The Price of Adulthood - by Oluwadamilola Adesina

I loved rain as a child. The cool breeze, the smell of wet dust and leaves, the way everywhere turned a little dark because PHCN would take the light. The sound of rain on the roof became the only thing you could hear because almost everybody went to sleep. If we were outdoors or in school, teachers most likely wouldn't come. I loved putting my hand in the rain, but they told me that when thunder struck, it would strike me too. So, for the sake of fear, I stopped. As a young adult, I don't know if I love the rain anymore. Rain no longer means plans are cancelled and I get to stay home. It means figuring out how to get to work in the rain. Let's not even talk about Lagos floods and the probability of your public transport bus stopping right in the middle of a bridge surrounded by floodwater. For proper context, I work in the bougie part of Lagos—the place for high earners and celebrities, big boys and big girls of Lagos. You would expect some classiness, a neat and serene environment to match all the hype and classism. The experience every time it rains is quite the opposite. Black water floods the streets. Cars and houses are submerged. Lagosians continue doing their business, whatever that business may be. Buying and selling of nylon raincoats is probably the most common. And then there's open defecation, which is just an eyesore. I'm supposed to love the rain in the comfort of my home. Except that I stare as water drops into my bedroom. Ouch. I had forgotten to repair the roof when I moved in three months ago. What a life, really. How did I end up in an apartment with a leaking roof? The agent had said everything was fine. It only needed “little repairs.” Again, house agents in Lagos will likely have a special hellfire. I'm sorry if your uncle is one. My first experience as a young adult house-hunting was five years ago. I was a fresh graduate, had just gotten a job, and needed to move out of my friend's place, where she had housed me for three months. I thought it was going to be easy. Find an agent. See some apartments. Pick one. Pay. The reverse was the case. Why did the first agent I contacted take me to an uncompleted building with no windows? I reiterated that I wanted to move in within two weeks. He said they would fix the windows the next day and the place would be set. He also had the audacity to ask for instant payment. That was the last straw that broke the camel's back. He had once taken me to a two-bedroom flat that I would share with a married woman whose husband was away. That wasn't so much of a big deal, albeit the house was clearly waterlogged and the “accommodating” woman already had her own set of rules. And this man consistently demanded transportation fare for every house inspection. I eventually worked things out and got another agent. I settled for a room in a flat because of the high cost of apartments in Lagos. My second exposure to Lagos house-hunting came this year, when I needed an apartment early in the year. The atrocities committed by house agents five years ago had multiplied by now. Registration fees range from ₦10,000 to ₦20,000. The rent stated by the landlord is usually between ₦500,000 and ₦1 million. Add the agent and commission fees, and the total package becomes ₦1.5 million to ₦2 million for what is sometimes barely the size of a kiosk. I went for an inspection one morning. The agent said it was 8 a.m., so I cancelled all my plans to be there on time. Only to get there and find eight other ladies with their different agents, all waiting for the same room. And you wouldn't seriously even call it a room. It was more like a store with a sink in one corner. It brings me to question what in the world house owners and landlords are building. Why is there a moving gutter in front of a BQ? Why does the restroom of another apartment look like an afterthought? It was definitely an afterthought. Lagos house-hunting welcomes you to the distinction between old houses and new houses, houses with prepaid meters and houses without prepaid meters, tribe preferences, marital status and type-of-job criteria. The landlord also wants to collect two years' rent. Why? Finding an apartment in Lagos is not for the faint-hearted. Month after month, by then I was already running on borrowed time. Eventually, I decided to settle. About six agents later, both online and offline, I found this studio apartment where my hand can conveniently touch the ceiling—and where water drops from the roof during my most favourite time of the year. I'll call this a little repair compared to the major house projects I have undertaken. Still, this crib is mine. An outro of some sort: The door of my fridge has been broken for close to two months. On Sunday, while struggling to close it, I remembered my dad.How I used to run to him to get things fixed and he always did. I probably thought it was easy.Living alone has pushed out the part of me that must fix things. I wonder what my dad would say about me managing a leaking roof for months. He would have long fixed it.A friend had an allergic reaction in this crib, and it breaks me that I can't figure out what it is.

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