Beyond the mirror

Ada, a voluptuous and curvy young lady, has a beautiful round face with warm, expressive eyes adjusting her headscarf, glancing at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She took a deep breath and stepped out of her small apartment in Lagos, determined to face the day. The bustling market was already alive with vendors shouting out prices and customers haggling for the best deals.

As she walked through the market, Ada could feel the stares and hear the whispers. She knew they were talking about her size. At twenty-two, she was bigger than most women her age, and it had always been a source of discomfort for her. But today, she was determined to ignore the negativity and buy the ingredients she needed for her mother's birthday party.

"Ah ah, see as she is fat!" one woman exclaimed loudly to her friend as Ada passed by. "No be only food dey enter her belle?"

Ada's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she kept her head high and continued walking. She stopped at a stall selling yams and greeted the vendor.

"Good morning, Mama Nkechi," Ada said, forcing a smile.

"Morning, my dear," Mama Nkechi replied warmly. "How your mama dey?"

"She dey fine, thank you. I want to buy some yams."

As Mama Nkechi selected the yams, a group of teenage girls walked by, giggling and pointing at Ada. One of them, a tall girl with braids, called out, "Aunty, you no dey chop small? Make you no go burst o!"

Ada's heart sank. She had heard similar comments all her life, but they never got easier to bear. She handed Mama Nkechi the money and quickly moved on to the next stall, trying to hold back tears.

At the vegetable stall, she met her friend, Chidi, who was buying tomatoes. Chidi was one of the few people who never judged Ada for her size.

"Ada, how far?" Chidi greeted her with a wide smile.

"I dey," Ada replied, her voice wavering.

Chidi noticed her friend's distress. "Wetin happen? Who don vex you this early morning?"

Ada sighed. "Na the same wahala, Chidi. People no go leave me alone. Everywhere I go, na so so talk about my body."

Chidi frowned. "No mind them, Ada. Dem no get work. You fine just as you be. Abeg, no let them spoil your day."

Ada nodded, appreciating Chidi's words. She finished her shopping quickly and decided to take a break at a nearby buka. As she sat down to enjoy a plate of jollof rice, she overheard two women at the next table discussing her again.

"Why she no fit do something about her weight?" one woman whispered. "E no good for her health."

The other woman nodded in agreement. "True talk. She goes just dey suffer later."

Ada couldn't take it anymore. She stood up and faced the women. "Excuse me, but una no get any right to talk about my body like that. I dey try my best, and I no go let una make me feel less than I am."

Ada walked home, and the weight of the day’s encounters began to bear down on her. Despite her brave front, her heart was heavy with sadness. She passed through the crowded streets of Lagos, feeling the sting of every whisper and the burn of every stare. Each step felt like a reminder of how the world saw her—not as Ada, a hardworking woman with dreams and aspirations, but as a figure of ridicule and judgment.

By the time she reached her apartment, Ada’s resolve had crumbled. She sank onto her worn-out couch, tears streaming down her face. The day’s events replayed in her mind, each hurtful comment amplifying her insecurities. She had tried to be strong, to brush off the cruelty of others, but it was overwhelming.

In the solitude of her small apartment, Ada allowed herself to cry. She cried for all the times she had been mocked and for the pain of feeling like she was never enough. She cried for the little girl inside her who had once believed that she was beautiful just the way she was. She cried for the countless moments when she had tried to conform to society’s standards and failed.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. It was Chidi, her ever-loyal friend. Ada quickly wiped her tears and opened the door, trying to muster a smile.

“Ada, you dey cry?” Chidi asked concern etched on his face.

Ada shook her head, but the tears started again. “Chidi, e no easy. Every day na the same thing. I dey try to ignore, but e dey pains me.”

Chidi pulled her into a comforting hug. “I know, Ada. But you no be wetin people talk. You be strong woman, and you no dey alone.”

Ada clung to Chidi, grateful for his support. They sat down, and Ada poured out her heart, sharing her struggles and fears. She talked about how she felt trapped in a body that society didn’t accept, and how it affected every aspect of her life—from her confidence to her dreams of finding love.

“Sometimes, I dey wonder if I go ever find person wey go love me for who I will be,” Ada confessed, her voice breaking.

Chidi took her hand and looked her in the eyes. “Ada, you go find love. A person who does not see your beauty doesn’t deserve you. You get a kind heart, and that one day is more important than any other thing.”

