1997
Ijeli, Orlu
Imo State, Nigeria
Binyelum
It was barely sunset when I heard the sound of Papa turning the ignition of his pickup truck. The engine would rev only to die in a cough. I tossed in bed as the sound continued. Eventually my eyes flew open when I heard him slamming the car door. Throwing the covers off my torso, I swung my legs off the bed to the floor, pushing my feet into my slippers.
I always kept a torchlight on the floor close to my bed in case of emergencies. I grabbed it and turned it on before leaving my room. I walked across the living room to the front door. I opened the main door first, followed by the screen door. Standing before the screen door threshold, I shifted the torch to where Papa was.
Papa stood yonder, bent over at the front of the pickup truck. The bonnet was raised, exposing the engine. Papa had a torchlight of his own in one hand, his other hand was fumbling around the engine. When the ray of light from my torchlight reached him, he stopped to shield his eyes from the light with his arm as he stared in my direction.
"Nkem, is that you?" He asked, squinting at the light as he looked to me. "Did did I wake you?"
"Yes. Papa but it's okay. Good morning." I turned the light away from his eyes and walked across the verandah, descending the steps to him. "Why are you up this early though? You weren't supposed to leave till 10."
"Well I got orders from the top yesterday evening. There's much to be done at work." Papa turned off the flashlight and shoved it in his pocket. He shifted so I could stand next to him. I redirected my own torchlight to the engine so he could work with his two hands.
"I didn't want to wake you until I was ready." Papa said. "I wanted to put everything in order and then wake you to say goodbye. I won't be gone for long but I want to leave early so I can return early."
"Are you almost done here?" I asked him. "If you are, you could go take your bath while I help you load your things in the trunk."
"Oh that's fine, my baby." My father said as he walked to the driver's side of the truck. The door was already open so he just reached in. "The problem I have right now is..." He turned on the ignition, still the engine wouldn't start. "She won't start."
Amobi Okezie, my father worked as construction worker. There was a contractor who recruited some men in our village to work for a big company in the city. They would get drafted to sites within and outside Imo for jobs. Sometimes work took him away for a day, two or three. He never liked leaving me home alone so he hardly took such jobs. I didn't mind though, work was work. And I never felt lonely. I had Sister Gladys and my best friends, Obi and Jama whom I'd known my entire life.
My father was the only living blood relative I had. It's been him and I for as long as I can remember. I never knew a mother. The short story was she remarried after my birth, leaving my father full custody of me. It was a sensitive topic in our house, one we'd agreed not to address. As a single father, there was only so much my father could shoulder. It was probably twice as hard having to raise a child of the opposite gender alone. So he sought help from his friends and even the village orphanage. I spent a lot of time with the children at the orphanage. That was how Sister Gladys came into my life, it was also how I met Jama.
Sister Gladys was a nun at the chapel who also worked at the orphanage. She cared for the children at the orphanage. The orphanage wasn't just for the fatherless and the homeless, she kept the doors open for children from troubled homes. She made it a safe place to socialise amongst ourselves. There were other sisters at the orphanage but Sister Gladys was the heart and soul of the village. She was loved by all. She is the reason I believe God sends angels to offer guidance when needed. Sister Gladys gave me all the moral and maternal guidance I needed until I was old enough to shoulder responsibilities within and outside the house. She would come over to help out in the house, teach me things and comfort me when I couldn't handle my emotions.
"Is it the uhm fuel line problem?" I asked. "I told you to get it fixed. You know the money you're spending on fuel is twice the amount it would cost you to have it fixed."
Papa's old pickup truck had a leaky fuel line. So that cost him to use twice the amount of petrol. We had noticed it about two weeks ago but he didn't have the time to fix it because he had to go on a lot of jobs outside the village. Usually he would carry extra jerrycans of petrol to refill.
"That's still a problem but I was going to handle it with the jerrycans of petrol as per usual." Papa answered me, moving back to the engine. "But now I think it's the battery that's dead."
"I can fetch Jama for you." I offered. "He'll come with a spare battery and do the recharge thing for you."
Jama's father had a mechanic workshop. When his father wasn't drunk, he worked alongside his son. But usually it was just Jama managing the workshop because his father couldn't put himself together to run the place.
"It's barely sunrise. I'm certain Jama's father wouldn't appreciate such an early bird." Papa replied. "I think I know what to do. Mazi Akunna is also going to town. I'll just catch a ride with him. Meanwhile you stay here, we will stop at Jama's on our way. I'll have him come over and charge the battery. He'll just drive the car to the workshop and get started on the fuel line. I already left upkeep money where I normally keep it, pay him from there, okay?"
"Okay, Papa." I replied.
"Help me remove my bag and boots from the car." He instructed and I immediately got to work.
I bade my father goodbye as he walked through the gate. He said he would only be gone for a day this time. After he left, I went back inside the house. I couldn't go back to bed because it was almost sunrise so I decided to start my morning chores so I could get to work early.
First, I had bread and tea for breakfast then started. I swept the house, did some dusting. I went to my father's bedroom to lay his bed, sweep and dust. Afterwards I moved to my bedroom to do the same. I returned the broom, dustpan and rag to the kitchen. I washed my hands and turned on the kerosene stove so I could warm the leftover food. By then it was sunrise. As the soup simmered on fire, I heard the front gate open.
Our village was so peaceful, there was almost no need for security measures. People left their gates open day and night. Though Papa would always have me lock up before going to bed especially when he was away from home.
