"Finally." Astrid sighed and tossed her phone beside her as David and I walked through the archway into the living room. "What took you guys so long?"
"Just casually discussing which avenues on the black market would offer the best prices for your kidneys." David replied.
"Oh, ha ha." Astrid rolled her eyes.
I sank into the comfy black cushions beside her on the L-shaped couch and caught a glimpse of the username of whoever she had been texting. My brows slowly inched up. "Huh. Didn't expect you to give in so soon."
"Don't you get on my case too." She grumbled.
"What?" I asked innocently, sitting up with a shrug. "I was just stating an observation."
Before she could spew the retort I knew was brewing on her tongue, a grunt sounded from one end of the couch. Jonathan held a can of coke in his hands, standing over David with a smirk as David bent to rub the spot on his shin where he'd been kicked by his friend, a grimace on his face.
"For every basketball hit on my body, you get three kicks to the shin."
"Looking to break my leg or something before the game?"
"You hit my fucking spine, you arse."
"Boys." Astrid sighed.
"Right." David slapped his thigh and stood. "What movie are we watching? This idiot proposed Oppenheimer before you girls arrived, but I wanted you both around before we decided."
"How progressive of you." Astrid grinned, wiggling her brows at him.
He ignored her. "Tricia?"
"Um, no. Astrid and I aren't going to watch a movie. We came here to study and time is far gone as it is." I said, prompting a loud, obnoxious groan from Jonathan.
He rolled over to face me, his scrutiny uncomfortable and making my skin crawl. In fact, it wasn't so much the scrutiny as it was the plain-as-day judgement in his eyes. "You look like the kind of person who stays up till two am solving pascos, the kind of person for whom a B+ is a death sentence. All about discipline and studying, huh? You ever take a break?"
There was no sugar-coating it. His words stung. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but it was futile. No words came out. After all, which part of Jonathan's statement was untrue?
"And that's the reason why she's part of the top five percent of students in our district." Astrid shot back good-naturedly. "You boys can watch your movie if you want."
Jonathan only rolled his eyes and reached over to snag the TV remote from the low dark brown coffee table. He then rolled onto his back and turned on the larger-than-life LED display, easily navigating to Netflix and flicking through the movies.
As Astrid and I picked up our bags from the floor, he twisted his body to face in David's direction and asked, "Are you watching Oppenheimer with me or you'll pick a different movie?"
"Not sure." David murmured without looking up from his phone. "I'm quite tired anyway. I'm sure I'll fall asleep in the middle of it." He momentarily stopped scrolling through whatever he was reading, and raised his head just when Astrid and I passed where he lay, searching my face. "You okay?"
I didn't trust myself to speak, so I only nodded. Astrid looped her arm through mine and tugged me in the direction of the dining area. A small pressure had began forming somewhere behind my temples, growing steadily with bursts of dull pain, no doubt as a result of averaging about three hours of sleep every night this week and substituting breakfast and supper for textbooks and calculators.
. . .
My temples were pounding.
That was made even worse when I felt mum's hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. In response, I pulled my cover cloth tighter around me and squeezed my eyes shut. It felt like every beat of my heart was amplified in my skull and it was maddening. I just wanted to sleep some more and escape the pain.
My mother didn't think so.
"Wake up, Tricia." She said gently.
I rolled over and tried to open my eyes to squint at her. She had her phone in one hand and it was turned on, allowing me to read the time on the screen.
4:30 AM?!
Forget discipline. Forget being obedient and trying not to trigger her ire. I would not climb out of bed at freaking 4:30 in the morning with a growing migraine. No.
"Tricia." Now she was beginning to get impatient, shaking my shoulder slightly harder than before.
"I've got a headache." I croaked, pulling the cloth away from my face so she could see my pout. "Can't I just stay home while you and dad go?"
"No." Firm. So little room for argument even molecules would have had a hard time fitting in. "I'll have your oats ready, and some painkillers as well. Finish up in twenty minutes and come downstairs."
Mom would have an aneurysm if I was even five seconds late, so I begrudgingly pulled myself into a sitting position while cradling my forehead in my hand, and after a short prayer to God to please take this headache away, I trudged to the bathroom to get ready.
