Trouble is not anosmic as you would think. Trouble stinks, with a fetid aroma like sulphur roasting a corpse. My nose has been trained to seek it out since the day a lorry tried to put its metal rib cage straight through Mum and I, since the day i woke up in n a hospital bed with an inferno in my lungs and lead flowing in my veins.
I got to school late, as usual. If i was a junior i believe my life right at this point will be one full of frog jumps and kneeling out in the open for hours, the sun in my face. I've been there and done all of that, enough for five life times. I waltz into the class like a princess from some fairy tale story.
Welcome to the benefits of being in SS3. You are a student and at the same time, you're not. Check this; you could put a javelin through the white marker board and get a pat on the shoulder as punishment, but God help you, you dare staff. You'll be handled like a terrorist. No lie. And trust when i say it's neither a Queen'
Guyyyy, this gbedu dey mad gahn.Oh, sorry. Sometimes i forget you aren't from PH city. I suppose I have to explain that now eh. I will break it down to you like the learned bilinguist i am.That was pidgin for: This. party. is. hot.And pay attention to "hot" there, 'cause it's not just any type of hot. It's broiling-blazing-roasting-flaming-baking-steamy hot—igneous hot. The kind of skin blistering fire i felt on my hands after i assisted Mumsi in rinsing those shiny chili peppers she grinds to add to the moi-moi to give it colour. Yeah, that's about it. I've never been to an actual party, but any three year old will know a-making-sense-party when he sees one.Ok, pause. Hold that thought for a second, would you.It wouldn't be the whole truth if i told you that. I've been to one or two decent parties—if I'm being completely sincere—where we all had to wear conical party hats and drink lukewarm Capr
An A-list artiste's concert wouldn't be this roof raising.'Roof raising' is a simple way to describe it. They are making serious attempts to set the roof ablaze and gas up the naked night sky.I meet Pascal at the gate post where he's turning his pockets inside out, looking for money to pay off the kekenape that dropped him. Hippie red, blue and pink glowing from the tricycle's headlamps wash him in fluctuating rainbow colours that make his deep brown skin brown-emerald one second, and brownish indigo the next. He spots me and hollers my name. I wave back and go on to meet him. He wraps me up in an embrace worthy of a grizzly bear, for like the six thousandth time since I met him. Boy sure likes his hugs. "Hey are you wearing make-up?" He sounds suprised that I would."No." I lie smoothly "I'm not. Why?""I swear it looks like you are." He squints at my features, I smirk up at him."Ha! I knew you were wearing make up
Twelve O' three and Amanda's still not here.Abe swishes the contents of his cup around and stares at the people swaying around him. It's his second in almost an hour, he just swirls it round and round the cup, like doing that would make it taste any less than some bodily fluid. Braids are sweeping the floor, shapes like hour glasses strut about. The type of babes that you don't even glance at if you don't have up to five-hundred-K in your account that is easily spendable. I know when Abe is checking out a babe; he gets that dangerous glint in his eye. He shouldn't even bother."She's girl is pretty." He says.I cut him some nasty side and say "Don't even dream about it."He snickers. "I was just stating the obvious guy, relax.""Better. Just leave it at that level." He laughs a deep laugh that curls up from his belly. Ahmed is still trying to get Chantelle to laugh. So far, he has managed to squeeze half a smile out of her, twice
"Ello bae" Abe drawls when i get to them. Then he does a double take and goes "Ummm, Bae where have you been hiding all that fine-ness".Somebody hold this boy, pls.I sure am glad that i decided to bring my jacket along, because it seems like the only thing preventing him from biting me. Chantelle shoves him with her free arm and he goes tumbling back, snickering the whole way.And there is Chideziri, standing in the doorway. Chideziri letting the bulb's glower roll off him in waves of crimson. The colours and the noise can consume every one, except him. Chideziri making the moment seem a lot more worth living in.He asks Abe smoothly, in an extra nice voice "Where do you want your teeth, on the floor? Or in your cup?" He sounds like he's only half joking.Abe's grin is smug."Those are options A and B, what option says none of the above?""None"He glares at Abe for a moment, then dis