The kitchen window had a clear view of the compound's gate so I could see anyone approaching. I peered through the louvres, catching Jama's beaming face. He dramatically swaggered to the house, doing a few turns on his way. He had a car battery and an old cable in his grip. But that didn't stop him from his doing his thing. I chuckled at his approaching figure.
"Do you know I was about to come get you?" I yelled to him.
"I know. I can always tell when you're in need of my company." He yelled back. "It's a telepathic kind of love, you know."
"My father stopped by your house, didn't he?" I asked rolling my eyes.
He laughed. "Yes he did!"
Soon he disappeared from my sight and entered the house. He made his way to me in the kitchen, crowding the kitchen entrance with his six foot frame.
Jamalumchi Iwegbuna, my childhood friend wasn't an orphan but he was always in and out of the orphanage because he was also raised by a single father— an alcoholic sorry excuse for a father. But mostly, he was over at our house lounging. He had clothes over here, he ate here whenever. My father had no qualms with his presence whatsoever.
"This Egusi soup is entering my nose oh." He said and casually strolled into the pantry. He then reappeared with the container we usually kept garri.
"Ah what do you think you're doing?" I asked him as I stirred the soup.
"Making garri to eat the soup, obviously." He replied me as he grabbed a small bowl from the cupboard above.
I smacked his back as he reached across me to get the wooden spatula. He laughed and recoiled but he already had the wooden spatula in his hand.
Jama ate whatever he wanted in our house whenever he wanted, my father was always happy to have him around. He would always joke about us acting like an old married couple. He joked more about having us marry when we were older. The idea never ceased to crack us up.
Who marries their childhood best friend?!
Jama bent over and nudged my legs with his arm so he could get the kettle. "Shift this your yam legs, biko! Let me get kettle to boil water."
"Wow insulting me and expecting me to feed you." I eyed him but still reached for a small soup plate on the plate rack to serve him. "One day the charm you used on me will wear off and then you'd see who'll feed you."
Jama wasn't even paying attention to me. He was solely focused on picking meat. "Bia, put that flesh for me." He pointed at his choice as I searched for it. "That beautiful scrumptious one eyeing me from the corner."
I rolled my eyes. The boy ate like a beast. After serving the soup I handed it to him. "You're making your garri yourself. Finish warming the soup. If you take an extra meat, I'll castrate you!"
I began to walk away as he laughed. He called me from the sink where he filled water into the kettle. "Where are you going to?"
"I'm going to have my bath. Then we can leave with the car to your workshop and from there I'll go to my work place." I replied as I exited the kitchen.
I was learning a skill, working part time at a tailor's shop. Growing up, I always had a liking for designing. I would grow tired of my clothes and redesign them myself by ripping off a sleeve or two, joining different clothes to make one. My father had gotten me my own manual sewing machine two years ago for my sixteenth birthday.
"Sure thing!" I heard his response as I made it to my room. "Call me if you need me to help wash your bumbum!"
"Anụmanụ!" I cursed at him.
His boisterous laughter echoed through the house. Smiling, I advanced to my room. In our two bedroom bungalow, there was a pathway between the bedrooms and a bathroom. The hallway had its own door so when closed, you would be shut from the rest of the house. I shut the door so I could walk from my bedroom to the bathroom.
I stripped out of my clothes, wrapped myself in my towel and walked into the bathroom. After bathing, I brushed my teeth and returned to my room. I moisturised my body, put on my underwear and pulled a pair of loose jeans shorts I had stolen off my father and a plain graphic t-shirt. I ambled into the living room to find Jama seated on the dining table, his feet were up on the table. He was using his Walkman, bobbing his head aggressively to foreign rap music.
"What are you doing?" I asked, stopping before him.
Since I was in plain sight, he saw me speak. So he removed the headset partially to reply me. "Jamming, what does it look like?"
"Hope you washed the things you used to prepare the food you ate." I said to him, placing one hand on my hip.
"Of course I did." Jama replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Already recharged the battery too."
"Oh good." I replied. "Let's get going then."
"Wait first. Lemme finish this song—" I snatched the device from him and he instantly sprang up. "Hey! Give it back!"
I was already walking past the screen door and out of the house, he was hot on my heels. In the veranda, he suddenly grabbed me from behind and I squealed, tightening my grip on his Walkman.
"I'll give it to you when we get back!" He started tickling me. "No! Ah! Stop!"
"Never!" He laughed. "Gimme back my Walkman."
I fought giggles and his hands at the same time. "I'll throw.... it....away oh!"
"Try me!" He continued his tickle attack.
"I'll make...... you abacha if you— ah! Stop it!"
"Ehn? Abacha?" Jama ceased his assault, clapped his hands together before him, his face beaming with enthusiasm. "I'll be a good boy. In fact I'm your slave right now. Command me anyhow, my queen."
I chuckled, rolling my eyes. Jama was obsessed with Abacha. He was his happiest at the mere possibility of enjoying the dish. I had no plans whatsoever of making abacha anytime soon but I knew I never would have won the battle if I hadn't played dirty.
"Alright, slave. To the car, off we go!" I clapped as I approached the pickup truck with him hot on my heels.
"Yes, my madam!" He said as he started the engine. "Your carriage awaits!"
"Food will kill you one day!" I chuckled.
In the car, we continued our bickering as he drove. The road was not tarred, it was covered in fine white sand, the landscape from my house was mostly trees and nature.
"It'll be a happy death!" Jama responded.