Ada thanked Chidi and said, “Chidi, it’s already late. Make you dey go house before the night reach.”

Chidi looked at her with concern. “You sure say you go dey alright?”

Ada forced a smile. “I go dey fine. Thank you for everything.”

Reluctantly, Chidi left, and Ada closed the door behind him. She leaned against it, taking a deep breath. The sound of his footsteps fading away made the apartment feel even lonelier.

The next day was her mother’s birthday party. Ada put on her best dress, one she had sewn herself and made her way to her mother’s house. She carried a carefully prepared dish of jollof rice, hoping it would be a hit at the party.

The house was already bustling with activity when she arrived. Relatives and family friends filled the living room, laughter, and chatter echoing through the space. Ada greeted everyone, trying to ignore the way some of them looked her up and down with thinly veiled disapproval.

“Ada, na you be this?” Auntie Ifeoma said, her eyebrows raised. “You do add more weight o. Wetin' you dey chop?”

Ada forced a laugh. “I dey try, Auntie. How is your body?”

Auntie Ifeoma shook her head, muttering under her breath as she walked away. Ada felt the familiar sting of tears but blinked them back, determined not to let anyone see her pain.

As the party went on, Ada tried to enjoy herself, but the comments kept coming. One after another, guests made snide remarks about her size, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“Ada, you go fit to sit for this chair?” one of her cousins joked, drawing laughter from those nearby.

“Maybe she needs two chairs,” another chimed in.

Ada’s heart ached with every word. She felt trapped, unable to escape the ridicule. She excused herself and went to the kitchen, trying to gather her composure. Her mother found her there, wiping away silent tears.

“Ada, my bikini,” her mother said softly. “Wetin dey worry you?”

Ada shook her head, unable to speak. Her mother took her hands, her eyes filled with concern.

“I dey worry about you, Ada. This weight is not good for your health. You need to come down. I do want to make your day sick.”

Her mother’s words, though spoken with love, felt like another blow. Ada nodded, unable to trust her voice. She knew her mother meant well, but the words still hurt.

After the party, Ada went home, her heart heavy with resolve. She looked at herself in the mirror, the pain and shame reflected in her eyes. “I go lose this weight,” she whispered to herself. “I go show them say I fit do am.”

From that day, Ada started to change her eating habits drastically. She skipped meals, drinking only water and nibbling on small pieces of fruit. The hunger gnawed at her, but she pushed through, determined to shed the weight and silence the voices of judgment.

Days turned into weeks, and Ada’s once vibrant spirit began to fade. She avoided social gatherings, too ashamed of her size and too weak from hunger. Her clothes started to hang loosely on her shrinking frame, but the compliments she had hoped for never came.

One evening, Chidi stopped by unexpectedly. He took one look at Ada and his expression turned to one of deep concern. “Ada, wetin you do to yourself?”

Ada shrugged, trying to play it off. “I dey try to lose weight, Chidi. Make everybody for a stop to dey talk.”

Chidi shook his head, his voice stern. “This no be the way, Ada. You dey starve yourself. You no fit continue like this. Your health dey important.”

Ada felt tears welling up again. “But when I go do, Chidi? I no fit continue to dey hear all those things. I want to make them stop.”

Chidi’s gaze softened, and he took her hands in his. “Ada, you do not need to do this for anybody. You are worth no day based on your size. You go kill yourself if you continue like this. Abeg, see a doctor make you dey healthy.”

Ada looked at Chidi, the desperation in her heart battling with the truth in his words. She knew he was right, but the fear of judgment was so deeply ingrained. Slowly, she nodded, accepting his advice.

“Okay, Chidi. I go see a doctor. I go try do am the right way,” she said, her voice trembling.

Chidi hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Ada. You dey beautiful just as you be. No, forget that.”

Ada was supposed to go to the doctor, but the compliments she received about her weight loss made her feel a fleeting sense of happiness she hadn't felt in years.

"Ah, Ada, you don dey look fine o!" a neighbor exclaimed one day. "See as you don slim down. E fit you well well."

These words were like a drug, fueling Ada's determination to continue her extreme diet. She lied to Chidi, assuring him that she was eating well and taking care of herself. "I dey fine, Chidi. I dey see doctor, and everything dey okay."