If I hadn't been so distracted by my headache, I would've noticed the white dress with the bow on the sweetheart neckline hanging on the wardrobe, no doubt picked by mum, and the pair of brown wedges sitting on the floor underneath the dress. I pulled them on quickly, and grabbed the Woodin textile print drawstring bag I used yesterday and my phone off the desk. The phone was supposed to go in the bag, but I set it back on the desk and instead brought out the McLaren cap, feeling a little flutter in my chest and a small smile on my mouth.
Yesterday had really happened, and it hadnt been some fever dream borne from my headache.
"Tricia?"
"Coming!" I yelled in response, immediately followed by a wince.
An early morning news broadcast turned down to a sensible volume were the only sounds in the car as my father expertly dodged the potholes in the road, driving out of our little orderly Haatso neighbourhood. It was 5:16 AM on Sunday morning, and I counted a grand total of three cars zip past us on the road and no human beings. The streetlights were still on, flooding the asphalt and gutters and storefronts with warm orange light.
When I got tired of staring out the window, I pulled out my phone and turned it on, glad there was no pinprick of pain in my eyes when the light filled my field of vision. It would've been the sensible thing to do to put on my glasses, but I'd left them on my desk. A series of texts from an unknown number was amongst the previous night's notifications, and I tapped on it before I could really think it through.
Hello, Tricia. Please, this is Mawuena.
I wanted to inform you that Monday's meeting has been moved to three in the afternoon, because Adam said that time would work best for him.
I'm sorry for any inconvenience caused.
Adam knew Astrid and I handled the STEM club on Monday afternoons, followed by my extra-classes at four. He knew scheduling the meeting tomorrow afternoon at three meant I wouldn't be able to attend it. He knew this. Was he purposely trying to alienate me from the Model UN club because Madam Helena had put me in charge?
Despite the two tablets of paracetamol mum had watched me swallow, my head continued to pound. The one thing I'd planned on doing during the drive was to get some sleep, but that was all thrown out the window now that I'd received Mawuenas text.
Adam wouldn't guide the club in the direction Madam Helena wanted. All he sought was his own glory. We had two months left at Crown Academy. Did I really want to spend that time feuding with the former Head Prefect?
By the time we'd made it up the winding roads of the Aburi mountain range, my headache had been reduced to a dull throb. We crawled up a rocky path and came to a stop behind a red RAV4, facing the old colonial mansion I'd dreaded visiting since I was a child. The new cream paint gleamed in the sun as the house sat proudly on the hilltop, red clay tiles on the roof visible for miles. I could glimpse the tops of white canopies erected behind the wall, and could feel the bass of some Daddy Lumba song thumping all the way down to the earth's core.
The party was in full swing.
I landed on wobbly legs and gently shut the door behind me while mum gracefully climbed out of the passenger seat in a flowing white jumpsuit and four-inch heels. She walked towards me, and began arranging the locs on my shoulders and fixing the sleeves of my dress.
"Grandpa will be so proud of you when he hears about all the scholarships you get to apply for. Especially when you get said scholarships." She said, resting her hands on my bare shoulders. "Have you thought about what schools to apply to?"
I frowned. I wasn't ready for this conversation. "I thought we agreed on Tech?"
Mum rolled her eyes. "Madam Helena told me both she and your principal are willing to write recommendation letters to any school you choose to apply to, and you want to settle on Tech?"
"That's slightly insulting, mum."
Her perfectly pencilled brows shot upwards, but she didn't seem angry. "I'm sorry. I just want you to have a world of opportunities." Her fingertips fluttered over my skin as she fussed with my sleeves one more time and fixed the neckline of my dress. "We'll discuss your options when we get home."
And that was that for now.
We followed dad through the wide-open gate and onto the compound. Several of my relatives milled about, dressed in white. Under the summer hut, there was a breakfast buffet laid out, but I spotted one of my uncles, Gideon, pouring himself a glass of Baileys on ice. I could only imagine how he would show up to church later, half-drunk, and decided to avoid that scenario at all costs. He spotted us taking the table farthest from the speakers and began to lumber towards us with both the glass and bottle. He somehow managed not to spill the Irish cream on any of the people he politely nudged out of his way.
