Her name is Oluoma.
But I call her Olu Bekee/My Olu 🥰. Such a pretty lady.
The last time I saw her, we were still in secondary school.
Think about that for a moment.
Secondary school.
An entire lifetime ago.
Back then, we were just girls trying to figure out life one day at a time. We had dreams, plans or not, fears, inside jokes, and the kind of friendship that felt effortless because we saw each other almost every day.
Then life happened.
School ended.
People moved.
Responsibilities grew.
The years started moving faster than they used to.
And before I knew it, years had passed without us seeing each other.
Not months.
Years.
When I travelled home recently, I made plans to see her in Awka.
To be honest, I wasn’t fully prepared for how happy that meeting would make me.
The moment I saw Olu Bekee walk through the door, something inside me lit up.
Not because we had been talking every day.
Not because we knew every detail of each other’s lives.
But because there are some people who are connected to a version of you that still matters.
A version of you that helped shape who you became.
And seeing them again feels like finding a piece of yourself.
We talked.
We laughed.
We caught up.
And for a brief moment, all those missing years didn’t feel quite so heavy.
It felt familiar.
Comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of easy that only comes from shared history.
The funny thing is that after I left, another feeling showed up.
Regret.
Not the painful kind.
The thoughtful kind.
I found myself asking why I had waited so long.
Why had I not made more effort to see her earlier?
Why had I allowed so much time to pass?
Even the meeting itself felt rushed because I didn’t leave home early enough.
If I had gone out sooner, we probably would have spent more time together.
I remember wishing I had planned better.
Wishing I had created more room for the moment.
Because some people deserve more than quick catch-ups squeezed between other commitments.
And that’s when I realized something.
Growing up has a way of making us believe there will always be another time.
Another visit.
Another phone call.
Another opportunity.
Another year.
But sometimes years pass quietly while we’re busy surviving.
Working.
Building.
Planning.
Moving from one responsibility to another.
And before we know it, the people who once occupied large parts of our lives have become memories we occasionally think about.
Not because we stopped caring, but because life got loud.
The beautiful thing about seeing Olu Bekee again was realizing that genuine affection doesn’t always disappear because of distance.
Sometimes it simply waits.
It waits through the years.
Through the busyness.
Through the silence.
And when you meet again, it picks up in the most unexpected ways.
That meeting reminded me that friendships need intentionality.
Not because people are demanding.
But because people matter.
The older I get, the more I understand that relationships don’t survive on good intentions alone.
They survive on effort.
On showing up.
On making the call.
On taking the trip.
On creating time.
And if there is one thing I took away from seeing Olu Bekee after all those years, it is this:
Don’t wait too long to visit the people who matter to you.
Don’t assume there will always be another opportunity.
Don’t let affection live only in your heart when it can be expressed in your actions.
Because some reunions are more healing than you realize.
Sometimes, all it takes is seeing an old friend to remember a part of yourself you haven’t seen in years.
And for that, I will always be grateful for the day I saw Olu Bekee again.
