be. I didn’t grow up learning softness. You know what I mean, Marriott." He looked at me. "We weren't born with a silver spoon. We grew with hardship and not softness or soft life."
I nodded. "I understand."
I didn't know what else to say. The noise from the generator next door buzzed to life, drowning the silence between us.
“I lost my dad at thirteen years old. Bro, I didn’t even cry,” Emmanuel paused. “How do I cry when I know the burden that rested on my shoulder as the first son? Everyone praised me for being ‘strong.’ But now I understand, I think that praise messed me up. He leaned back against the wall, eyes on the orange sky.
I looked at him with so much surprise. Surprise that Emmanuel could be so vulnerable. I had always seen him as a strong guy with the way he handled his emotions. I had always thought that nothing bothered him. I never knew he had so much internal struggle going on. I never believed I could see him without Joy.
“Even when I’m hurting, I've learnt to hold it in. Making people believe all is well with me. But no, all isn't well with me. The truth is, it feels like joy passes through other people and avoids me. I need to find joy in my life again. I need to be happy and away from the struggles for once."
I sat still, letting the words land. I wish I knew what to say. But I read somewhere that sometimes you don't have to say a thing to console someone. Sometimes they just want to be heard. I felt at that point, that was what Emma needed.
He turned to me and asked a question that threw me off balance. “Do you ever feel like that?”
I smiled and nodded slowly. “All the time.” I paused and looked into space. Sometimes I write to shake it off. I feel like writing will help. But it just drowns out the background noise, and they return almost immediately. We just have to remind ourselves that we're not invisible. That this is life. Then we cry, wipe our tears, and get back on our feet."
For the first time that evening, he smiled. “I wish it were just easier for me to do that. But I feel like I'm being too weak, too soft."
I rubbed his back again. "You're not being weak. You're being human. Besides, who said softness is weakness?"
He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not. But look, you've already started it just by talking to me today.”
He chuckled and shoved me playfully.
We sat there in silence again. I watched a lizard dart across the wall. The night air had started to cool. A mosquito buzzed near my ear and I swatted it without thinking.
"I've got a bottle of spirit inside. Want some?"
He shook his head and stood up. "I have to head back. It's getting late. I paused a few chores to be here."
I stood up and walked him to the gate. "That's fine. Maybe I'll bring the drink over tomorrow which is Sunday."
He waved his hands. "Don't worry, I'll be here for it. Thank you, brother." He added before walking out the gate.
I watched him go. Then I nodded and walked back into the house.