A whisper of words, that's what it begins as.Then slowly, ever so slowly, it creeps, then crawls into a formidable tempo that can turn heads. A smile bright as any street light in this crazy city Suns up Amanda's face. Resplendent in its rays, beaming directly on my face. I wonder why they even bother with all these solar powered lamp posts lining the alleys and walkways, when a single person can make-up the whole town in glowing, scintillating shades o'brown and white."Oh my God! This is my song!" She shrieks.I don't recognize the song until Falz's voice seeps out of the home-theatre speaker, loud and accented, and confident in its pitch.YahWhat if I ask you to marry me?Born for meJe ka ride till eternityWhat if I say there's no plan B?Say I ready to come in to meet the familyComeWhat if I already planned it?I find myself being hauled back into the hou
That Disc Jockey knows his stuff.The cheer is a roar, and it is a combination of hollering and lip-synching. Soon the party is alive again. Abe leaps out of his seat, startling Ahmed wide awake. He bounds into the quickly converging crowd and screams "Gimme space, make I no kill person!" then he does that swaying dance he does, with his knees bent in a crouching stance, his arms moving as if he's rocking some big Madam's hip.SMH........ We are immediately caught up in a tide of skin—russet, honey, latte, cinnamon, umber, whatever. Sweaty, dry, oiled, perfumed; it doesn't matter. We all are just skin. What matters is the now. The damp heat that isn't even a little uncomfortable, the screams of "She say A-ye, No lele", the energized air forcing birr down my burning windpipe, the touch of strangers arms and bodies and vibes on mine. That's all that has an iota of meaning in this now. And this now.....this moment...it's covered
Even Chantelle gets into the fray. It's that dope.I've been thinking on what Tobi says about the brother of a fool being a fool. Judging by the crazy dancing I see I say my friends are fools. Big time. And If it makes any sense, then i am one, too. And I couldn't care less. I want to be a fool for life, if I get to keep these ones, if by some chance, fate doesn't reappear to tear our clique apart after this stage of our lives. I am aware that there are few re-beginnings and fewer happy endings, but these moments—these minut bursts of light are all I'm certain of.
There are only three words for what we are:Young.Wild.Free.Snoop and wiz khalifa said it all.I get the feeling that this is what being a teenager should be like. That songs were made to be sang out loud, with lungs fresh from Heaven's factory. Life—to be experienced in an uncontrollable atomic fashion constituted by bursts of unbridle-able energy. The air—to be inhaled without thought or obligations or responsibilities; released, unshackled, worry-less, unchained—free.Young.Wild.Free.Until our eyes are fixed beyond the sun, our nostrils will know less roses than our skins the thorns.Life is as complex as a pendulum tossed to and from opposing extremes. Though the storm rocks our boats and the gentle wind eases our rows, our peace still ebbs and flows, because until our eyes are fixed beyo
Calling Ma to tell her the exam is over will only make her rush me, I think.Today is the one day I don't want to rush things. So when others pull out their phones and gather round for selfies and corny posts such as GRADUATE IN A BIT or BEEN HERE, DONE THAT, I push my phone deeper into the slash pocket of my overall."And we good to go!" my best friend appears just as she disappeared: when I wasn't looking, and all of a sudden.She stretches her arms out for a hug."Ewwww." I dodge her. My best friend, Amanda, only seems to want hugs after one of her many visits to the toilets. There's enough bacteria on the doors alone to kickstart an epidemic."You know you want this hug," Amanda grins, inching closer.The periodic toilet frolicking is normal, the usual. The grinning is new. Whatever Port-Harcourt did to her was good. She even let me read her journal for like six seconds—which is a record. She n
I slump onto the grass next to Chideziri. He keeps staring up ahead into the tree, as if he's looking for something in particular, not paying me any mind. "G." Nothing. I shove his shoulder. Still nothing. "Are you going to sit here sulking all day?" Finally, he looks at me. "I can try, can't I?" "It's passing out day, you fool. We had plans, remember?" "Frankly, I don't." He says. I raise a brow at him; he only shrugs. I adjust myself till I am lying on my back in the untrimmed grass. "Well, since you don't remember, I'll wait here until your mermory starts to come back." "You'll be waiting for a long time" "I have enough time." I fire back. "Jesus Christ." Chideziri mutters. "Don't use the name of the Lord in vain, bro." "Guy, g
After four months of complete drought, March releases the first rains.Rooftops turn red with dust filled water, dust that accumulated over the dry season. Children play around under the rain, splashing in puddles.I spend half of most days in second term numb and staring. Staring at the teacher, at the writing on the board that makes no sense to me whatsoever, at the wall clock hung above the marker board. Then I spend the other half of the day noticing I'm numb and staring.In church, I no longer swing my shoulders to the music. I don't listen to J.Cole anymore.She is too everywhere. Too present to be so absent. My clothes smell of rain-beaten leaves, of abandonment, of freshly written poems. How hard I scrub makes no noticeable difference. Weeks after January the sixth, my knuckles are red and raw from trying to scrub her away, and failing to.She is too everywhere.I learn to stay in my room, curtains drawn
