Bandwagon #5

What William Bell did in 1968 and what it made Dolapo think of in 2022.

“People are really doing this music thing on another level”, Funmi says to me as she tries to plug in the aux cord into its port in my car. “See, I found this song from a Swedish group. Let me play it for you!”

Funmi and I have been friends for 2 years and our friendship is built on the foundation of good art and especially good music. We both agree that it is sinful to be in a vehicle without playing music. For us, a car with a functional AC but no music playing mechanism is not a good car. On this hill, I am willing to die.

“I just shazamed the song and loved it immediately, that’s when my phone now decided to die. Mtschew. Give me your phone please let me play it from there.”

I look at her as she excitedly collects my phone. I had branched her office to collect her flash drive from her and was not in the mood to be excited about music. I had just received another rejection mail for a prospective job at an accounting firm having only been interviewed by them, 1 hour prior. Now, all that I wanted to do was go home and stare at my ceiling as I thought about my life. But Funmi is not the kind of person you made plans with and did not show up. So here I was watching her be excited for the both of us about the Swedes.

“I can’t find it o, Seye. I hope I’m able to recognise it when it starts playing. Let me just play all the ones with that title. ”

“Did you bring the flash drive?” I ask, to remind her of the reason for my being here. Interjecting my speech instead, was the most beautiful introduction to any song.

“I don’t think this is it o. Let me try the others,”Funmi says and attempts to change the song. I immediately move my hand to block my phone screen so that she doesn’t change it.

“Wait. This sounds nice, let’s listen to it.” I look at the screen for the title of the song. I Forgot To Be Your Lover by William Bell.

The song continues and Funmi turns to give me a smirk. I respond with the same look. It’s the look we give each other when we both accredit a song as “fire”. We play it again and again as we both sit in silence. Around us, rush hour is happening as people are getting into taxis but Funmi and I are in our own world. I close my eyes and listen to the lyrics. They’re sad and reassuring at the same time. I begin to wonder how I do not know of this William Bell.

Funmi suddenly interrupts the silence.

“Interestingly, God does not forget to be our lover”. I turn to look at Funmi as she smiles. I roll my eyes. She laughs as she continues to talk.

“I’m serious. That’s where my mind went to. This is such a human thing. Forgetting.”

This is the part of our friendship that does not make any sense. Funmi takes her Christian faith seriously and I on the other hand, well, I roll my eyes when people say such things. It is our love for the arts and her jovial nature that makes our friendship work. She had tried taking me to a couple of church programs over our 2 year friendship and has not budged since her first attempt at NYSC camp for one of those fellowships. According to her, she wanted me to enjoy what she was enjoying. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. As far as I am concerned, ‘enjoy’ is not a word to be associated with religion.

“I should be on my way now.” I say, just in time to avoid any further religious speeches she’d want to share.

“Alright now, Bye. Till tomorrow when you bring my flash. I will send you the actual song I was looking for when I charge my phone.”

The whole ride home, I allow the song play on and on till I reach the traffic at Zuba road. In between honking at taxis and hurling a few insults alongside, my mind wanders from the song to what Funmi said. Had God not indeed forgotten me? I thought about how she had said it with such certainty. She said it with her eyes closed like she was reminiscing a tangible moment she had shared with…God.

I think of my current woes and what awaits me at home. My brother is still yet to be employed 6 years after graduation, my retired mother’s arthritis is worsening and this rejection I have just gotten means I most likely will not be able to afford her drugs. Right now, the idea of love from a deity feels as foreign to me as the love of a father. The one that had abandoned us in poverty, for life with a younger and richer woman. If something is not shown to someone, does it not suggest that the person is forgotten? To me, Funmi’s comment meant that some people got their ration of love because they were at the fore front on the mind of this God and I was merely an afterthought. What was the point of attempting to enjoy a person that had obviously forgotten me even when my mother continued to pray, reminding him of us? Pleading and rolling on the floor for this omnipresent being to look on us with mercy. What was the point?

I sigh as I honk at the car in front of me to move on. “We the forgotten ones”, I say to myself and smile.

I get home and park the car outside the compound and quickly walk to my room, to avoid my mother and the look on her face when I tell her I did not get yet another job. I can always do that tomorrow. With my shoes, I fall on the bed and stare at the ceiling till my eyes eventually shut.

“I have not forgotten you, Seye. I cannot.”

I wake up and look around the room. I do not see anyone in the room with me. I know it was not a dream. I heard an audible voice from my sleep. I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s 3:46am. I put on the torch light on my phone and do a quick scan across the room to confirm I am truly alone. The room is still empty. I continue to look around till I close my eyes and fall asleep again.

The next day, I arrive at Funmi’s office to return her flash drive, still thinking about what happened last night. I signal at her as I see her come out of the gate of her office looking for me. She gets into the passenger’s seat and I can see she is itching to talk about something.

“How do you know that God is talking to you?” I interrupt her.

Funmi turns to me with her eyes wide open. “Why do you ask?”

“Just answer me. How do you know that you’re not just hearing your own thoughts?”

Slowly, she smiles and adjusts herself on the passenger’s seat. “Let me tell you the story of Gideon in the Bible.”