"Better starting looking for a woman who can cook to marry because your days of nutrition are numbered!" I retorted.
"Oh but she's sitting right next to me." He smirked at me and I beat his arm as he howled in laughter.
"Ow! Ow! You need to be more practical, Binye." He said. "My Grandfather used to say a man marries for two things—"
"Here we go..." I rolled my eyes already recognising his monologue.
He continued. "Friendship and food! I don't think I could ever bond with a girl like I have with you so why would I marry a stranger just for food?"
"Wow you're making a lot of sense right now." I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Why settle for the milk when you can get the whole cow for free!?" He said and I gasped in disbelief.
"Jamalumchi Lawrence Iwegbuna, did you just liken me to a cow!?" I started beating him again as he drove while he cackled like a hyena.
"Hey, I'm driving, woman!" He let out in between laughter.
Eventually I stopped my physical assault on him because I didn't want to die by car crash. We drove for a while making small talk. Just before the outskirts of town, there was a deserted mansion— the occasional talk of the town. As we neared, we saw an elderly man I recognised him to be Mazi Udoka. He was struggling with the gate of the compound, like he was trying to open it. Jama slowed the truck to a halt so we could talk to him.
"Mazi, good morning oh." I spoke since he was by my side of the car. Jama greeted him as well.
"Mazi, you seem to to be struggling. Do you need help?" Jama asked.
"Jama, my boy." He replied softly, "I actually just came to check if the key still works but the thing won't even turn. Maybe I should pour oil in the padlock."
Mazi Udoka was a man small in stature. He looked to be in his sixties, he often walked around with his walking cane. He was a well loved man in the village.
I scanned the key in his hand. "Mazi, it's rusted that's why. I don't think it'll open."
I lifted my eyes to the gate again. A heavy chain was wrapped around the upper bars and the chain was held in place with a padlock.
"Ehm Mazi but I can actually break it for you." Jama suggested, propping himself by placing an arm on the steering wheel, his body twisted in a way to face the old man. "I'll just have to get a tool from the workshop but I can break the lock for you."
"If that is the case, I'll accept your help my son." Mazi Udoka said. "Thank you so much."
Why does he want to open the gate though?
I couldn't help but wonder. The family who lived here hadn't been around in years. I was pretty sure Mazi Udoka was a distant relative of theirs though but still why would be be so desperate to open the gates of a long deserted mansion.
As if he read my mind, he began to explain: "Actually, Chief Ndubuisi has passed away and the family wants to come to the village for the funeral. I am the family's remaining relative in the village. Chief's first wife who died many years ago— may she rest in peace—" He did the sign of the cross and continued. "... was my second cousin. The Ndubuisis are originally from this village but their own side of the family aren't here anymore. Some have passed away, some are far away.
So I am the only relative here. I have been for a while. After their last relative their passed, they entrusted the security of the mansion to me. Now that chief has passed, one of chief's sons called me and asked me to put some things in order against their arrival."
"Oh..." Jama replied in cognisance. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mazi."
"It's okay, my son." The old man waved it off. "These things happens. Right now my concern is getting the house ready for their arrival."
"I'm sure the place must look like a forest now." Jama replied.
The old man laughed. "I was going to find some small boys to pay so they can help clean up the compound, you know. Just to make the place habitable but I can't even open the gate."
"Ehen eh...?" I turned to Jama and saw the light bulb coming on in his head, I could predict his next words. I wasn't shocked when he said: "Mazi let me just help you with that one too now."
"Ehn? You want to help with the cleaning and maintenance?" The old man asked.
"Why not?" Jama shrugged. "I'll be helping you break the lock anyway. Why not just handle the cleaning after I'm done? I'll save you the stress of looking for someone."
"Ah my son thank you so much!" Mazi Udoka said. "How much would you collect?"
Jama laughed heartily. "Mazi, don't worry about that one. I'll do the work first then anything you have you can give me."
"God will bless you, my son!" The old man said sweetly, he then shifted his gaze to me. "This one is a good one oh!"
I chuckled. "Mazi, where are you headed? Come let us give you a ride even if it's halfway."
"Okay oh, thank you very much, my children!" The old man beamed as he approached the truck with his walking cane.
~*~*~
"What were you thinking offering to help clean the Ndubuisi compound?" I asked the minute Jama killed the engine.
He had dropped off Mazi Udoka and driven us to his father's workshop so he could get started on the car. We drove in silence to the workshop. He tried speaking to me initially but I gave him the silent treatment and he caught on to my mood and left me. We were both getting out of the car and I realised I couldn't hold it in anymore. So I decided to confront him.
"What were you thinking?" I reiterated.
"Ifeanyi!" Jama called as he shut the car door, moving to look around the place. He then answered me. "I was thinking I could make some money, sit for the next Jamb and get into school."
That touched me and killed my irritation to an extent. Jama's family was dirt poor. His mother died years ago. His older sister left the village and hadn't been home in years. His father was abusive and didn't care one bit about his son's aspirations. They had lost so much as a family over the years. The mechanic workshop was barely functioning. Jama really wanted a bright future for himself. He pulled lots of job to save up money.
I related to him because my father didn't want me to further my education. Two years out of secondary school and he continuously objected to me going to the university. He always told me it was pointless and that I was better off taking my tailoring serious in the village. He would assure me that all I needed was a good man in the village to come along to marry me off.
Pretty simple, right?
But I could do better than simple.
"If that was your aim, why didn't you charge him?" I asked Jama, crossing my arms and leaning against the car.
