I wanted to speak with people who have had friendship breakups due to living with their friends, and I found Habib*.
His 10-year friendship with Ibukun* is about to end after just six months of living together as flatmates.
As told to Adeyinka
I’ve only lived with Ibukun for six months, and it’s the worst decision I’ve made in a long time.
I’ve always been against having a roommate or living in a shared apartment. Even when I lived with my parents, I was the only sibling with a room to myself. I used to share the room with my immediate brother, but we were always fighting. He never arranged his bed, preferred the lights on and windows open, and left the doors open. All of these things unsettled my peace of mind, so it was hard to overlook. After our eldest sibling married, I didn’t say a word before he moved and left the room for me.
When I got into university, my parents didn’t argue when I insisted on a self-contained off-campus apartment instead of the school’s shared hostel arrangement. They knew their child well, and putting me up with a stranger would have unsettled them as much as it did me.
I met Ibukun at university in 2014. He was my super cool coursemate, whom I convinced to move into my hostel. When we met, he was looking for new accommodation, and there was a spare self-con in my hostel. Since we’d gotten along as coursemates, I was thrilled by the idea of having him in the hostel.
Living in the same hostel moved us from coursemates to actual friends. We attended lectures together, came home together, planned meals together, studied together, and made more mutual friends together. On some days, we crashed in each other’s rooms.
At some point, people who didn’t know the history of our friendship thought we were related, and we went with that narrative. To some people, we were friends, and to others, cousins. During short holidays when I couldn’t make it to Lagos, my parents gave me permission to spend it at Ibukun’s in Osogbo.
We saw less of each other after we graduated from university in 2018. I came to Lagos, where I did my NYSC. Ibukun was back in Osogbo and served in Ibadan. But the long distance had nothing on us; we were still guys. We texted, called and occasionally attended owambes of family and mutual friends.
In November last year, Ibukun told me his job was transferring him to Lagos, and he needed help finding a place. Coincidentally, I was house hunting because I wanted to move out of my parents’ place.
My search had been fruitless. Lagos agents were asking ridiculous sums for horrible houses with poor ventilation. They also kept insisting that I couldn’t get a decent mini-flat on the mainland with my ₦700k budget except I was open to houses in Ikorodu, Iyana Ipaja and the likes.
When Ibukun asked, I told him I couldn’t be of much help because I’d also been house hunting and hadn’t found anything. Immediately after I mentioned I was house hunting, Ibukun suggested getting a place together. He said we could get a two-bedroom and both have our rooms to ourselves.
It didn’t sound like a bad idea, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled by it. The first thing that struck my mind was my reservation against living with someone. But in that moment, I also realised Ibukun’s suggestion was probably worth considering if I wanted to move out and get a decent house. Besides, just like he said, we’d have our rooms to ourselves, and if he became overbearing, I could always retire to my room.
In the first week of January, we concluded payment for a two-bedroom and started setting up the space. Moving into the house made me realise rent was just the first of several steps. We had to pay for much more — furniture, light and curtain fittings, bed, etc. I was super thankful that I could split the bill with someone. We finally moved in the last week of January, and my parents and Ibukun’s dad came to pray for us in the house.
Living with Ibukun was cool. We agreed on everything, and splitting bills wasn’t a problem. But things started to fall apart in April.
I should mention one habit I found disturbing about Ibukun during our undergrad days. My guy was never one to keep his dick in his pants. Ibukun had different babes who spent the night with him in the hostel. Six girls could visit him in a week, and at least four of those would spend the night. I thought it was excessive, but I never mentioned it since it wasn’t making him any less serious with school.
The problem is, Ibukun’s hoe-phase followed him into adulthood. At first, I didn’t suspect anything. Actually, there was nothing to suspect. He’d just moved to Lagos, didn’t know many people, and was trying to find his balance at work. So, there wasn’t a lot of time for leisurely activities.
But by April, when he was fully settled, the Ibukun from uni reared his head. It started with him coming home from work with a female colleague. The babe would come with a change of clothes, and they’d leave for work together in the morning. She seemed like a nice babe, so I didn’t have issues. Also, I assumed they were serious since she was spending days at a stretch. After about two weeks, I stopped seeing the girl. Another one had replaced her, and since then, I’ve lost count of all the girls that have been to our house.
The annoying thing is that the people he brings over have no respect for our house. They invade everywhere. I entered the kitchen one morning, and there was this strange babe in a crop top and pants making noodles. I had to dash out of the kitchen, apologising—which is crazy because WTF? It’s my house; I should be able to show up anywhere I want.
As if that’s not bad enough, they cook our food, eat our cereals, use gadgets that drain power units, leave stuff in the living room, and mess up the bathroom and toilets. I can’t count the number of times I’ve cleaned lather off the bathroom walls, washed off pubic hair, and opened the toilet to see clumps of tissue.
Let’s not even talk about the sex noises. The ladies are always unnecessarily loud. I don’t know if he makes them do it intentionally or if they’re uncouth. I could be up observing midnight prayers, and the moaning sounds wouldn’t let me focus.
One day, a guy spent the night, and I could have sworn I heard moaning sounds. To this day, I’ve convinced myself a girl was probably in the room with them for a threesome, or they were watching porn. I’ve never known Ibukun to be bisexual.
I’ve complained, begged, and given the coldest shoulders to his guests, but nothing seems to work. The last time we talked, we raised voices at each other, and he kept saying that no one ever comes inside my room, which means I still have my privacy. I’ve considered telling his parents, but how do I even go about telling on an adult who chooses to be sexually irresponsible?
At this point, I just feel deep resentment and hatred toward him. We stopped joint contributions for foodstuffs last month. I now put my provisions and foodstuff in a separate cupboard in the kitchen. He can continue feeding his guests from his pocket.
I’m definitely not renewing the rent when it expires. Maybe I’ll move back in with my parents and save up until I can afford a place in a nice area.
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