I tried to commit suicide today. I did not really harbor the thought for so long before I made moves to get it done. It’s no biggie. More effort is put into planning and executing the death of another than one’s own life.

I bought the rope across the street. The seller did not sense any foul when I asked to make the purchase. Maybe the look on my face did not appear dejected enough to raise concern. Maybe almost everyone’s face looks dejected so dejected look was seeming to become normal. Maybe the seller was too busy anticipating to return to the young female company he was enjoying before I intruded with my patronage.

I walked back home holding the rope in my hand. Still no one sensed anything wrong. Ropes are used for many things, I understand.

I had eaten breakfast early in the day, so my stomach was too full for a last meal. I never knew my ceiling was higher than usual. I had to try out both the plastic chair and the side stool to know which would be better suited for the act. Turned out none was good enough. The side stool was too low and the plastic chair was too high. That should have been my first pointer that suicide was not for me.

I had to resort to using a big paint bucket. The bucket still had paint inside it. It is a bucket of paint I had bought to use and paint my shop. My landlord says a shop is a place to make money and painting it is needless. My neighbor said I must obtain his permission before I go ahead with the painting. Alas a bucket of paint in my house, pending approval to go ahead.

I tied my rope firm to the iron on the ceiling. Looked round the room for one last time. Hung the rope over my head and for a split of a second I craved a goodbye. Death come upon people and they wished they had rounded up on a lot of things. But here I am, dying by my own hand and yet not wrapping up my life well. That bothered me.

I am one step of ending my life. I have cried enough. I have waited enough to achieve all I had set myself to achieve. I have worked hard but life keeps proving that my best is not enough.

But I am only 31, just a year older than Jesus Christ before His divine mission (officially) kicked off. What made me believe my life had hopelessly amounted to nothing and it couldn’t possibly amount to anything anymore.

If some force wanted me to stay alive then it should give me a sign, I said in my heart. Maybe NEPA should bring the light. Or my phone should ring. Or someone should knock on my door. Anything to disrupt my present line of action. I actually had to remove the rope from my neck and climb down from the bucket to check if my switch was turned on. And it was on all the while.

I waited for a few more seconds and no sign came through. Maybe I had been given all the signs I needed.I had been given signs that I am needed to stay alive. Signs that I am loved, signs that I am wanted to stay alive, that I am desired to stay alive. My business I set up with half the capital from my father. My mother’s Ankara material which I used to sew the native I am wearing. My lover’s everyday early morning phone call which I received today by 6:23 am. All my Alobam’s whose evening is not complete if I am in their company. My little neighbor’s daughter whose smile is heavenly.

With all these why did I feel like I had come to the end of the ropes just because the recession seems to be biting me hard. At once I climbed down the bucket,untied the rope and dusted myself up. As I tried to take the bucket of paint back to the corner, my Sales boy called. He was asking for the price of a refrigerator that is sold for more than 400,000 naira, with a substantial profit. I told him I was headed to the shop. Before I could lock up the door, NEPA brought the light. As I made it towards the junction, I saw my younger brother returning from school. He said he had finished his paper for the day.

It seemed the universe was laughing at me. For it has given me all the signs I needed to be convinced to stay alive. Thank God I waited long enough to see them.

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