"Ifeanyi!" Jama called again and this time he got a response.
"Sir!" A voice answered from a distance.
Ifeanyi was a boy around our age— though younger than us by a few years— who worked part time at the workshop with Jama.
"Binye, I couldn't charge him." Jama popped the bonnet open. "It was work that literally fell on my lap. It just didn't seem right to charge him."
Ifeanyi appeared from the back, his short sleeve shirt was buttoned haphazardly and stained with grease and dirt. His trousers barely sat on his narrow hips, one leg of his trousers was rolled up. His slippers were mismatched.
"Look, that place is going to be a hassle to clean. What if he gives you too little as payment?" I countered. "You'd have slaved away for nothing."
"Ifeanyi, please bring me the toolbox." Jama instructed. "If he does that, I'll manage it. It's not a big deal. Why are you so bothered about all this?"
I sighed deeply. "It's the house, the family. My father warned me about it. He's talked about them so many times."
"I'm very sure everyone has something bad to say about that family. I've heard a lot, trust me." Jama asked from his position bent over the engine. "But okay, what did your father say?"
"All he ever says is that he worked for them many years ago and he experienced some terrible things. He also tells me they are generally not good people, not even to themselves."
Jama lifted his head up and sighed. "Look, I really don't care about things like that. I'll be doing some work and I'm sure I'll be out of there before they even arrive."
"Jama, people don't just spread rumours for no reason." I looked down, idly picking at my cuticles.
Jama released a dramatic sigh. "You're not going to change my mind." He approached me. "But you could come with me if it'll make you less anxious."
I furrowed my brows at him. "Come with me to do what?"
He reached out to lightly touch my chin. "Sit, look pretty and keep me company."
I eyed him and he laughed. "Okay! Let's leave it as a no."
"Let's leave it as a 'give me your bicycle, I have to go to work!" I replied instead.
"Woman, you could've just tossed yours in the truck before we left your house and taken it out on getting here. Now you'll leave me barefooted."
I snorted. "Or you'll come pick me up with my father's truck when it's closing time. You'll drive me home with your bike in the truck. When we get there, you'll take your bike out and ride home."
His face morphed into realisation. "That's actually really smart." He pointed at me and I rolled my eyes at him.
"Ifeanyi, biko go and bring my bicycle for my Queen." Jama said as he moved back to front of the pickup truck to continue his work. He then addressed me. "Bia, this woman don't think I have forgotten my abacha."
"You'll wait till the kingdom comes." I laughed mischievously as I mounted the bicycle.
"World War III just might start over abacha!" He yelled as I rode out of the compound. "Don't provoke me oh!"
I giggled and pedalled away on his bicycle. I rode at the side of the road to avoid cars that would pass. I saw some friendly faces and waved at them. On my way to work, I found myself passing the Ndubuisi mansion again, I didn't know when I brought the bike to a halt. Lifting my head, I scrutinised the full height of the building.
The architecture was so intricate, unlike any building in the entire village. The mansion was more of a castle than the king's palace. I'd only seen houses like this on television or on magazines. Sitting on the bike, looking at the mansion, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't afraid; instead I felt a thrill surging through my veins. It felt like I was waiting for something. It felt like an experience I wouldn't outlive was waiting for me. I could hope it was a positive one.
~*~*~
London, England
Maduka
Everyone has responsibilities. Everyone has problems. For most of my life, I chose to sidestep my responsibilities. And I would eventually regret that decision in the years to come. I've always had a problem with priorities. I wouldn't know what's important if it fell on my head, hard as a brick. And boy was I a selfish bastard.
Growing up, my father had given me a moniker— walking self destruct button. That's what he called me, his first born son. My father spent more time addressing me as a walking self destruct button —though sometimes in synonyms— than he spent addressing me as his son. He never failed to remind me how much of a disgrace and disappointment I was.
"Pride is the award that comes after consistent humility and hard work." He would say. I never even tried to earn his pride. I didn't care about it. Through a streak of vices and rebellion, I convinced myself I did half the things I did because I was punishing my father.
For years, I harboured a grudge against my family; a grudge that didn't seem to make sense to anyone but me. But it was precisely because my grudge didn't make sense to anyone that I wanted to stay true to my mission— destroying the legacy expected of me to uphold. In truth, the grudge didn't make sense to me most times but I wanted to fall out of line. So I walked outside the line. I didn't care for much. But that wouldn't last at all. Fate was about to pull the rug from beneath my feet and test my reflexes.
The gentle scraps of something sharp tracing random patterns across my bare back slowly drew me out of sleep to consciousness. My eyes blinked open and my eyes fell on the alarm clock sitting on the dresser. A skewed lacy underwear was hanging over it like it had been tossed there without thought. My head felt like it was vibrating, a throbbing pain that made me wonder if my head had swollen overnight. My eyes scanned everything in viewpoint, adjusting to consciousness as my mind searched for clues of what happened before I had fallen asleep and what was happening right now.
My mind registered that it was morning. I could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside so I knew it wasn't so early. I also realised I was in my apartment, on my bed, lying prone with my arms tucked under the pillow my head rested on. My body was at the furthest end of the bed, my elbow and one leg were partially hanging out. My foot was practically touching the rug. My eyes dropped to the floor where I found a woman's strapped stiletto heels, fallen over too far apart to have been taken off with thought. It was obvious there was a rush in here. Other items of clothing, some of which I recognised as mine laid haphazardly on the floor.
