Warrior....A Story (Part 2)

Hola Lovelies!

Remember how I said I was writing an ode to celebrate my wonderful friend who passed on? Well...here comes Part 2. 

If you haven't read Part 1, what are you waiting for? 

Please hurry

Don't walk...

Run

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Wura's phone rang, that jolted her back to the present. 

She hadn’t even realised tears had been streaming down her face. In that moment, she felt both impossibly small and strangely invincible.

Looking at the screen, she saw that B had called back, 

Did I end the call abruptly?

Or had the first Tope-Daze already begun? 

(It certainly wouldn’t be the last.)

"But... how"? Wura finally managed.

"What went wrong"? 

Her question fought through choked sobs. 

Question B couldn't answer. 

This time she ended the call herself, 

She tossed her phone onto the bed, found the smallest corner of her room, curled herself into it like a frightened child…

…and WAILED. 

Oh She wailed. 

How could Temitope do this?

How could she leave?

How could she go?

They had spoken just the week before.

Give her time, she had thought.

But perhaps…

Perhaps she should have known.

Suddenly, the memory crashed into her.

Didn’t she see Temitope that very morning?

The day before, Wura had gone to celebrate G’s birthday and decided to sleep over.

Throughout the evening, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“I haven’t heard from my pregnant friend, Tope,” she had mentioned to G.

They said a short prayer before carrying on with the celebrations, but beneath every smile and conversation, Wura carried an unsettling restlessness.

She masked it well.

Too well.

When the party ended, she retired to G's guest room.

Sleep never came.

She tossed.

She turned.

She surrendered.

Eventually, the sun rose and Wura was wide awake to rise with it. As the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, Wura rose to pray.

Then she felt it.

A soft breeze.

Gentle.

Almost deliberate.

And there she was.

Temitope.

Wearing the same beautiful orange dress she had worn on her birthday—the last time Wura had seen her in person.

It felt like she had wandered into a Nollywood film.

You know those scenes where a familiar spirit appears, floating effortlessly, wrapped in flowing white garments as soft winds announce their arrival?

We laugh at Nollywood for those dramatic & haphazard effects.

Maybe…

Maybe that’s just how Nigerians experience these things.

(Lol.)

Temitope didn’t say a word.

She simply smiled.

A small…

dry…

knowing smile.

Then, just like in those movies, she drifted towards the window…

…and disappeared.

Whenever people spoke about ghosts or the paranormal, Wura would never again be able to say, “That could never happen to me.” Wura's dad would later tell her she must have special to Temitope.

Immediately, she reached for her phone.

She called Temitope’s aunt.

Nothing.

She called her husband.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

She left messages asking after Temitope.

She even messaged Temitope's friend whom she had met during that unforgettable wedding.

The wedding…

No.

Scratch that.

The carnival.

Incoming another Tope-Daze

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Thirteen years of friendship.

Living in the same neighbourhood.

Countless sleepovers.

Endless prayers.

So much laughter.

Plenty of tears.

Many warrior episodes—some easy, some painfully difficult.

After surviving university together and earning HR certifications side by side, Temitope called.

“Wura…”

“I’m getting married.”

The office nearly came to a standstill.

Wura squealed so loudly that everyone turned to look.

Honestly, you would have thought she was the bride.

Temitope continued.

“I want you in charge of the bridesmaids, the asoebi distribution with Aunty, and my bridal shower.”

Wura’s response was immediate.

“Yes ma!”

Temitope was a planner through and through.

A true Type A choleric.

She had met her beau in church.

After everything life had thrown at her, God gave her a man who stepped up and loved her completely.

Mr T wasn’t intimidated by her battles.

He embraced them.

Their love was an Urban Fit made in heaven.

The very first time Wura met him, she had no doubts.

This man loved her friend.

Deeply.

Temitope had endured enough disappointments.

Too many cowards.

Too many weak men.

Mr T was neither.

The wedding wasn’t a ceremony.

It was a carnival.

Joy overflowed everywhere.

Temitope looked every bit the angel she would one day become.

The reception? - lit

Everyone danced until their legs begged for mercy.

B, ever the protective doctor, quietly kept an eye on his Cuzzo throughout the day, making sure she rested whenever she needed to.

She made it through the entire celebration with remarkable energy & grace.

And boundless joy.

A year later, Wura moved countries.

Distance couldn’t compete with thirteen years of friendship.

Then came another phone call.

“Wura…”

“I’m pregnant.”

Another dramatic squeal echoed through another office.

By now, you’ve probably realised Wura was delightfully dramatic.

They spoke at least twice every week.

Wura always asked how she was feeling.

Still, she never worried too much.

Mr T loved his wife fiercely.

She knew he would take good care of her.

Until…

Two weeks before Temitope decided to leave this world.

She quietly said:

“Wura… I am tired.

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