For Queen, It was nice to be back home after exams, trying not to get drunk on Pepsi and Coca-cola, until feelings of hatred for a neighboring landlady resurfaced, coursing through her body like the bitter agbo that her grandmother always coaxed her into drinking from time to time.

To Grandma, who also went by the nickname Omoge, Queen earned the right to bottles of Cola after taking gulps of the brown liquid she boiled in her special Saki pot. She swore it was the secret to her youthful appearance 75, but without the Cola though.

Now, her grandmother was dead, and, instead of the bitter agbo, she had no interest in preparing — even if she knew how to, Queen resorted to taking fresh fruit juice every day. Unfortunately, the orange trees at the back of the three-bedroom flat that was automatically her mum’s since Omoge died were no longer producing fruit as they had been during the lengthy ASUU strike. She only lived in the house because of the memories with Omoge. And now, the memories were being sullied by the neighboring landlady.

The draining dialogue she had with the pompous neighbor at an orange tree flashed in her memory, threatening to be regurgitated like undigested food, accompanied by other eww-worthy stories she’d heard of the woman over the years. The woman took the opportunity to ask her questions that she wouldn’t have answers to in a million light years to come.

“Shey Queen ni yen?” The lightweight woman she spitefully nicknamed Efufulele called from the short fence that divides her house from Omoge’s.

“Ehn, Queen ni,” She replied in her soft voice, trying not to get into trouble. Coincidentally, she had been told by Omoge never to get offended by Efufulele if she ever got provoked by her.

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