Dr Jonas Frisen found out something a little while back, something Obi only recently learned of. That each cell in your body is replaced by a new cell every seven to ten years.
That could mean during that span, we become essentially new people. Our bodies renew themselves, and though there might be some more underlying science behind that, it meant hope to Obi. To people like him, and Fiyin—
—whose dreams were still haunted by that man in the car, two years back. If the myth was true, and if you actually become a new person every seven years, does that mean in due time, she would no longer recognize his lingering touch. Or that smell of burning cigarette from his lips. It meant hope.
Especially to Obi, who's always sort of hated his body his entire life. It's a beautiful idea, the cell stuff, but behind that hope, was the daunting reality—
—the question, if it actually happened that way?
But right now, he had bigger problems than the science, everything felt tumultuous on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.
Obi.
As he sat there, he couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror. He was shirtless, with a tank top laid across his bed, next to a syringe full of estrogen.
Hormones. Alot of thoughts flashed through his mind as he looked down on it. He'd realized he hadn't taken them since he heard of Jazzlyn's fate.
Neither had he been on his testosterone blockers.
He felt his hands quiver on his naked knees, below his boxers as he heaved a deep sigh. It could explain his mood changes the past few days, especially to Ola. There were more questions that haunted his mind on hearing of Jazzlyn—
—and he soon realized, that he was just like her.
And what he saw, reminded him what the world thought of people like him. What the world did to people like them. And the horrid repercussions.
And that, incited fear in his mind each time he stared at the needle or the bottle of pills.
It was why he couldn't look himself in the mirror, because he could feel the dysphoria treading back slowly into the back of his mind—
—i did say, Obi never gave his identity nor sexuality a thought for many years. Up until a year and a half ago, i mean he always hated his body.
The way he looked, the effeminate way he talked.
The way he walked, and the bullies didn't really help much. What he always thought was just body dysmorphia actually turned out to be more than just that. Something relating more to his gender.
His identity.
And it was only a conversation he had with two people, with Mira, and Jazzlyn.
Of course Mira did understand much, and her support was overwhelming. She was a drag queen, in the club she owned just below them.
The classic he/him by day, and she/her by night.
She had accustomed herself to that, to the way things had to be in places like this. So she might have been able to relate just a little.
It was a conversation they had when Obi clocked sixteen. He didn't just hate his body, he soon realized. He hated everything about him.
Hated that he was a boy. And it was then he slumped in the depths of depression. Choosing not to talk to anyone, Obi found himself in a dark place.
That dark place, he's slowly spiraling into once again. And then there was a stiff knock on his wooden door, the strobing lights of his LED flashing by the corner of his eyes. "What?" He said.
There was a crack in his voice, and also in the hinge of the door as it pulled away to reveal Mira. To people like Obi and i, she just went by she/her pronouns all the time.
We were the only ones that knew her pretty well.
"Hey" She said, in sort of whisper as Obi wiped the corner of his eyes. "How are you doing?" The lights highlighted her colorful silhouette in a ripped jeans skirt and netted leggings that went all the way up.
She had just a piece of neon green clothing across her flat chest, and a smile plastered to her lips. She was always so enthusiastic, and pretty. With chiseled jawline to die for, and Cher type of lips.
"I'm—" The words couldn't come out. The truth couldn't, so he settled on the lie. "I'm okay" His hands plummeted the syringe under his pillow as Mira took a seat. "Well i came to show you this skirt i got at the thrift store in Yaba" She chuckled.
Obi did too, in a way that cleared his nose.
"It is pretty" That was not a lie. "You're pretty" He acknowledged the eye liner thing she'd done by the side of her eyes, and the lip gloss that shimmered in the colorful lights. Mira made a sound like she did, when she blushed. She had a lot of spare time during the day to experiment with a lot of looks.
And personalities, without the construct of gender. And she could spend the remnant of time arguing about how things like makeup and clothings didn't even have gender. But that is within the walls of this building they lived in.
Not on the catastrophic streets of Lagos where you could get beaten for voicing an opinion of such.
