Alayonmbere - The Gecko

Chapter 3

After school hours I return to our single-room self-contained apartment in Ajegunle where I live with my mom. Our bungalow building accommodates nine other tenants, each family in their room. Five rooms line up on opposite sides of a narrow corridor where we do our laundries and other outdoor domestic chores. The sandy compound is fenced with a dilapidated metallic gate which demarcates us from pedestrians on the street where petty crime is commonplace.

"How are you Alayonmbere?" Sidi's mother says, lifting her head from her peanuts-peeling chore. Her wooden four-legged stool barely contains her drooping flanks, but she perches comfortably nonetheless.

"Fine, Ma." I manage a nod, breezing through the corridor, saying no word to others who're either chatting or idling around. Many of the people in my locality are jobless, so I'm not surprised that at 3pm, Wizkid's "Ojuelegba" Afrobeats track blares from one of the open doors.

Different strokes for different souls.

Inside our self-contained room, I drop my schoolbag on the cement floor, refusing to take off my uniform. No TV for me today and having lunch doesn't suit. I cast a sniggering glance around, kicking the stool on which lay my meal, spilling the pap and stew. The small beef lump rolls under our Formica shelf where rats can easily arrange for a meeting.

The dirty plates in the kitchen will stay unwashed, and I won't do any other chore. Mama must return to find me protesting. My unruliness should encourage her to reveal the motive behind my appalling name, though all previous attempts to sit her down had failed.

"There's nothing wrong with your name," she used to say, tossing off my demand as though a trifle. Her remarks later changed to "Time will come when you'll know why we named you Alayonmbere." I can't wait any longer. Here on my chest are signs of adulthood. I'm growing into a woman already; she must have noticed. After all, she now buys sanitary pads for two and that should make her change her mind.

Sitting on the wooden chair closest to the entrance door, I fold arms across my chest, rehearsing the feisty pose that'll get words out of my mother's mouth. It won't come easy to get her to pander to my wishes – that I'm sure of. A mere gaze from her is enough to douse my angst. But I mustn't look at her face today. I need to insist and stand my ground.

As my nostrils exhale venom-laden hot hair, a gecko crawls along the eastern end of our caked ceiling, wagging its tail to mock me as they often do. I hurl a tempered glance, almost slapping my right-leg sandal on it. Its brownish colour and bulgy eyes evoke a puke. Its ugliness upturns my bile.

Of all the lovely creatures moving around, this is the useless thing my parents named me after. Didn't Mama say she suffered a lot before and during childbirth? Why then will she name me after this thing which brings ridicule and scorn, nausea and loathing? This thing which ranks me below par amidst peers.

My bloating doubles but I'll save my anger forthe right person. Mama's usual complaints about poor sales won't move me today,no matter how hard she tries.