"You're awake." A feminine voice filled my ears. Moist lips accompanied by traces of nails touched my back.
I turned over and found myself staring at a naked beautiful woman, a curtain of ginger hair framing her face. My brows rose up quizzically at her. She giggled and began to jiggle her breasts.
Not that there was much to jiggle.
"Hey handsome!" She purred, her cheeks and breasts turning a light shade of pink in my face. "Did you sleep well?"
"My head is killing me." I let out, throwing an arm over my forehead as I pushed my head deeper into my pillow.
"Me too." She replied, caressing my biceps with her talons. "Maybe you could make us coffee."
Irritation rushed over me as I stared at her. "Yeah maybe you should get out."
"Excuse me?" She asked, pulling back with a look of irritation marring her pretty face.
I sat up and threw my legs off my side of the bed, turning to stretch my body from side to side.
"There's a cafe right down the street." I said turning my neck, rubbing the ache crawling from my neck to my head with both hands.
"I could have coffee here though." She proffered like it was a government right.
"I didn't pay you to drink my shit though." I stood up, buck naked and all.
"Excuse me!?" Came her shrill voice again. "How dare you!? You didn't fucking pay m-"
"Right. Sorry about that, love. Lemme get my wallet and fix that." I bent and picked my wallet off the floor.
"I'm not a prostitute, you son of a bitch!" She fired at me and I cringed.
"Right, sorry. But still..." I wasn't sure how much I pulled out but it was a wad of 20 sterling bank notes. I handed it to her and she scowled at me.
"Fuck you." She cursed at me bitterly. "I don't need your bloody money."
"I insist. Go get yourself the coffee you wanted." I thrust the money closer and she scowled at me. "Can't start your day hung over and doing the walk of shame, you know."
The redhead sat up, pulling my sheets up to cover her chest as she glared daggers at me. I rolled my eyes.
Like you didn't just wake me up with your breasts propelling faster than my fan's speed.
I placed the money on the dresser next to the alarm clock. With just my index finger and thumb, I picked up her lacy underwear that had been hanging over the alarm clock. Struggling to hold as little of the material as possible, I tossed it next to her on the bed.
"Be dressed and leave in ten minutes." I ordered as I picked up my jeans and left the room.
I walked into the living room and was greeted by the blaring sound of my Motorola StarTac mobile phone ringing. I located the heavy device peeking out from my leather jacket carelessly hung over the arm of the sofa. An unknown number was displayed across the tiny screen. I wanted to ignore it but I decided to answer it.
Sighing, I accepted the call and brought the phone to my ears. I was in the kitchen now making coffee.
"Kaka! Where in God's name are you!?" I immediately recognised the voice. It belonged to my cousin. Chuma's voice resounded through the phone oozing pure frustration. "I've been calling for hours! I really warned you not to go out this weekend but you never listen."
Chuma and I go way back to childhood when I'd just arrived in the UK with my mum. My mother and his mother, Aunt Kene always made sure we were together. He was the brother I always wanted.
"Mate, please dial it down. I'm having the worse hangover." I rubbed my forehead like it would make the pain disappear. "I'll probably just have some coffee then sleep it off."
Chuma's scoff mocked me. "Maduka Charles Ndubuisi, you're graduating uni today and it's almost 10am."
"Shit!" I cursed aloud as I pulled the jug to pour some coffee into a mug. "That's today?"
"Yes, you irresponsible buffoon!" Chuma replied me, frustration evident in his voice. "I've already left Sade's. I was on my way home but I just had to call you. I had to cut my ride to call you. I'm at a telephone booth right now. I have a dead battery on my cell."
Sade was Chuma's long term girlfriend. She lived in Peterborough which was about two hours away. Chuma always travelled to her so they could spend the weekends together. Sometimes she came over and stayed in the flat with Chuma and I. I usually avoided staying in on those weekends. The mushiness and relationship solemnity drove me bonkers. The only thing that made it tolerable for me was how Sade would whip up proper Nigerian food for us and even stuck up the fridge.
"You need to listen to me, Kaka!" Chuma continued. "They said it was supposed to be a surprise. I wasn't even supposed to know but your nemesis called me asking for our apartment address. Apparently they went to the old one and when they couldn't find you, they called you for hours so they called me. Shortly after I spoke to them, my battery died."
I already knew where the conversation was heading. I threw my head back and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Oh God no..."
"Yes man, they're really angry. He said he called you even before they left Nigeria. I just thought I'd give you a heads up. So if I'm not mistaken you're about to meet anger right about—"
A loud boom resounded through the apartment riveting my attention to the front door. "Hold that thought. I think anger just found me."
"Good luck, man. I'll probably be at the apartment in 40 minutes." Chuma assured me. "If I don't meet you. I'll see you at the ceremony. Try not to talk with your fists. Bruises on your graduation photos would be an eyesore."
With that Chuma hung up. I exhaled then took a gulp of my coffee. The angry banging on the door still continued. I was about to get the door when I found the red head from last night now properly dressed— well dressed in a skirt that could be considered a belt and sequin bralette. She had a silver jacket over her shoulders but her arms were not in the sleeves and it wasn't buttoned. She was combing her fingers through her hair as she walked across the living room seemingly in a hurry.
I realised how bad things were about to get for me. "Hey hey hey!" I whisper-yelled, crossing the breakfast bar to her. "Is there any chance you could go back in there till I tell you to leave?"
She scoffed and tried to move past me but I held her back. "It's just until my guest leaves."