Chidi, though worried, trusted her words. Meanwhile, Ada's health deteriorated rapidly. She began to see food as the enemy, something that stood between her and acceptance. Each meal became a battle she was determined to win by starving herself further.

Days turned into a blur of weakness and isolation. Ada rarely left her apartment, and when she did, it was only for the most essential errands. She felt lightheaded and tired, but the compliments still echoed in her mind, driving her forward.

Chidi became increasingly worried as Ada grew more distant. He noticed her absence from social gatherings and the darkness that seemed to cloud her once-bright spirit. One evening, unable to bear it any longer, he decided to check on her. He knocked on her door, but there was no answer.

"Ada! Na me, Chidi. Open door!"

Silence. He knocked again, louder this time, his heart pounding with fear. When there was still no response, Chidi's worry turned to panic. He tried the door, but it was locked. Desperation mounting, he kicked the door with all his strength, finally breaking it open.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. Ada lay collapsed on the floor, her once vibrant body now a frail shadow of itself. Her skin was pale, and she looked dangerously thin. Chidi rushed to her side, shaking her gently.

"Ada! Ada, wake up! Abeg, no do this to me."

She didn't respond. Chidi felt for a pulse and found it weak but there. He grabbed his phone and called for an ambulance, his hands trembling.

"Please, you need to come quick. My friend, she dons collapse. I dey beg you."

As he waited for the ambulance, Chidi held Ada's hand, tears streaming down his face. He felt a mix of fear, anger, and helplessness. How had it come to this? He had trusted her words, but now he realized the depth of her struggle.

The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics quickly assessed Ada's condition. They lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her to the ambulance, with Chidi following closely behind, his heart heavy with guilt.

At the hospital, doctors worked tirelessly to stabilize Ada. Chidi sat in the waiting room, his mind racing with thoughts of their last conversation and the signs he had missed. He blamed himself for not seeing through her lies and for not pushing harder to help her.

Hours later, a doctor approached him. "Are you her family?"

Chidi shook his head. "No, but I be her close friend. How she dey?"

The doctor sighed. "She's in critical condition. Severe malnutrition and dehydration. We'll do everything we can, but it's going to be a long road to recovery."

Chidi nodded, tears filling his eyes. "Thank you, doctor."

He was allowed to see Ada briefly. She lay unconscious, hooked up to various machines. Chidi took her hand, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Ada, abeg, you need to fight. We all dey here for you. No, let this thing win."

Days passed, and Ada remained in the hospital, slowly beginning to recover. Chidi visited her every day, his presence a constant source of support. When she finally regained consciousness, her eyes filled with tears as she saw Chidi by her side.

"I'm sorry, Chidi," she whispered, her voice weak.

Chidi shook his head, squeezing her hand gently. "No be your fault, Ada. We will get through this together. You no dey alone."

Ada's eyes fluttered open, weak but aware of Chidi's presence. Tears welled up as she whispered, "Chidi, I dey sorry. I wish I never met those people. Their words, e dey cut me deep. I wish I could block my ear. I wish I listened to you."

Chidi shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. "Ada, no talk like that. You do not do anything wrong. Na them dey wrong. You go dey fine, you hear?"

Ada tried to smile, but it was a ghost of her former brightness. "I dey feel so weak, Chidi. E be like say my body no fit hold on anymore."

Fear gripped Chidi's heart. He squeezed her hand tighter as if he could will his strength into her. "No talk like that, Ada. You strongly pass this. You go dey alright."

But Ada's eyes were losing their focus, her breaths becoming more labored. "I don tire, Chidi. I no fit fight again."

Tears streamed down Chidi's face as he begged, "Please, Ada. You no fit leave me. Abeg, hold on. We go get through this together."

Ada's hand went limp in his, her eyes fluttering shut. Her chest rose and fell one last time, then stilled. Chidi's heart shattered as he realized she was gone.

"Ada!" he screamed, his voice breaking with anguish. "No, Ada, please!"

The doctors rushed in, but it was too late. Ada had slipped away, leaving Chidi alone with his grief. He collapsed beside her, his sobs echoing through the sterile hospital room. The weight of her loss was unbearable, a sorrow that would haunt him forever.

In that moment, Chidi realized the true cost of the cruel words and societal pressure that had driven Ada to such extremes. He vowed to honor her memory by fighting against the very things that had taken her from him, hoping that no one else would have to suffer the way she had.