Queen's is as quiet and sprawling as I remember. Almost too quiet. The pinafores are also as I remember, shining from excessive ironing. But now the shirts are cardboard paper and the weather is always so dry that I have to keep lipbalm in my bag, just in case my lips crack. Again.Lorita's here, and she definitely missed me. I get cupcakes literally every day of the week, and a lot of guilt trip for that one time I abandoned her, went to Port-Harcourt, and while there, lived my best life.The absolute best thing about being back is that Queen's installed a new track. I'm feeling it.Now, I can run.As far as I want, as far as my legs will carry me. So fast that I fly. I close my eyes and there I'm in PH city, with Chideziri, sprinting, the rain right behind us.When I open my eyes, he isn't there.~
CHIDEZIRI I kiss her now, because when she's gone, I want to remember how her smile tastes mixed with tears. I want to remember the flayed pink that the sky took on, how rays peered down through clouds. I want to remember the mangroves, their dying leaves forming a glade of rusted confetti. I want to remember the sun, before it was eclipsed. ~ AMANDALeft to Aunty Seedy, suffocation by embracing is how I'd die."Nne, I'll miss you sorely." She says, smothering me. I lose count after the seventh hug. All our stuff will be moved to her house. Sofas,
The trees outside my window are almost naked now, burnt to figs by the ever angry sun. In the darkness of dawn, their branches resemble bones. I can't sleep, and being awake staring at the skeleton branches isn't helping, so I take Tobi's hoodie and leave the house. Outside is silent, much like everything else. So silent that when I pass the playround, I can hear the grass whistle. I walk. I walk by the tailors shop, to Close 4 and past. Past the hulking buildings and lonely trees. I walk till I get to the river. Elimgbu river has sunken so low that the stones underneath break its glassy surface. The first time we were here, it was full to its brim. Leaves floated on its surface. Pebbles lived under. It was beautiful. That is the thing about faded glory. It always starts out beautiful.
January, the sixth arrives quickly, quietly. January, the sixth steals our time. I wake up not remembering what the day means, at first. It comes to me slowly. The night before we leave, the night before January the sixth, I learn two things: there are two kinds of hunger, and one can keep you up all night, staring at the ceiling and missing a place and people you are yet to leave. It is two O'Clock in the morning and disconcertingly quiet when I decide that I can't endure the trashing and turning. I take a book from the shelf that will no longer be mine by evening, purple hibiscus, with the cracks on its cover and Adichie's delighted face above its blurb, and I go to the sitting room that will not be ours by evening. There, I turn on the light and cozy up on the couch. Halfway through the first chapter, feet shuffle in the hallway and Dad emerges from
Ahmed is stuck at his mother's shop. But as always, he finds a way to vanish. Abe's on his way already. Pacal posted pictures of the places his family had been to today: cinema, swimming at a pool and Ferris wheeling. The mere sight of the Ferris wheel gave me vertigo.By the tone of his last text, he's down for a reunion. Although he's never been as good as Ahmed at vanishing, I know he'll be there. Chantelle gets there first, to our spot at the river. Her sister's nurse friends visited, and in her words, turned the house into a marketplace. Amanda arrives last. The sun has sunk below the horizon by then and mosquitoes are biting. "I come bearing gifts!" she bellows, stomping down the planks, her footsteps heavy with the weight of five paperbags she's clutching. "Since when did Amanda become Santa?" Abe says. Yet he grabs his gift bag when it's offered.&nbs
Christmas is explosive. Literally so. The number of fireworks produced in a single annum is alarming. But what is even more alarming is the fact that the effing hoodlums that deadbeat parents in my neighbourhood call their children seem to think that detonating all those fireworks in the street just beyond our gate is cool. On Christmas eve, after one "knock-out" landed on our roof, I reached the end of my thoroughly stretched patience. I stormed out to yelled at a couple of them loitering in the street. All of which I did barefooted.Don't blame me, I was spectacularly pissed.The twenty fifth—Christmas day itself—is spent out of our house and in Aunty Seedy's, with her and Ozo. Dad wanted us to go to Chicken Republic, or one of the many fancy restuarants he made it his business to locate in the area once we arrived, since neither of us can boil an egg.