"Do I look like I care about your guests?" She asked, cocking her hips and balancing her weight on one foot.
"Listen, love." I reached for her shoulders but she shrugged my hands off. "I don't care about this particular guest either. But I can't have them seeing you. It's not going to look good for me. Just go in there and hide your pretty self and don't come out no matter what."
"Right. I'm supposed to do what you say. As if I don't have a life I need to get to. I slept with an asshole I
met at the club, no big deal, world goes on, aye! I've got to go face my reality."
"Look my reality is on the other side of that bloody door right now, trying to tear it down." I whispered forcibly, feeling my irritation rise. "I can't have a poorly dressed hooker meeting my reality at the door."
The slap was so fast I didn't even see it. I just felt the stinging sensation on my right cheek and realised what happened. I glared down at her as she snarled.
I guess I deserved that.
"I told you I'm not a prostitute, you bastard!" She spoke through her teeth.
She tried to walk past me but I stopped her again in one last desperate attempt. "I'm sorry, I forgot. But don't be like that. You have to admit, it's hard to tell. It will be when you open that door too, trust me. I'm actually trying to save you some embarrassment too. Look if you must leave, I can give you some thing of mine to wear. I don't care if you never return it. I've got this old tracksuit I don't use anymore. I can give it to you. Even it's just the bottoms." My efforts to negotiate with the woman were futile.
"Go to hell." She cursed at me and moved past me.
"At least button up the jacket." I let out.
She stopped and turned to me. A malicious look spread across her face as she slowly took off her jacket and made a show of tossing all her hair over her shoulders and perking up her breasts that barely had a cleavage before. She even took it further and tugged the cups down to reveal more skin of her breasts.
"For God's sake..." I face palmed myself and watched her march to the door, swinging it open to reveal a very mad man clad in an expensive suit.
He eyed her with a sneer on his face and shifted his disgusted look to me, taking in the situation.
"I had fun last night, handsome." Red hair said to me while she maintained eye contact with my guest. I felt like throttling her into silence. "So much fun, goodness. You really worked me all night long. You know, I couldn't find my thong. If you do find it, I suppose you could take it as a parting gift. Do have a nice life. I'll be off now."
The little witch walked off, brushing against the fuming man at the doorway on her way out.
"Maduka." He growled my name out.
"Annayo." I said with a blank stare. "How nice of you to make the travel for me."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you." Annayo said through gritted teeth.
"I'll give you one, son." An elderly woman dressed in an expensive traditional boubou with a head scarf walked from the side of the doorway where she had been hidden from my view to Annayo's side. She held her bag in front of her, fixing me a disapproving look.
Instantly, shame washed over as I realised she'd seen the red head bitch's theatrics. "Your brother needs to graduate in one piece." She said.
"Well if it isn't Mummy Dearest." I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Who's next? Dad? Uncle Ogbonna? The cousins? You know It was deliberate not telling you my graduation date but as with everything about my life, you all continue to rain on my parade."
Annayo crossed the threshold and took bold steps to me. I braced myself for a strike. I wouldn't put it past him. The little time we spent together, we used more time trading blows than we did calling ourselves brothers.
As if...
Annayo and I considered ourselves nemesis. The hatred was open and unabashed. The only thing tying us together was a surname. We weren't brothers; at least not by blood. We didn't share the same parents. The second worse news of my life was hearing my father announce his marriage to Ifeyinwa and then shortly after his decision to adopt her son, Annayo. I was eleven years old and still had a long road of recovery ahead after my mother had died just a year before in London where we lived together.
It didn't help that Annayo was four years older than me. Growing up, he did everything I was supposed to do, he did it first and he did it perfectly. I always felt robbed, forced into a competition and cheated out before even participating. I would destroy his things, push him off his bike and even go to his room in the night to push him off the bed when he slept just because I felt like. We would fight over everything. Annayo understood quickly I was the only thing standing in his way of being an Ndubuisi.
Annayo stopped before me and snatched the mug from my hand. He looked around then started moving when he apparently found what he was looking for. He ended up by the breakfast bar where he proceeded to refill my coffee.
"Here's how this is going to go, Maduka." He dropped the coffee, pushing it towards me and began gesticulate as he spoke. "You're going to pick this coffee and down it. And then it should feel like a couple of your brain cells are working again. If not you'll chug as much caffeine it'll take to get you functioning properly. After that you'll get in the shower and then you'll get dressed and we'll ride together and you'll graduate and we can get on with the chaos ahead."
Annayo said a lot and I would've given him a snide response but one word resounded in my head. "What chaos ahead?" I asked. Annayo simply gritted his teeth like he was trying to keep his composure.
"Answer me." I insisted.
"Listen to your brother, Maduka." I heard Ifeyinwa say and turned to eye her in confusion. She seemed so frail from when I last saw her. "Then you'll get an answer."
What the hell is going on?
~*~*~
About an hour later I found myself at my graduation ceremony. Sitting through the name calling. I never really was passionate about school or my career or anything so I couldn't care less about the entire thing. My mind was preoccupied with Annayo's words about chaos approaching. I tried to put a name on the feeling I had— anxiety? Ifeyinwa's countenance made it worse, she appeared so scared and heartbroken.
My mind wondered to Chinwe, Ifeyinwa's daughter and my half sister. She was born two years after my mother died. I was five when my parents separated. At the time I didn't even know they had separated, I didn't know what it meant for one's parents to be separated. They did an outstanding job covering it up. Maybe they didn't mean to cover it up, maybe I was just too young to understand it, maybe the separation wasn't meant to last but it did. And then I found out my parents were divorced and had been for a while. It was also the same day my mother died.
