That Tuesday

 

You are dancing in your "work clothes" in front of a mirror at 6am. 

...you have to use your knees; in,out to make it clap

You know that YouTube takes a lot of mobile data and network providers are not exactly generous,but you still continue watching the dance instructor on your tiny phone screen, spending money you don't even have.
Last night, Oga Deji said you'd have to improve your dancing or else he would remove you from the VIP area.
No VIP meant less money. You remember this, ignore your aching thighs and pay more attention.

...move your shoulder back and chest forward...then your stomach...

In the middle of trying the body roll you just watched the instructor do, you see a message from airtel, your network provider that you have 50mb left.
You cuss and throw your phone to the mattress laying on the floor behind you and pick your music box instead.
You play Giveon's "like I want you" and again, you start dancing but soon you close your eyes and forget about Oga Deji or the fact that you should focus on improving your dance.
You remember that this time last year, you were almost in your final year in the university. You remember the virus that came and the strike that came with it and perhaps worst of all, you remember that Tuesday.
As if in response to your mind, your movement becomes more fluid. The anger you feel seems to oil your joints and feed you energy.
You are dropping to a sensual split the way you have seen the other girls do it when Yetunde saunters into your room. This time last year you would have screamed at her for entering your room without knocking but today you don't.
Instead you say, "Those dreams again?" and she nods as she walks past you to lay on your bed.
"How to dance sexy", she reads out.
You know she is reading from your phone and you shrug.
She asks you why you like 'this' type of dance. You want to give a tongue-in-cheek explanation, tell her you are practicing for when you have to please your future husband or tell her the dance helps ease menstrual cramps but you change your mind.
You shrug again instead.
Giveon has long finished singing you realise. Alina Baraz "Electric" was playing now, your favourite.

...hold me like you mean it, take me faraway ...

You are dancing again, in the way you imagine to make an audience lose their minds the most.
You hold your waist and close your eyes imagining your hands to be the hands of a man—or woman, one that would give you lots of money.
Your eyes are still closed and your body still moving so you don't realise when your mind wanders away again. It goes back to that day. You hear yourself taunting Subomi for being a sissy and not going out to protest. You remember how he left the house to prove his courage to you. You see yourself hours later telling your father that you were worried that Subomi hadn't come back and was not picking your calls by 6:45pm even though the toll gate was a stone throw away from your former house. You remember how your father left the house to look for him. You remember how none of them came back, alive and how your world turned blank after that.
You are still dancing. Another song you don't recognise is playing know but you keep dancing. You know Oga Deji doesn't bluff and you need the money.
For your mother's hospital bills, for the rent, for Yetunde's fees, for your sins.

Author's note: This was inspired by the Lekki tollgate massacre of 20th October, 2020. We will keep remembering. For them, and for us whose lives are forever changed.