"It's almost time for tonight's show" That explained why she was so richly dressed. She was a dancer, in one the secret drag queen led clubs in Lagos—
—the one just beneath where they lived.
With cryptic advertisements in the newspapers, the club managed to garner enough audience, ranging from closeted married men to cheating boyfriends who'd lived with the shame of their sexuality during the day, frustrated workaholic drunks, to experimenters. And undercover police sometimes.
But they were more than careful these days.
Mira didn't like to get herself involved with her morals and conscience that came after the job, especially after she'd sight some clients with their wives in public. She'd shunned that feeling after a while, it was their lives. Not hers—
—and it was the only way she could get money to cater for both her needs and Obi's. Nonetheless, the world was also unjustly cruel to people like her.
So why should she feel guilty, for just trying to make ends meet? Times like that, like these, she'd just succumb with her hands between her thighs.
Her confidence had deteriorated in a matter of seconds and it was Obi who moved close to her now. This was their relationship, codependent on each other in a world where they only had each other. "What is it, Mira?" Her name, felt like the word, mum, because it was who she was to Obi.
Though he never said it out loud, he felt that way.
"It's just— It's just i came here, asking how you'd been, meanwhile i dont even know how to answer that question myself" She turned to Obi, always truthful, unlike him.
"I mean, it's you. You're strong, nothing like me who's affected by Jazzlyn's death" She whispered and his hands wrapped around her shoulders.
"We all are, Mira" Came a truthful whisper this time. "But it's going to be okay. It will be" He said the words he wished he was told, now or even twelve years ago when his father had died, and his mum left. "Mira, it's okay—"
"We're going to pull through as a community" He was sure, some of the other transvestites were already downstairs by now. They weren't alone on some nights. And Mira scoffed with a smile.
The only thing that was different between these two was that Obi started taking hormones a little over a year ago, while Mira never did. She only loved to dress elaborately as a female in drag and though she didn't have a preferred pronoun, she didn't take offense to any either.
She was all of it. Genderqueer.
"I should be the one protecting you, comforting you" She felt guilty as she pulled away. "No, Mira. We can both do that" Obi nodded, standing up, and doing everything within his power not to look in the mirror. "I don't know how you do it, be strong—"
"It's what i saw in you that day i took you home. I saw who i wanted to be, when i was your age. If only i had the courage" Mira stood too.
Though it's unclear if maybe at some point in her life, she wanted to be trans, take the hormones. But in her defense, she didn't think. It was barely a thing then, and it isn't even now.
Obi heaved a deep breath. He knew he had anything but courage. Not to his bullies, nor to himself.
"I'll be up before twelve with cake. Don't sleep so early" She chimed, walking to the door. On nights like these, he'd spend vibing to the music that came from downstairs while attempting his math home work. Or he'd have his head buried in his laptop—
—watching youtube, all those stories about finding oneself, and also the articles. Because he was still on this journey, he didn't even know what he was. Or who he was. And this whole hormone thing, was just to test if maybe he'd hate his body a little less.
It was from youtube he'd learned of it, a popular arab influencer. And after a conversation with Mira and one of the queens that worked as a pharmacist by day, he got his hands on some estrogen to start.
A lower dose, perhaps to let things progress more slowly and he had a journal to document the littlest change, like his skin becoming thinner, and dry—
—how sensitive it became to certain roughness, and he sweat less. His changed across his chest and the tenderness around his nipples. He didn't know how to feel, between the pain and numbness. But that was all, he'd barely had a growth. Not on his arms either, instead he lost his weight, drastically then.
One thing he was glad about, was the reduction in his body hair which he hated, alongside his acne and slender figure now. He always questioned if this was exactly what he wanted—
—to transition into a woman.
Stopping the hormones gave him room to think, not that he did anyways. He'd rather look at the stories and bury his head in a laptop, all night. And during the days, it was the hell called school.
As Mira closed the door behind her, he shoved the syringe back in this box and closed the drawers. He hefted his chin to the mirror, looking down at his skin and picking at it with his fingers.
"Ugh" He groaned, folding it down his waist. It was just another casual night, of self loathe. But instead of doing his homework, he retired to his laptop where he just swiped open this new app he had, to find more friends. Friends that were like him.