The worst day of my life.
My mother and I were in the London together for five years. She had been working hard for her masters and then her PhD. Dad would come visit for days; a week at most but then he'd be gone for months. He usually came for my birthday or special holidays. But he became inconsistent. Eventually he stopped showing up. One time, he didn't come for a year. Then Mum died. Aunt Kene, Mum's older sister who was also based in London had to explain a lot of things to me. Like how my parents had been divorced. Mum thought I was too young and wanted me to turn ten before telling me everything. But she died on my 10th birthday.
After her death, my father came for me. We went back to Nigeria. I became a problem child. A year later, he married Ifeyinwa and she came with her son. A year later, she gave my father a baby girl. It was like he'd created an alternate family. I was the outsider. I hated the Ndubuisi family 2.0 with every part of me. I never respected any of them. I hated my father the most.
I was so angry at the fact that my father had brought his girlfriend into the house a year after my mother's passing and that she had a grown ass son too. And that he also impregnated her so quickly. It was just all so disrespectful and it seemed like a deliberate disrespect. I was certain the relationship between Ifeyinwa and my father had been going on long before my mother died.
I initially thought Annayo was my father's. It took a lot to convince me otherwise. My Dad refuted it when he told me about Annayo's actual father who had died when he was much younger. Then my father told me he was going to adopt him. The marriage, the adoption, the pregnancy, it was all so fast. And no one cared how I felt about the events or the timing of the events.
I never wanted anything to do with Chinwe when she was born. But it was hard to resist her charms. She clung to me more than she did Annayo or anyone else. She began to make my life somewhat endurable. I still got up to mischief and fights with everyone, at home, at school and even vices like drinking and smoking but Chinwe was always a breath of fresh air for me.
I left Nigeria for the London when I turned sixteen. My father thought it was for the better. He'd apparently had enough of me and granted Aunt Kene custody over me as I attempted uni. They made me go to a facility for about two years. Some good it did because it's been seven years since I left that place, I'm still all shades fucked up.
After leaving rehab, I initially didn't want to go to uni. Eventually I took my GSCE and went in and out of schools because of debauchery. After two years, I got myself together enough to major in business. After Annayo wrapped up uni, Chinwe would ask when I would do the same. She would always ask what I wanted to be and express how she wanted me to be more like big brother Annayo.
God forbid that...
As I thought of Chinwe, I realised she would be eleven years old now. I wondered how she was. If she was in good health, how she was getting by. If she remembered me, If she missed me even. Her warm smile flashed through my mind.
"Mate!" A voice pulled me out of my reverie.
I turned to find the person next to me. His head was tilted to the side, his brows raised. I recognised him as someone I had a couple of classes with over the years but I didn't know his name.
"I believe that's you." He said.
"Excuse me?" I asked, beyond confused.
"Madewka Charles Ndew......" I heard my name echo through the auditorium — well the butchered English version of my very much Igbo name— and realised what he meant.
"Shit! Thanks, man." I replied, rising up from my chair, speed walking to the stage to accept my degree.
Not too long after, I found myself mixed in the hall with students, a swarm of chattering people, families and friends reuniting in celebration. Chuma stood before me dressed cooperate in brown slacks and a button down white shirt. He was a med student so he still had a couple more years to go before graduating.
I don't get how people deliberately signed up to waste more than 4 years of their lives in uni.
Chuma's MBBS program was 5 years. He'd graduated with a degree in human anatomy before deciding he wanted to study medicine. After rehab, I had two years of playing around before I decided to major in business. Chuma had graduated when I was in my second year then he started his MBBS program. Now I'm graduating, he's in his second year, with solid three years left. Math would tell you he would be spending a total of 9 years in uni. It was a waste to me, but it was an act of passion to him.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you not sporting any bruises, man." Chuma placed both hands on his chest, throwing his head back causing me to roll my eyes. "You're making me so proud. On your best behaviour and taking my advice. Very soon you're going to pull a fast one on me, meet a girl, fall in love out of nowhere and ask for her hand in marriage."
I laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You know how your man feels about love. Besides you're the only one with marriage in his nearest future."
"A man can dream right." He raised his hand in defence.
Chuma, my cousin and my best friend was my polar opposite in both personality and appearance. He was almost as tall as me though just few inches shorter than me. His light skin and head of natural auburn curls always riveted both genders to him when he walked into a room. Some would say he had the typical looks of a player but Chuma was a lover boy through and through, one who hadbeen in a committed relationship with one woman for five years now. She was also his first girlfriend.
Chuma first met his girlfriend Sade when he returned to Nigeria with his mother to bury my mother. They were only ten year olds. Before returning to the UK, Chuma spent sometime in Lagos with us and met Sade one day. Some how, Sade's mother befriended Aunt Kene and that was how the two were able to keep in touch— through their mother's friendships. Years later, Sade came to the UK for uni and they reunited and made the relationship official. It was a lovely romance truly.
"I was so shocked to find the living room in one piece when I returned." Chuma said. "I thought you and Annayo would've wrecked the place. I'll never forget that one time I found the coffee table in pieces after he showed up."
"I body slammed him through it." I chuckled in remembrance.
"Right after he broke your nose!" Chuma sassed in a mock surprise tone. "Good old times, huh?"
"Kaka." I heard a voice behind Chuma and shifted my eyes to find Keira.
