My phone rang around 6pm.
It was Laide.
I knew something was wrong before she had properly said hello. You know that tone? The one where someone says, “I’m fine,” but their voice has already submitted evidence to the contrary?
Work, she said.
Nothing dramatic. Just one of those stretches where everything feels heavier than it should, and even the things that normally roll off your back suddenly have somewhere to sit.
So I listened.
I prayed with her right there on the phone, told her it would be fine, and promised I was coming over.
Then, because I know my friend, I asked the more important question.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. And please don’t start with the ‘eat something light’ speech.” she replied.
“I wasn't going to.”
“Suya?” I asked
“Yes, Suya.”
The Suya Detour
I drove to our usual suya spot, placed the order and settled in to wait.
That was when I spotted it. again.
A little interior décor store boutique tucked around the corner.
I smiled because I knew the brand immediately.
MadebyYuli.
I've bought from them before, so this wasn't exactly a case of discovering some mysterious new shop in Port Harcourt. But there was something about seeing the store in that particular moment that made me think, Let me just pop in.
The suya could wait two minutes.
Probably.
I walked in and, as usual, told myself I was only looking.
ME: I’m only looking.
ALSO ME, 7 MINUTES LATER: 😂
Which is how every unnecessary purchase begins.
And Then I Saw the Tabletop Pieces
There is something I particularly like about handcrafted décor.
It doesn't have to shout to be noticed.
A beautiful piece can sit quietly on a shelf, a console or bedside table and somehow change the feeling of the space around it. And because MadebyYuli's pieces are thoughtfully made here in Nigeria, there is an added sense of connection that mass-produced décor doesn't always have.
I wandered over to the tabletop display.
And then I stopped.
Three pieces caught my attention.
Not because they were loud or elaborate. They were simple wooden pieces with words that felt like little reminders for ordinary days.
And suddenly, I wasn't shopping for myself anymore.
I was thinking about Laide.
I pictured one of them sitting somewhere in her room, waiting for her on one of those mornings when work had already started its nonsense before 7am.
Something she could see without having to search for encouragement.
Something that quietly said, Remember this.
So I chose three tabletop decor pieces.
One very intentional gift.
And, yes, I still had suya waiting for me outside.
Suya First. Then the Surprise.
When I got to Laide's house, she looked exactly how she'd sounded on the phone.
I handed her the suya first.
Went out for:
🥩 Suya
Came home with:
🥩 Suya
🪵 Three meaningful gifts
Then I remembered the other bag hanging from my wrist.
“Laide, look what I got you.”
She looked inside.
“A frame?”
I laughed.
“Just open it.”
She pulled them out one by one.
Then she read the words.
Slowly.
And something changed.
The room became quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind of quiet we'd had on the phone earlier.
The kind where someone is taking in something that has landed exactly where it needed to.
She didn't say anything.
She just hugged me.
And honestly, that hug said enough.
When she finally spoke, she thanked me for being thoughtful. She said the words were exactly what she needed—an encouragement she hadn't realised she was looking for.
I had gone over with suya because I wanted to make her evening a little easier.
I didn't expect three small pieces of wood decor to become part of the conversation.
But sometimes that is the funny thing about gifts.
You think you're giving someone an object.
What you're really giving them is a feeling.
The Gift Doesn't Always Have to Be Big
That evening reminded me of something I think we sometimes forget when we're shopping for people we love.
A meaningful gift doesn't necessarily have to be expensive, elaborate or wrapped in a mountain of ribbon.
Sometimes it just needs to feel thought through.
If I'm choosing a gift for someone going through a difficult season, I want something they can live with—not something they'll thank me for and then quietly put away.
Something they'll see.
Something that belongs in their home.
Something that might make them pause for half a second when they walk past it.
And I think that's where handcrafted décor can be especially lovely.
The object becomes part of the home, while the message becomes part of the everyday.
“Where Did You Get This?”
Laide eventually asked the question I knew was coming.
“Where did you get these?”
I smiled.
“MadebyYuli. You know I buy from them.”
She nodded.
Then she looked at the pieces again.
And I found myself explaining what I like about the brand.
That it isn't just about filling a room with pretty things.
It's about making pieces that have a reason to be there.
Handcrafted décor. Thoughtful gifts. Pieces made for Nigerian homes, but designed to feel personal enough to become your thing.
And perhaps that's why I keep going back.
There is something lovely about finding a piece that feels as though it has been waiting for the right home—or, in this case, the right person.
That Tuesday evening, I had gone out to buy suya.
I came back with suya, three little reminders and a story I hadn't planned on telling.
And Laide?
She kept the pieces.
Which, if you know her, tells you everything.
Sometimes the best gifts aren't the ones that say the most.
They're the ones that say exactly what you couldn't quite put into words yourself.
And sometimes, apparently, they come in a bag alongside your suya.
— Amara