Chapter 4: Wounds, Healing, and Growing Apart

For some days, Musa Big and him crew no fit catch her to run errand.

Dem try but I dey always show, dey block road. Sometimes, I go carry her bag for her, make dem see say she get person. After a while, dem tire, dem face another pikin. My mind rest small.

But she still dey bring me snacks, and that one dey vex Musa Big pass.

She dey always find small something bring for me—groundnut, coconut sweet, sometimes zobo. She go drop am for my desk, whisper, "Share no spoil o!" Musa Big eye go red when he see us, but we no send am.

"I think say you no dey go house again for afternoon?" Musa Big talk one break, squeeze come our side.

E dey try find wahala, voice low but threat dey inside. I dey read my book, but I no answer am.

"So this one na wetin?" He point the Fanta for our desk.

He use finger touch the bottle, dey expect response. My seatmate just dey look window, no talk.

"Ehen, una even get matching cups!" Musa Big dey do like say he catch big gist, dey shout make everybody hear.

He pick the cup, turn am for hand. People for class begin look, begin murmur. Gist dey spread like fire for dry harmattan.

For junior secondary, to dey date na one secret, shy thing. That age, everybody dey curious about love but shame no let anybody talk am, na to dey find who dem go gossip about.

Person fit just see boy and girl talk, next thing—story don fly. Some go dey write name for back of notebook: "Mr. and Mrs." with heart. Na childish but e dey sweet them. Gossip dey fly, people dey peep under eyelash to spy you.

Musa Big wahala draw crowd. One oversabi even check the cups.

Oversabi girl wey sabi everybody business, she pick the cups, dey compare. She dey smile like say she don see headline for newspaper. Some boys dey clap, others dey snap finger.

"True o, na couple cup," person talk.

Class go burst into laugh. Some go start to chant, "Love nwantinti!" Others dey tap desk, dey tease.

Everybody start dey tease. She just bury her face, colour comot for her body.

Her neck and cheek turn tomato, she just bend, dey squeeze her skirt. Me, I dey boil, my hand dey shake. That embarrassment no be small.

Me, anger hold me, I punch Musa Big. As everybody dey shout, we fight commot for class, stop only when bell ring.

Na serious wahala. Chair scatter, table shift. Some girls dey scream, others dey shout "Fight! Fight!" as if dem dey watch Nollywood film. Some people dey try hold us, others dey cheer. Bell ring, na prefect rush enter separate us. My mouth dey taste blood, my shirt tear for one side.

My body full scratch; Musa Big nose dey bleed.

Teacher come, carry am go clinic. I dey drag my leg, dey wipe face with handkerchief. My own wounds dey burn, but my spirit high small, because at least I no fall hand.

That evening, she carry me go school clinic. After she clean the last wound with iodine, she look me for eye.

She clean my cut, but her hand dey shake small—pain and worry mix for her face. Her hand steady, but her mouth tight. The nurse dey shake head, dey ask how we take fight. She just talk say, "He fall." But I know say she dey vex. The smell of iodine sharp, my eye dey water. Her touch dey gentle, she no talk for long.

"Why you go fight?"

Her voice crack small, but her eye dey hard. She squeeze cotton wool for my arm, pain shoot me.

Na that time I first see vex for her eye—rare thing o.

Usually, she no dey vex. But that day, her jaw set, eyebrow dey high. She fit use eye command rain if she wan.

I talk with anger, "Musa Big dey craze, dey talk rubbish about us."

I hiss, use left hand press my wound. My heart dey drum. I no fit bear make anybody disrespect us. Na so e dey pain me reach.

"So you beat am because he say we dey date?"

She fold hand, wait my answer. Her face calm, but her tone dey test me. For my mind, na big question.

That time, I answer, "Yes, our friendship pure, how person go dey spoil am like that?"

I talk am like say na oath. My voice low, but strong. E be like say I dey explain to world, not just her. I feel small relief say I talk am out.

Years later, that evening dey replay for my mind.

Every time I dey inside bus for rainy season, or dey see junior students for road, that memory go flash—our small war for dignity, our stubborn silence after.

Na end of summer, rainy season dey near. Sun dey go down, shadow long for ground. She squat for flower bed step, dey clean my hand with cotton bud. School loudspeaker dey play music, students dey pass.

Her skirt dirty for bottom, white socks don turn brown. The air dey carry scent of wet earth, mix with perfume from school canteen. I dey watch as she focus on my hand, her brow furrow. Students dey run, dey shout, but for that moment, na just two of us dey exist.

After I talk finish, I see as the sunset just die for her eye small—just small—before she smile say, "E don do, I don treat your wound."

Her smile soft, no teeth show. I fit feel small breeze touch my face. She pat my hand one last time, then stand up, dust skirt. I wan talk, but no word dey come out. For that brief second, I dey wish say time go slow.

Maybe na so beautiful moments dey be. When you dey live am, you no dey know say e sweet like that. Na years later your memory go paint am well.

E fit take years before you sabi say some days no get duplicate. Na so memory dey sweet person, dey add honey join.

Na that time, na when you look back, you go realize say that girl mean pass ordinary.

Na for grown-up life, when hustle dey bite, you go understand say true padi rare. The people wey fight for you, share snacks, defend you—dem no dey plenty. Her own different. I dey wish I fit return those days, just for one evening breeze.

After that day, nobody send her errand again. Everywhere calm for her, till we finish junior secondary.

Her smile begin come out more. Boys leave her, she fit read her novel in peace. Me and her dey gist, dey play cards after prep, no more worry. Sometimes, she dey buy her own Fanta, sip am slow, dey look sunset from window. Freedom taste sweet.

Later, we go different secondary schools, find new friends, and gradually, we no dey talk again.

Her new school far, we try dey call, but wahala of school life carry everybody go. Na so life dey be—padi today, stranger tomorrow. I go sometimes dey scroll phone, dey look old pictures, dey laugh for myself.

She turn to that grey avatar for my WhatsApp contact list. I guess she no dey use WhatsApp again—no update, no message.

Her number still dey my phone. Sometimes, I go type message, delete am. No status, no last seen. Na that empty avatar dey look me, like say she dey wave from far.