Keira was an old friend who I went to school with. I knew her to be a walking ray of sunshine but today, she seemed rather blue. She looked so elegant still, quite the sight for sore eyes. Her usual straight blonde hair had been curled into big ringlets. Her hair was parted at the right and pinned back behind her ear while the other side framed her face falling over her shoulder. She was still donning her academic regalia. She had the cap in front of her, held in her shaking hands.
"Keira, hi." I said. "You look lovely. Congratulations."
"Thank you." She answered. "You look real nice too. And congratulations."
I smiled at her and she returned my smile but it seemed rather forced. She wouldn't even meet my gaze, her eyes roamed everywhere but my face. An awkward silence ensued between us.
Chuma turned to eye her suspiciously and then looked back to me quizzically. Keira seemed nervous. Far different from the spitfire I knew her to be over the last couple of years.
"I need to talk to you." She said then gulped inaudibly before eyeing Chuma. "Alone."
"Hello to you too, Keira." Chuma said sarcastically before turning to me. "I've got to find my mum anyways."
"Yeah I still haven't seen her." I replied smiling at the thought of Aunt Kene.
"Yeah you know we came late. So she had to use the ladies. But judging by the way my phone's been vibrating in my pocket for the past ten minutes she might be lost and feeling murderous about her son leaving her outside the door after she asked him to wait."
I laughed picturing Aunt Kene's angry face. Chuma tapped my shoulder lightly and walked off, leaving me with Keira. I shoved my hands into my pockets, watching her. People walked past us, the entire hall was buzzing with voices. Keira walked closer, her eyes were fixed on the floor.
"So what's going—"
"I'm pregnant." She said solemnly.
Suddenly, I toned everything out. Recalling my last four years spent having wild hot, spontaneous and premeditated sex with Keira in every position in the kama sutra and on every surface available to us.
Keira and I met in uni. Very quickly we established we had good sexual energy together, no lines were blurred, just sex whenever, wherever and however we wanted. I fucked around a lot. With friends, strangers, single and not so single people. I enjoyed sex with a lot and so did Keira. There was no romance or titles; just orgasms and mutual satisfaction.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and began: "Oh... uhm okay, so is—"
"It's yours." Keira voiced.
My heart skipped at least two beats and my breathing ceased for a few seconds.
"We weren't exclusive so are you sure about this?" I asked, knowing there was a long list of men on her booty call list with me. I could mention a few guys by names I knew she was intimate with on campus. Most I saw with my eyes, most she told me about.
"I'm sure." She said.
I really wanted to ask how but I didn't want to insult her. Ordinarily I wouldn't care about being an asshole. But this was a delicate matter and my head was already clouded with anxiety about Annayo's earlier comments. I'd never had pregnancy scares before. With Keira, I knew we always had protected sex but I guess it wasn't far fetched that a condom would break.
I exhaled deeply and ran a hand across my chin. "Have you been to the hospital? For a blood test."
"Maduka!" I heard and turned to find Aunty Kene approaching with Chuma behind her. "My sweet boy, come here!"
I turned back to speak but Keira beat me to it and said: "Maybe we should talk about this later. I need to go see my parents too."
"I'll call you tonight." I said. "And we can go to the hospital by weekend."
"My boy..." Aunt Kene was by my side and pulling me into her arms for a hug. Keira quietly excused herself from the intimate moment.
"Hey, Aunty." I enveloped her smaller frame in my arms, slightly crouching as she palmed my head down so my cheek would rest on her shoulder. Chuma smiled at us with his arms folded.
Aunt Kene had married a white English man and left Nigeria. Together they had Chuma. They practically raised me with their son. Even when my mum was alive, Aunt Kene was always hands-on in my life. She was even harder on me because Chuma was always a good boy and I was the problem child.
"My boy I knew it. I believed in you. I am so proud of you, hey!" She said in her thick Nigerian accent. "My late sister would be so happy. Look at you becoming a man. You are so precious to me. You make me so happy, my boy!"
My heart fluttered hearing her emotional proclamations. She released me and began to softly caress my cheeks. "You'll soon learn how to fly, nna. I know you still have a lot to figure out but you have to trust yourself and trust God, oh?"
My eyes lowered at that. I wasn't sure about flying or if I was doing anything right.
How was I supposed to tell them I'd impregnated a girl already?
My eyes caught movement above Aunt Kene's shoulder and I shifted my gaze to find Annayo and his mother approaching us, both were wearing grim expressions.
"Ogini bu ihe nka? Are they here to collect you already?" Aunt Kene asked with irritation. I hadn't even realised she'd turned to them.
After I turned sixteen and my father decided my debauchery was too much for him. The deal was always to send me abroad for rehabilitation. To get my life in order, get a degree and return home to work under the family. But you see I was sure my family wouldn't show up for my graduation. We'd long passed that level. I just didn't expect Annayo and his mother to come drag me back to the obligations I wasn't even sure I wanted to fulfil.
...we can get on with the chaos ahead.
But this had to be much more than obligations to my family. I felt it strongly. Annayo's words back at my apartment was indicative of that.
I walked away from Aunt Kene and Chuma to my step-mother and her son.
"Let's not drag this any further." I said solemnly, holding Annayo's gaze. "What is this about?"
There was a brief pause, like they were giving me time to prepare for the shock. But I wasn't prepared to hear what they had to say.
"Your father is dead." Ifeyinwa said, her words stealing the air from my lungs. "And his death has brought fire to our feet."
~*||*~
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