"The Diabenes!" He boomed. My headache nearly resurfaced. He shook hands with dad, hugged mum, and then hugged me. "Look at you, all grown up. Off to university soon?" The question was only a courtesy, because he looked at my parents and asked, "Have you decided where she's going yet? What's she studying?"
"We initially settled on Tech, but there's still room to change our minds. It is not our final decision." Dad said proudly, mum nodding readily in agreement. "As for what she's studying, it is going to be electrical engineering."
Uncle Gideon put his arm around me and pulled me to his side, jostling my brain in the process. "Tricia certainly has the mind for something like that. She'll make us all very proud."
Uncle Gideon sat in the pew at the very back of the grand auditorium, a few feet away from the stairs that led upstairs to the gallery. He wore sunglasses. We sat about eight pews ahead of him, with me sandwiched between mum and her elder sister, Jennifer. Grandpa sat in front of us, wrapped in a kente cloth rich in reds and golds and green and white.
His presence invoked a sort of stillness in me. He wasn't a very large man, but with his massive eyebrows and thin lips and eyes that could pull out your darkest secrets, he just took up space.
We were only here for some sort of citation the church had decided to award him with, as it was his birthday, and he'd responded in kind by donating five thousand cedis to the clergy. When we'd gone up to the stage for a photo with him and his citation, I felt the eyes of every member of the congregation on us, assessing our clothes, our smiles, measuring us against the standard that was grandfather.
Maybe it was my imagination, but as the eyes of countless strangers settled on me, a cold creeping feeling inched its way up my spine. These nameless people knew who my parents were, knew that my brother was studying at a top university in France. There was judgement and a bit of awe in their eyes, but most of all, there were expectations. A lot of expectations.
Don't fight it. Just walk the path.
. . .
david.c.ampofo: seven-tenths of a second ahead of McLaren.
tricia_diabene: waiting for that track limits penalty for the Mercedes driver.
david.c.ampofo: the five-second stop-go penalty? You know well easily reclaim our position in about five laps.
tricia_diabene: We'll see about that.
A car with bright red livery shot past the camera, heading for the pit lane. Two more cars zipped past on the track. On the list on the left side of the screen that showed the drivers and their current positions, I saw the name of the lead McLaren driver inch into the top five, accompanied by a green arrow, right beneath Mercedes' lead driver. The Ferrari driver who had gone into the pit lane dropped from P4 to P10, and then to P13 as the seconds ticked.
With the track relatively uneventful, the view switched to the pit lane, where we were gifted with a chaotic view of Ferrari's ace hitting his gloved hands against the steering wheel, cursing his team to hell and back. Several mechanics in racing overalls watched him as he threw his tantrum. I couldn't see their expressions because of the helmets they wore, but from their stances, I could tell they were confused.
"Stay out. We need you to stay out." Came the static voice of his race engineer over the audio feed.
"What the f***! What the actual f***! Ahh!"
I immediately brought up my chat with David, a laugh lodging in my throat as I just witnessed what happened.
tricia_diabene: why did they tell him to box only to ask him to stay out three seconds later??
He did not waste a second in replying.
david.c.ampofo: That's Ferrari for you
tricia_diabene: I'm not a Ferrari fan and I'm already stressed.
david.c.ampofo: Yeah, if you were, hypertension would've capped you long ago.
tricia_diabene: Lol. On a side note, I now see where your very colourful language comes from.
Three little dots popped up on the screen. They were there for a while, and then they disappeared. Before I could wonder why he'd stopped texting, my phone began to vibrate with a call.
David Ampofo.
My heart took a pleasant dive in my chest.
I looked up to see if anyone was paying attention to me. My parents were engrossed in conversation with grandpa and one of my aunts on the porch. Mum had a glass of champagne in her hand and was listening intently to whatever her father was saying, while dad alternated between firing off texts from his phone and adding in his opinion on whenever necessary.
I was seated at a table with my cousins, who I only got to see about three times a year, and even then, we didn't interact very much. There were plates of chips and roasted groundnuts before us, spicy gizzard and pork and little cakes we were meant to share, but all of us were studiously glued to our gadgets. Without Kevin here, starting a conversation with them on my own felt like purposefully stepping on a landmine.
I was happy to put my air pods in and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.
