|Imran Adebayo Ibrahim|
My vision was blurred as my head throbbed in pain. I stiffened to my bed very well aware that I was partly awake and partly asleep — sleep paralysis — God, maami wata, ojuju and madam koi-koi demons in had followed me to Atlanta to torment me. Sweat had already covered me like a sheet, all my effort to call out someone's name was in vain. I knew I had to open my eyes and face the demon that awaited me.
Opening my wet eyes I saw it was no demon, in fact an angel was floating above my cold, wet and stiff body. The girl I met at the party last night was above me, floating and smiling at me. I couldn't remember her name at that moment because I was too in love to grab her name. The sleep paralysis was perfect, I watched her in awe and I just let myself be carried away by the mysterious forces holding me. She began to brighten and I couldn't help but smile.
Even during that state of numb agony a nursery rhyme flashed across my aching mind — You Are My Sunshine — she was my sunshine truly. Doctors said vitamin k is good for the body but as she brightened again, I knew that instant it was no vitamin k but vitamin-sickness.
"Wole! Wole! Wole!" She called me gently and I was surprised she knew my tribal name. Slowly the light I saw dissipated and I was left in darkness.
"Wole!" My mother yelled, slapping my face like I'd kicked the bucket.
My eyes slowly opened in a whiny flutter, right in front of me was an angry Nigerian mother. "E kaaro mummy." I greeted harshly, yawning due to the sleep that was still laced on my face.
My mom eyed me on the bed before opening my window fully. "Kaaro. You should thank your stars you woke up after I slapped your stupid face, if not I would have emptied this water on your face." My mother said, showing me the chill water that was supposed to be on my face.
I frowned, "mummy, we are not in Nigeria anymore. American parents don't slap their children." I knew I was pushing it, but it sure was worth it.
My mother walked closer to me, ready to give me another wave of slap. "ṣọra." She warned before heading to the heap of dirty laundries I had brought from Nigeria.
Who brings dirty clothes with them to another country? Me. Initially, I didn't want to change my location — I hid under the umbrella of; my-clothes-are-dirty but my beautiful and dutiful mother insisted she'll wash them once we get to Atlanta.
"These weren't the clothes you bought from Lagos. I'm not washing more than I promise." She announced, sorting out the actual clothes I wore in Georgia. "I told you I have retentive memory, I always took—"
"—Took first place in highschool all thanks to your functional brain." I finished it for her since she always said that whenever she was scolding me or whenever I ace my exams — saying I got it from her. The only DNA that was replicated to mine from my dad was his good looks.
She flashed me a smile, showing her naturally gaped teeth. "Wash up on time and don't forget to perform Salah, it's past seven, you're late already." She said walking out with my dirty laundry.
"Okay ma. I love you." I yelled.
I heard her chuckle from the hallway, "you'll hate me if I come back and you're still on your bed." She yelled back.
She was such a killjoy. I forced myself up, a nerd's gotta do what a nerd's gotta do.
* * *
"Imran! Imran!" A soft voice woke me up from my deep slumber. I controlled my lips to avoid me from cussing at the person who had the guts the wake me; maybe it was the acute headache I felt that numb my lips. I tiredly opened my eyes and without staring at the mirror I knew I looked miserable — I had drooled all over the book that I planned to read — no wonder library books reek. My eyes were puffy and painful and I could still feel nauseated.
"Did you later drank water yesterday at the party before goin' back to yah crib?" Francis inquired, passing me a chilled bottled honey-water.
"I didn't." I answered briefly. That was when I remembered I was hungover. I drank a shot of tequila and didn't flush it out of my system. As I remembered, I had water with me last night but I never unbolted it — I was carried away by that girl's beauty, most especially her suggesting we go somewhere fun, although where we went yesterday wasn't fun — we went to a street book club. It was very weird but since she was there, staring at her was fun.
"Why are you even reading Americanah again?" Francis picked the book I had drooled on and wiped it with his handkerchief.
I smiled, "it's for a book club. A perfect book club."
"Cool." He simply said before burying his head back in the calculus book he had in his hand.
I took a deep sip from the honey-water and it was amazing: it had a glint taste of honey and sincerely speaking I could taste peaches and strawberry alongside the honey. "This is good." I complemented, raising the bottle of honey-water up.
"No cap, it's a night-after pill for a hangover." He explained.