Queer.
Which deep down he knew, but never said aloud.
And after a couple of swipes, his eyes met a familiar face, from Hillway High. "No way" He'd comforted himself with this new revelation.
4km away.
"Abdul" He muttered under his breath and that was all he remembered, before slouching into his bed, after a rough hassle in his mind.
"Happy birthday, Obi" Came screams that shut through his ears, waking him up not long after. His eyes met the dim light of his laptop in front of him before he recognized Mira with a cake in her hands.
He jolted up, palming his face. "You know—"
"Know you don't like celebrating your birthday, but it's your eighteenth" She halted what seemed to be a little trumpet sound as she walked closer.
"It's your eighteenth, Obi. Things change now"
"I hope not" He couldn't hide his sarcasm, if even it was. Perhaps it was a genuine hope, that his teenage years weren't almost over. Or a prayer, even.
"Alright get some sleep. I'll keep the cake till morning. I also have to sleep after a long night, and i have to see Jazzlyn's mother tomorrow also"
"That's— Why?" Obi asked. "I don't know. She was like our friend, just to see how she's doing. So it's not as though we've forgotten about her, and the justice she deserves" Mira nodded.
"I'm thinking of going to police with some friends, but with her mother's permission. Nothing to concern yourself with" She huffed a smile.
"Happy legal" She whispered with so much confidence as if it were even a thing. "Happy fortieth" Obi teased back.
If she enjoyed making me feel old, he'd return the favor even though she was barely even thirty five.
She rolled her eyes, before slamming the door and he fell back in his bed. His eyes falling on the clock that said five minutes past twelve am, he already begun to wish the day would be over.
Among the things he hated, don't add the fact that he saw his friend on a queer app, well, a friend. But you can add his birthdays, which is a close second.
-
Shutting his laptop and slippng it under his pillow, Obi raised his chin to heave a deep breath. The sun poured through his windows, filling it with light.
And if today wasn't his birthday, he just might think it was a good day. An ideal day, with his backpack across his shoulders as he bolted through the door and down the stairs. His footsteps were inaudible to a Mira that was dancing to the music in her ears.
Obi might have tried to sneak out through the door but she caught a glimpse right on time.
"Where do you think you're going—" He halted, turning his back with rested eyes. "In that?" Mira completed, placing her phone to the table.
"Nothing fancy?" She asked, buttering the tip of her fingers with saliva and then slipping down the edges of his hair. Then she assessed him for a second. He shook his head. "Not even for today—"
"Come on, Mira"
"I know. I know" She raised her hands. "Besides, it's a school day, so uniform. And no party" He felt the need to shun any, if perhaps she had a surprise one coming up. She was capable of that, even though she was well aware he hated surprises.
"I just want to have a normal day" She walked back, in defeat, knowing he was incorrigible and she could do nothing but grab a slice of cake she'd kept aside for him. "At least take this" She smiled.
He stuffed it into his mouth and chewed, the icing smudged on the side of his lips. "And take some for Ola—" By the time, she turned around, her eyes were met with the swinging door, till it returned to it's stable position. Her shoulders deflated, holding the nylon in her hands. "This boy, will be the death of me" She muttered with a smile, her ears picking up the muffled noises from the headphones.
Before DaSilva walked out, one of the dancers and closest friend to Mira, with a broom in his hands.
He was still in last night's clothes and make up. And he grabbed the cake, sliding it into his mouth and then turning to his bestfriend. "Be thankful you have him, though" He said, nodding as if he hadn't just stolen. "You just stole the ca—"
"Oh please. We did worse, last night" He rolled his eyes, starting to slowly sweep from the middle of the room, the mess from last night.
"We're going to the police, later today" Mira said, straightforward as she pulled the earphones to her ears. And DaSilva halted, knowing he didn't even have a choice, so he just went back to what she did.
Obi grabbed his bike from the shrubs and placed his ear phones in his ears also, to block the incessant sounds of nature. And like mere coincidence—
—a Mac DeMarco song played in both their ears.
