Everyday you wonder why blasting noisy sounds of Tiv traditional music emits from her room as early as 6:00am, coupled with her thin out-of-key voice singing along. You had a good intention of advising her about it but feared that she might pick a quarrel; a loud one for that matter, as she has engaged in such countless quarrels with the estate’s security. When you tried once to calm him down to save the situation thinking he was exasperated, he said to you "brother, no vex o but na so she dey behave, she no get sense kpata kpata." Inarguably, knowing that that was the truth, she simply kept a deaf ear to what he said and focused on the main reason of the quarrel. Whenever the security was asked by a new tenant or a visitor about her; if she is mentally and psychologically balanced, he will say in response "choi this question hard me o! cos even me no know the answer."
Sometimes she looked outstanding; mostly on Sundays probably because of church and few times during weekdays. you'll prefer calling her outlandish make-over, make-down because her style was a thousand miles away from make-up despite the time spent. Annoyance and embarrassment filled your heart when you carried out an investigative check and discovered that her blue tank-top and red faded bum shots was her pajamas and her morning wear; she could wear it daily for a week without a single wash.
She loved discussing marriage, boys and relationship matters with you. She got to know most of her male friends through facebook and the under-standard monotechnic she graduated from in Plateau state, also helped to add a little amount of friends to her zone.
She always complained that she is 27 years old, and still has not found her Mr. Right, after series of break-ups with her ex’s. She keeps running back to her ex's with an apology and a sorry face but "NO!" is always the response from the other end because she always triggered the break-up. You ponder everyday if a man can marry such a lady, who can’t live a day without savoring a bottle of coke, fanta or sprite. She walks around the estate yelling at herself each day, and whenever she’s calm she’s either fiddling with her phone or making a phone call to one of her numerous facebook unknown fiends. Worst of it all, she can’t cook! She is a dedicated food purchaser at pophozot restaurant. You realized this when she pleaded for a visit of which you honoured, after savouring a plate of rice with a glass of chilled juice, you requested for more and she replied that it was finished. You understood what was happening, so in appreciation you voiced out ‘thanks.’
She complains about a lot to you; she complained that the president and his vice were always looking and acting dull, that the reverend father’s sermon always made her sleep, that the bottle of coke of now-a-days are not full to the brim, she complained that okada riders could not do simple arithmetic to balance between the distance and cost, so she started paying bike riders at the bank after withdrawing money from the Automated Teller Machine(ATM).
She came to your room shouting and you thought she was infuriated, then she said "good news! I have gotten a job. After all the congratulatory words, you began to see her often at home than before. Indepthly, you knew that the job news was a loud joke. Another time she informed you that she was about rounding-off her make-up school programme, so surprised you scoffed she asked why, and you replied her "nothing," but deep inside you you knew that even if she had the mastery of the trade like Tara Durotayo, no one would keep a face to be made up by her; Probably because of her looks and her loquacious nature.
When the harmattan season was at its inception, you saw her one morning scratching her hair persistently and she said "oh! oh!! oh!!! harmattan done come oo. Na now my madness go come hot o! e no go easy for me at all." This were the final words that confirmed her psychological imbalance. Now you have to tolerate her madness. What are friends for?
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