Wilma’s ignoring me again. Tried to talk to her the other day, but got only some nonsense. Now she’s not even showing up online, or replying to text messages, or anything. Toyed repeatedly with just calling her and breaking up. But then I decided that it’s really not even worth that hassle. So I’ll just stop bothering. This course of action provides little closure, but if I am not even worth a reply/breakup/whatever from her side, well, then two can play that game.

Meanwhile, my friend Sarah is planning a trip to Europe. Not sure if she’s serious about meeting me. Either way I’ve given her a lot of tips on what to see and where to go. This is a service I’ll happily provide for anybody who wants to come to Europe of course. (Sans the offer of being a tourist guide on location as well, for obvious reasons.)

Min has gotten back together with her German boyfriend. I never knew about this, until she considered asking me for advice on the wording of her email to him. I guess in the end she didn’t want to involve a stranger, however. Which is fine with me. But once again I must say it sucks being the “friend who can help me” instead of the “the guy”.

And because I was depressed and annoyed and tired I decided to call someone who always manages to make me feel better: Bahati. I was surprised that my VOIP provider finally unlocked calls to Nigeria, and it only took me two attempts to get through.

Not many news from Nigeria, though. Bahati is, as she insists, “still unmarried”. I asked her whether she still intended to come to Europe.

“Of course,” she said.

“I hope it’s not just because of me,” I asked, somewhat sheepishly.

“No,” Bahati countered. “I’d be able to meet all the people I know, of course especially you… and I could go to the U.S. and see my dad!” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Wouldn’t want you to make all this way and then meet me and be disappointed.” Yes, it’s a lame thing to say. As I said – it’s not been a good day. I was tired.

“Never!” Bahati exclaimed.

“I hope so.”

“You know that would never happen.”

A little later, Bahati got worried about the cost of the call. “Won’t this be expensive?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” I said.

“You must call me more often,” she pleaded. “Maybe you could call me every day if you call me only for a minute? Two at most.”

Very sweet, somehow. I’ve known Bahati for many years, and while there have been times she and I haven’t talked quite so much she’s never really ceased in her enthusiasm. Normally I’d be worried about a woman from Nigeria wanting to get a visa or something. But somehow I doubt Bahati is after that. Surely she’d be able to find someone who’d be easier to convince. Besides my high-school friends, Bahati is my oldest friend. Doesn’t mean I am completely without doubts. I am naturally paranoid and, I am afraid to say, pessimistic.

I do like Bahati, too. A lot. As much as you can like a person who’s eight hours away and whom you never met. Must admit, the prospect of meeting her scares me a little. The way I see it, it can only end in one of two ways. Either it’ll be the worst dud since Transmeta or I’ll end up married. It seems to me that there’s little middle ground.