Mira so concentrated on the rhythm, she didn't know when she started dancing with the broom in her hands. All to Silva's audience. She remembered how she always loved ballet as a child, but her dad would never allow it because, toxic masculinity.
Now, dancing around a poll was the closest thing she'd get to a stage. And to an audience. Whenever her soles hit the floor, it was a homage to that boy, that child still in her, that so badly wanted to raise a middle finger to the world and just dance.
Now she was free, one would say. And she had a child of her own, who was so much like her. That was what made them click the instant she saw him by the side of the road when he was six.
He also had a song in his ears, Obi, as he rode the bicycle in the winds. The little effort Mira had made to his hair had gone down the drain as it ruffled in the breeze. The sun was out, beaming across his face and the humidity formed beads of sweat on his head. He strode by the cars, till he got to the highway, with a dark pair of glasses across his eyes.
He didn't want anyone to see who'd dare ride a bike on the busiest road around here. And whenever he would turn into the school junction, it was a breath of relief. Another day, he'd made it, unfortunately.
Slowly, his pedals came to a halt as he hung his helmet close to the horn. Letting it fall into the school shrubs, he stepped to the grounds and pulled off his glasses. It was another day back here—
—in what most of them would call a hellhole.
And he just had to get through it, without DeMarco this time, as he switched off the song. But first, he knew who he had to find.
"Obi?"
"Ola—" It was not who found him first. Obi's eyes still navigated the lot for Abdul, or at least a slender figure that looked just like him. There was alot, but none with that kind of sleek curly hair, like Abdul.
"I just wanted to say happy birthday bro" Ola moved close to awkwardly tap his shoulders and he just hummed, moving his head in barely a nod.
His shoulders brushed past him. "Thank you" Came a murmur at the least, to acknowledge gratitude but that was it. Ola was left standing there, without any time to even give him his gift.
And he turned around to watch him walk away. More and more distance coming between them, and though they were in the same place, it felt like they were still miles apart. Like when he was still away.
And he just breathed in air, and exhaled thereafter.
While Obi had his eyes out for Abdul now, Ola also decided to have a word with Fiyin, whom he'd shared more than a few tense glances with.
Ah yes, Fiyin. Where was she when we left off?
Definitely not with her grade papers squeezed in her hands—
"What did you get?" Anna, her friend, peered in and Fiyin defensively backed away. The only thing that could justify that was that she failed.
Woefully.
An E, in Biology. One of her core subjects and perhaps the first time she'd ever relapsed so bad. She wanted to scream and tear the piece of result in her hands, which she did.
The shreds fell to the grounds in infuriating anger, as she stormed off. "I have to see the principal" She said, under her breath, but audible. "That bad?" Anna turned to the rest of the girls with a smirk.
Lowkey, it seemed like they all slightly detested each other, though no one outrightly said it. I mean, it is the way female friendships, work these days.
There was a dangerous stint of joy in Anna's smirk, and a glint in her eyes, like jealousy. Like a leech, sighting it's host. That was all this was about.
And luckily, Ola was able to catch it with his own eyes, just as Fiyin went the other way. I did say, things sort of felt tumultuous yesterday night—
—and it was certainly no different today.
If anything, it was worse for everyone of them.
-
There was something authoritative about a wooden desk with a tag, that screamed your importance and demanded respect. And Mira and Fiyin, happened to the be ones on the other side of those tables.
"Principal Collins"
"Officer Dare" Their eyes both met the people whom they'd come to see, the people behind these weird names. But that didn't mean it was about to go well. If anything, downhill was the word.
"Fiyin" Collins called, as he looked up from his table. He had his glasses perched atop his nose as he slid it down a bit. "How can i help you today?"
"Good aft— Morning, sir" Fiyin begun to fidget on entering the cold of his office. "You can sit" She briskly shook her head, for a moment, holding her hands together. "I guess, there was just a mistake with my grades for the last biology test" She said.
She'd realized that an E in continuous assessment, meant even it she were to score every mark in her finals, it would barely be a good C—
Maybe C5, which could never get her a scholarship into college. I mean, that was the ultimate plan. The hope, that she'd scholarship her way through school till she was somebody, given her conditions.
He eyed her, in what seemed to be derogatory.