Since no one was paying particular attention to me, I slipped out of my chair and wove around the party guests scattered on the compound to take the backdoor into the house, and then hightailing it up the stairs to an empty guestroom.
"You're going to miss the rest of the race." I said by way of greeting, plonking down onto the unmade bed.
Up here, with the windows closed and the door shut, I could barely hear the bass from the speakers and the chatter of the guests. It was the most peace I'd had all day.
"There isn't much to miss." David drawled. "Just nine laps left."
"Well, I'm going to miss those final laps."
He laughed quietly on the other side, and I could almost hear him ask in incredulity, since when did you start caring if you missed any part of the race? I was surprised myself. It seems both David and his love for Formula One had grown on me.
"We can watch the race highlights tomorrow at school, and I'll give you a play-by-play analysis of what happened at each turn." He said, clearly still laughing. "Do we have a deal?"
"Stop laughing at me."
"I'm not-" He cut himself off with a chuckle. "Sorry. Having a lovely afternoon?"
I shrugged, and then realized he couldn't see me. "Relatively peaceful. I'm at this party my grandfather is throwing at the family house in Aburi."
"Sounds fun."
"Well, it's not a lot of fun when I have to endure my parents humbly bragging about me studying electrical engineering at some top world class university." I mumbled, and then stiffened.
Did I just say that out loud?
"Electrical engineering?" David asked dubiously. "Did you change your mind about med school?"
I was going to ask how he knew I'd planned on going to med school, but then dismissed the thoughts. Astrid had most likely told him about it. "We're still discussing it."
"We?"
"My parents and I."
"Oh." The line went silent for a while. And then David said, "But that is still such a drastic option, though. Wouldn't you rather switch to something in the biomedical sciences if med school isn't what you want?"
I blinked at the ceiling, and blinked again. No, I had not considered that possibility at all. The possibility of studying something else if I didn't happen to get into med school and my parents weren't around to control my options. What would I do in a situation like that?
By divine intervention, there was a knock on the door and it opened, Aunt Jennifer stepping in with a two-year-old sound asleep on her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry to barge in like this." She whispered, approaching the bed with a white baby blanket draped over her arm.
"It's alright." I replied with a relieved smile, and then to the boy on the line, said, "I'm sorry. I have to go."
"Sure. If you're not having a great time, just grin and bear it, alright?"
"I'll try." I said in response to his sage advice. "Bye."
Taking the blanket from my aunt, I spread it out on the bed and watched as she carefully set my sleeping cousin on it. He immediately rolled onto his side, his mouth moving as if he was chewing something, and then his chubby face relaxed.
She exhaled in relief, walked over to the dresser and snatched up a white remote. Upon the press of the button, the A/C beeped and cool air filled the room in seconds.
"The heat was baking us outside." She breathlessly stated and settled on the other side of the bed. Locks of the brown weave she wore were matted to the sides of her neck with sweat, and the neckline of her white blouse was soaked. "Thank God we came up here. A reprieve from the heat and a quiet place he can sleep."
"Yeah." I agreed.
Fanning herself despite the air-conditioning, she faced me. "Aren't you going back downstairs? I think your mother was searching for you. Grandpa would like to have a chat with you."
"Okay." I stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in my dress before walking towards the door. As soon as I laid my hand on the knob, she called out to me.
"Tricia?"
I turned, curious.
Aunty Jennifer smiled at me softly, her eyes filled with pity. "I know the kind of pressure your parents put you under to succeed in school. Believe me, I've felt similar pressure before several times in my life. But I want you to remember, my dear, that education and a career aren't everything." She said softly. "Know this before you have any regrets."
The pity in her eyes, I realized, was meant for me.
I thought of my parents and my brother, and the lives they were leading now, and Grandpa, whose academic prowess had made him an incredibly successful judge in the U.K before he'd retired and returned to Ghana.
This advice was coming from the woman who had thrown away a world-class education and a high-paying job to settle down with a man who could barely afford to cater for her and their five children? Was I supposed to accept advice like this in good faith?
Education and a career aren't everything?
The muscles in my face felt frigid, but I managed a small smile. "Thank you, aunty. I'll keep that in mind."
Maybe, aunt, it is yourself you should feel sorry for.