SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: ATINUKE (Chapter Ten)

FRIENDSHIP 

The silence in the cramped room was almost tangible, each heartbeat echoing in the stillness as Bugo gently dabbed away her tears with trembling hands. The soft murmur of her gratitude hung in the air like a fragile promise. “Thank you for helping me with the rent. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with my landlord, God bless you abundantly in Jesus' name. Amen, Ma. I promise, I will pay you back when I can,” she whispered, her voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude.

Cautiously, she stepped closer to the battered chair where Bugo had sunk into solitude and shame. With deliberate tenderness, she lifted Bugo’s chin, her fingers lingering as if to infuse strength into every callused line on her hand. “I will not collect anything from you,” she reassured with a quiet smile. “I did this out of pure love, and love alone.”

Bugo’s tears refused to abate, streaming down her face in relentless, shimmering cascades. Each tear carried with it an unspoken sorrow, glistening in the dim light that filtered through the window. Atinuke began to hum a familiar refrain, her voice weaving through the air with an almost tangible sense of reassurance: “God has worked it out, God has worked it out. One thing I know, one thing I found, my God has worked it out.”

 Her melody was soft yet insistent, a subtle prayer floating around the brokenness and hope in the room. Reaching out, she took Bugo’s trembling hand and lifted her with a gentle firmness, guiding her to stand. As she assisted, Atinuke’s touch felt warm and grounding against the cool sorrow of despair. Then, with eyes closed in fervent devotion, she began to pray in tongues. “Thank you, Lord, for Bugo Welling, for your mercy upon her life every single day. Thank you for preventing her enemies from prevailing over her. Thank you for placing me in a position to help at exactly the right time. Thank you, Lord, for granting us a peace that transcends all understanding. We are ever so grateful, Jesus, and in your mighty name, we have prayed, Amen.”

Bugo’s reply was rushed, a hurried attempt to regain control of her racing emotions even as her hands struggled to wipe away the endless tears. Atinuke, noticing the disarray in Bugo’s carefully coiffed cornrows, tenderly guided her back to a semblance of order. “Let’s go out,” she suggested, her voice imbued with soft resolve that belied the gentle firmness in her eyes.

“Go out?” Bugo questioned, her voice wavering as she stared in disbelief, still trapped in the quagmire of her emotions.

With a sudden burst of determination born from spontaneous compassion, Atinuke had crafted a plan just moments before. Unable to stand idly by while Bugo wallowed in despair, she declared, “Yes, my treat, and I am not taking ‘no’ for an answer!” Her weak smile was both comforting and insistent.

After a moment of pause, Bugo’s response was a hesitant, yet hopeful, “Okay.” Atinuke flashed a final, warm smile as she stepped away, leaving Bugo a moment to collect her swirling thoughts and gather the remnants of her composure.

 “Okay, I’ll be in the car waiting for you,” she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying the gentle assurance of a promise to guide Bugo back to safety and solace.

*****

Bugo kept her face glued to the window, her expression unreadable as the world passed by in a blur of motion and sunlight. she had agreed because she knew she couldn't be ungrateful but she felt like charity.

She knew Madam Atinuke meant well but she wasn't used to being helped like this, A whole two months rent paid off just like that? Beside her, Atinuke drove quietly, the silence stretching between them like a fragile rope.

 

She glanced at Bugo briefly, noticing the clenched jaw, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers tugged at her dress hem. She knew she should let Bugo sit in the silence, let her sort through her storm. But the uneasy flutter in her chest wouldn’t let her hold back. “I was at your workplace earlier today,” she said gently, her voice breaking the stillness. “I met a man there, Musa. He told me you had an altercation with your boss and… that you were fired.” She exhaled slowly, watching for Bugo’s reaction. “I know this may not be the best time to bring it up, but I was really surprised. That’s why I came to check on you.”

Bugo turned her head slowly, It made Bugo feel both comforted and seen, she smiled weakly, finally facing the woman beside her. Her gaze softened for the first time in hours as she took in the sight of Madam Atinuke, her flawless dark skin glowing under the afternoon sun, the elegance of her Ankara two-piece: a well-tailored shirt and matching trousers, fitted just right. Even in this simple ensemble, she exuded quiet confidence, a grace that seemed to flow effortlessly from within.