"What makes you think it was a mistake?" Collins sneered and Fiyin stepped back. The truth was, she knew how hard she read for basic cell biology. And she was never the one to get below a B.
So it was just a hideous mistake, but she couldn't tell him that.
"I just feel like i knew what i was writing" She was unsure whether that reply was any better. And then she pushed a heavy lump down her throat in the silence. But suddenly as his dry lips parted to talk—
—his phone rang. And he gestured to the door.
"Come back, later" He urged, putting the phone to his ears whilst Fiyin scribbled with the door, her anxieties raised to the heights. She leaned her back against the wall, just before Ola showed up, finally bracing enough courage to say a word to her.
I mean it wasn't supposed to be hard, since they were technically best friends as kids, but now, it felt different. Most especially when their eyes meet for the nth time, there's still some mystery like it had never happened. Like there's some blue in her eyes that he hasn't noticed. And just like, she's calm—
—her chest soothing into reality. "Hi" He had said, even though she hadn't heard it at first. And then with an eye going from his sweater to his loafers, she scoffed from her lips. "Hi, Bankole" She said.
And a smile crept to the corner of his lips.
Both their lips actually as they just stood there, unsure of what to say next. "Hi" Came the most awkward repetition as he waved. Ola waved, like he was some sort of teletubby, and he regretted it.
"Hi. A drink?" She felt obliged to say something next, and all he did was nod. "Great. That's great—" He wiped his sweaty palms and sighed, whilst raising one eyebrow. "Don't do that" Fiyin replied.
"No" She shook her head, and then brushed past him. And again, he turned his back, to see someone else walk away from him the second time that day.
Though it was somewhat different, he didn't feel that way. They were once his best friends. Or that was what he thought.
-
"Officer Dare" Mira let out a gasp after she called his name. There was something about his bold name across a metal tag that struck her conscience. And she was restive in her low seat.
She found her fingers trailing the sides of her raw jeans, ripped at the knees. And she'd thrown on an oversize top to pass as masculine, who she was during the day. Like i said earlier, each person was beneath a facade around here. And this was Mira's.
Dare, the man in question, cleared his throat, perhaps at the effeminate tone of Mira's voice and for a second, they made eye contact.
"How can i help you?" There was an inspector behind his name, and she wondered why she called him officer. "I'll like to report a murder" Mira cut straight to the point and he stiffened in his seat a little. "Well that's—"
Words had failed him as he cleared his throat yet again. "That's something?" He settled on, with doubt in his voice. "Yes, this person. My friend" Mira replied, sitting forward. "Jazzlyn Pius?"
The way his brows inarched showed that he'd recognized that name. Who around here didn't, was the question. Chances are that you've seen her on the streets or you've been told about her. About how much of a menace she supposedly was.
Lies, and hate speeches against a woman who just wanted a world in which she could be herself. Where she could love herself. And Mira gulped down her throat, the dawning realization.
"So you do know her?" Her voice fluctuated. And he let out a scoff, diverting his eyes back to the computer. "Your friend?" He echoed her words.
That was the most judgmental tone she'd heard all her life, and though, her eyes were faced down, she could still feel his piercing gaze. Of course, Jazz was her friend. Several times, she'd come to the bar.
Or the club and they'd talk about politics, or the failing economy in the country. Or just how much Mira wanted to be like her. Brave, and courageous.
She was learned, having graduated with a degree in mass communication at a federal university, the same place she'd begun to transition. Jazz's literacy and story was a secret to who didn't know her—
—which was the rest of the world, that judged and sometimes cast stones at her. The world had done her bad, even after her death, her gruesome murder, and Mira wasn't about to be apart of those people.
Those people that failed her. "Yes—" She sat up, hefting her chin. "She was my friend" Mira added and he stretched to pass a piece of paper to her.
Attached to a clipboard, the paper blew against her fingers as she reached for it. "You can write everything you know about this Jazzlyn. And what you know about her murder and we'll review it soon" He said, in a very unconvincing tone.
The top read— "Statement?" Mira echoed. And he nodded. "Isn't that what you want?" He asked, with that judgement hidden in his tone, yet again.