"Salaamu Alaikum." Someone greeted me, that was the first time someone in Atlanta greeted me in Arabic, not even my own mother or my Islamic stepfather.
Looking up at the owner of the familiar voice I saw it was that same girl. The book club girl.
"Sahar." Francis groaned loudly and I could bet that was the only thing he'd done loudly ever since I came to Midtown high.
"You know her?" I asked, surprised.
"Yeah, I know her so well." He answered, now assessing Sahar head-to-toe.
Sahar sighed and sat in between me and Francis. "Fran, don't tell me you're not over it yet, I said I'm sorry."
Fran? They must be very close, have they dated lately? Random questions started crawling into my mind and the tiny hope I had was diminished, who was I kidding to have a chance with her — she was too much for me.
"What, pray tell, did she do to you?" I questioned awkwardly.
Francis gave Sahar a dirty glare, "she was a homie who snubbed me throughout summer just for a dirty-ass nigga and the most painful part is that, she joined in joanin' me." He explained in vexation and all I could do was frown at Sahar just to support my new friend. My mind came to ease as he'd clarify the fact that they were just friends. Even when I was supposed to be relaxed I couldn't stop thinking who the dirty-ass nigga was.
"Hellyoutalmbout? I never stood you up for Omar!"
I was dumbfounded — by two facts that is. One: I had a rival in love and his name is Omar. Two, I will always be foreign to the students in Atlanta, not even when I didn't grasp what Sahar just said.
Francis shrugged and removed his phone from his ripped jeans pocket, "I have a picture that y'all were together. You went to a book thing with him lookin' all fine when we were supposed to go trick-or-treatin'. I waited for ages!" His voice was raised for the first time. I wonder why they were friends if Sahar's jerk brothers bully him so much.
"I'm sorry Fran." Sahar apologized, looking at the library's floor. She denied the fact that she took another boy to the book thing I thought was special — not even why she was looking all fine. "Omar happens to be the leader of the night book club and I know how your ma feels 'bout you goin' out at night, and most of all you're scared as shit."
I couldn't help but burst into an untimely laughter which I finally aborted when Francis' eyes shepherded my whole existence.
"Let's have a book club here." Was it jealousy, I don't know. But all I could think of was being the leader of a new book club for my two new best friends. I'll prove to Sahar I was better than that Omar guy.
"What? Are you serious?" Sahar and Francis asked in unison.
I shrugged, smiling awkwardly. "No cap?"
A soft giggle escaped Sahar's lips, revealing her vampire fangs and her dimples. Gradually the giggle transgressed into a smile, exposing her teeth all the way — from a smile it turned into the most beautiful laughter I've ever seen — from the laughter a snort escaped her mouth and she instantly covered her mouth.
The snort made me and Francis laugh even more harder, making the cliche grumpy library shush us.
"I'm sorry you guys had to hear that?"
"It is beautiful." I said, looking at Sahar dreamily but stopped after I noticed eyes were glued on me, "I mean you're beautiful—" that was worst "—no, you're not — I don't mean you're not beautiful I mean we all are beautiful and we should come up with a name for the bookclub fast." I said rapidly, leaning on a tower of books which went from floor to almost reaching the ceiling.
"You don't wanna lean on tha—" before Francis could caution me, all the books that took the librarian hours if not days to arrange went crashing down.
Sahar laughed so hard this time not minding her oinking. "You're a funny nigga, I like you." Saying those words, my heart melted and I fell back in love with her.
"When Miss Rochelle gets here, y'all will wish you were a goner!" Francis said and the three of us had to leave before the grumpy librarian got our place. Now that I was a book club leader all that's left is to recommend a good scary book to be better than Omar: anybody he is.
P. S: I am better than him.
Author's Note
Now y'all know what a night-after pill is: all you've gotta do is take water. Comment down your opinion about this chapter and I don't wanna ask this before; who's your fave character so far? And please don't tell me Imran, I don't like him 'cause I don't like myself 😏😅
Glossary
1. E kaaro: means 'good morning' while kaaro means 'morning'.
2. ṣọra: means be careful.
3. Americanah is a novel written by Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie, you obviously know that.
4. Joanin' : means bullying.
5. Maami wata, ojuju and madam koi-koi are mythical creatures in Nigeria.
6. Hellyoutalmbout: means, what the hell are you talking about?