With a small, tired smile, Bugo let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah,” she said, voice dry. “He made a pass at me. I said no. He didn’t like that.” She looked straight ahead again, jaw tightening. “He threatened to fire me. I told him to go ahead. I was fed up, tired of the nonsense. He didn’t take it well. Slapped me across the face.” Her lips pressed into a thin line before she added, almost defiantly, “So I charged at him. Landed some solid punches on that perfectly groomed face of his. Bloody nose, bruised lip… I didn’t hold back.”

The air in the car shifted. Atinuke blinked, stunned. 

They stared at each other, Atinuke was shocked, the scenerio just described felt like one from a movie scene.

“Haaaaa!” Atinuke finally breathed, eyes wide. “Bugo! He can press charges. That was… that was way too much.”

But Bugo didn’t respond. She simply turned back to the window, her expression returning to that faraway look. The silence that followed was different now tense, tinged with something deeper. Atinuke opened her mouth to say more, but caught herself. Her instincts urged her to speak, to correct, to guide. But something in Bugo’s silence made her pause, maybe this isn't the right time to scold.

Maybe now was just a time to sit beside her, to be present, to let the silence hold what words could not.

So, she held her tongue.

******

Bugo knew she had crossed a line, but Pa Felix had it coming, and he’d been dancing around it for far too long. She had turned him down, time and again, always politely, always with restraint. But the old man was sly. He had mastered the art of disguising indecency behind casual gestures, he was relentless, refusing to take no for an answer

That day, in the stuffy corner of the office where the ceiling fan did little more than stir hot air, her mood was as stormy as the dark clouds rolling over Luwe and when he asked again, boldly, shamelessly, for her to be his sexual partner. Her stomach churned. She said no. Again. Her voice, though calm, carried steel.

That was when his tone changed “If you won’t give me what I want, you can forget about this job,” he hissed, leaning in close, breath reeking of stale kola nuts and ego.

Bugo stood tall, heart pounding but chin lifted. “Then fire me,” she said evenly. The slap came swift and hard. It cracked across her cheek like thunder, stunning her for a second, not from the pain, but from the gall of it. And then something inside her unraveled. Her fists moved before her thoughts did. The shock on his face after the second blow almost made her pause, but the fury had already erupted.

She wasn't going to apologise for standing her ground but she knew the extent to which she threw punches was wrong and unacceptable. She stared at Atinuke, she had gone completely silent. Bugo cleared her throat, her voice quieter than usual. “I’ll send him a text message. To apologise.”

“That's better,”

The silence resumed.

*****

As she eased her car into the front parking space of The Deloitte Hairs, the most exquisite and sought-after salon in all of Luwe Community. The white-and-gold exterior shimmered under the morning sun, and the air was thick with the scent of hibiscus hedges that lined the entrance. 

Bugo’s brows furrowed, a flicker of discomfort passing across her face, this wasn’t just any salon, it was the crème de la crème, a haven where the elite came to be pampered and polished. Atinuke caught it the moment she stepped out of the vehicle, her heels clicking softly on the polished pavement. “I can’t have you on these same cornrows every day,” she said, her tone light, teasing. “The hair don try, abeg.”

“You paid my rent and now you want to help with my hair, that's too much,” 

“I insist,” Atinuke said, waving off her protest. “That’s what friends do. Sisterhood.” 

Sisterhood?

The word echoed in Bugo’s heart, unfamiliar but warming. Her voice dropped slightly, tinged with guilt and wonder, “How can I repay you Ma for your kindness to me even with all my rudeness and spite,,,”

Atinuke smiled as she walked over to the passenger side, gently opened the door, and held out her hand to help Bugo out. Her touch was firm but soft, steady, like a bridge being offered.

“By staying as unapologetic as the Bugo I know,” 

As Bugo reached for the hand Atinuke offered her, something shifted. The grand façade of The Deloitte Hairs, with its golden trimmings, marble steps, and the soft hum of blow dryers behind glass, began to blur at the edges. The salon’s luxurious glow, once intimidating and distant, faded into the background. In that moment, the true beauty of the morning wasn’t the glitz of elite pampering or the scent of lavender oils floating from within, it was Atinuke Dairo. Standing there beside her, eyes filled with quiet understanding, she radiated a kind of grace that couldn’t be bought or styled.

Bugo stepped onto the pavement slowly, like someone waking from a long dream. She turned to look at Atinuke, her gaze lingering. There was no agenda in those eyes. No superiority. Just patience. Strength. And a kind of love so gentle and steady, it disarmed her completely.

Not pity.

Not charity.

Sisterhood.

And for the first time in a long while, Bugo felt seen, not for who she had been, or the mess she had made, but for the woman she could become.