"I want justice. I want to see the work being done. And i want to see the perpetrators being brought to book" Mira was high above the new found confidence that came from the painful realization.
The realization that this piece of paper would just be stacked right underneath the thousands of unsolved murder cases here. "I want justice" She said in a dramatic conclusion that seemed like the opposite of a threat to Dare.
"Well—" He paused. "There's really nothing that a mere statement can do, if you don't have an account of what really happened that night" He continued.
"The media hasn't said anything. Nobody has come forward. For all i know, it could be anything. Even a suicide—" He sighed. "I mean, she did have a problem, right?" He asked, mostly genuine this time but it was that, that forced Mira to her feet.
"Jazzlyn didn't have a problem. And she didn't kill herself. If you're not going to help me, i'll do it myself" Dare rose too, to match her glare.
"I want to help" It was convincing now, an improvement. And Mira's eyes darted to the wall clock. "I really do. But i'm going to need more than just per say. I'll need evidence if you want real change" He said, and Mira scoffed.
It was something, and she just backed away. Knowing she didn't have what he wanted, she pushed a lump down her sore throat. "I'll leave" She whispered as she turned her back to the door, abandoning the empty piece of paper on his desk.
His wooden desk, with piles of books and documents. Piles of unsolved murder cases, what Nigeria was popularly known for. Mira had begun to realize how foolish she was, to think that Jazzlyn's case was any better than the rest.
The rest like the string of kidnappings and abduction that were ultimately swept under the rugs and buried in the headlines. The terrorism and the insurgences we'd gotten used to.
The people move on, they always did.
So why should the death of a trans woman be any different in a state that even had laws against them?
Perhaps this was more of dealing with her own conscience, that her eyes had blurred the lines. The vivid lines they'd drawn between people like them and the rest of the society—
—People that dressed like women, and acted like them. Mira stormed through the glassed station exits and hit the road on feet. She slowly pulled away her cap to reveal her smoothly shaved head—
—that did a good job reflecting the sun. Her eyes were heavy with tears but the winds blew against them. She stared ahead, because she didn't want to cry on the main road. She needed to wait till she was back in the car with Dasilva, in his arms.
And when she was, he was able to whisper in her ears— "Everything will be alright" He didn't ask any questions but from the tears that fell down her cheeks, it was enough to say that it didn't go well.
"No it wont" She said, lowly as she buried her face in her palms. That was a livid lie, though as of now.
And deep down, even DaSilva knew this.
-
The bell rung through the halls of Hillway High and the students plunged right out of the doors for lunch. There he was, Ola, with his eyes scanning around for Fiyin. "Drinks?" She had offered.
And when other than lunch break.
As he peered over the heads, he suddenly felt a tap on his shoulders. He was startled, as he came face to face with varsity jacket guy. His brows furrowed, recognizing Ayo, the guy that bullied Obi.
"What do you want?"
"Yo, chill out" Came the fake accent. He'd known because he was in Texas for ten years. "I just wanted to uhm, invite to the school football team"
"I heard you played good in the states" He tipped his cap. Ola was surprised he didn't get dresscoded, even though his uniform was under the jacket.
He was stunned, that he just nodded. "Training tomorrow, newbie" Ayo patted his shoulders before walking off. He didn't even wait for a reply.
Ola didn't even play good enough football at his former school to guarantee first team. He was used to warming the bench, cheering for Williams then.
But now, he looked around as people bumped their heads at him, and girls flashed smiles with cheeks that flustered. And he was actually going to play on the team now. There, he was a six but here—
—in Nigeria, he was almost a ten.
"Hey" That voice jolted him back to reality. He recognized it, it was Fiyin. The only voice that could be both coarse and sweet.
He turned around, to see her glossed lips. And a bottle of 7up in her hands. "Here?" She stretched, and it was Ola, who smiled now. Once he collected it, she walked ahead. "I know a spot" She said.
"Come with me" He racked his head about how Obi seemed to be wrong about Fiyin. She hadn't changed much, not her lips and the curve it formed when she smiled. Or the way she still walked.
And he wondered, where even was Obi now?
To be continued...