Chapter 5: Rewrite Destiny, Carry Another Burden

To change Timi destiny, as I enter this world, I replace the caretaker—

I come dey reason say maybe God send me come. E get as e be, sha.

For the new story, Timi grandpapa meet me for orphanage, start to sponsor my school.

Na small orphanage for outskirts of Ibadan. The day e come, e give me slippers and gala, promise say my life go better. I dey remember that day well.

After the grandpapa die, e leave me small money, beg me make I take care of him grandson.

I use the money start small garri business to support feeding. For my mind, I dey pray make e last.

So I try my best look after Timi—

Even when money short, I go hustle for market, carry water, do small cleaning just to put food for table. For our side, na love dey make person do that kind thing. Even landlord don threaten to carry our mattress if we no pay.

E no sabi manage money, I open bank account for am, dey find way to manage the small money wey grandpapa leave, dey hustle make e last reach.

Sometimes I go sit for night, dey write account, dey calculate how beans wey I buy for one week go reach next week.

E mental health no good, I dey read books, dey carry am go see specialist for the local health center.

Even when nurse dey form for me, dey talk say "No space," I go beg, dey wait hours just to make sure dem check am.

E like art. Even though I be science person, no sabi art, I still go almost hundred exhibitions for one year, just to fit talk to am well.

I get tired, but I go still try yarn about color and shading, even though my brain dey for math. Just to make am smile small.

…

But still, Timi still dey cold to me.

Sometimes I dey look sky, dey ask God why. Na so life be sometimes.

No matter wetin I do, e no gree make I near am.

Even when I try gist am about art news wey I hear for radio, e go just waka leave me, as if I talk trash.

Even when e dey get those manic wahala, e prefer scatter things than make I bring medicine enter him small studio for the compound.

Omo, na serious fight. One day, e break all him brush, pour paint for ground, just because I bring am small medicine and fanta.

Why? Just because I no sabi art. E no want make ordinary person like me dey disturb am for him creative space—

I think say na only me e dey pain. But for Naija, artist dey like that. Dem no like make outsider dey touch their muse.

But now, the way e dey behave with the main babe different.

As if Zainab Musa be him password. E dey open up small, dey smile. I dey watch, dey wonder if na charm.

E dey listen to her opinion, dey talk him own view small small.

If to say na me, e for just hiss. But for her, e dey even dey argue gently.

When Timi finish that painting, e remove am from board, give Zainab Musa, wan dash am.

If na me, e for burn am. But for her, e dey even wrap am with care.

Even him ear tips dey red small.

E dey try hide am, but I see. Na Naija boy way, if dem catch feelings, ear dey show am first.

“Fit we add each other for WhatsApp?”

Na modern love story. Before, na phone number, but now, na WhatsApp. Omo, love dey sweet!

“My name… my name na Timi.”

For the first time, e talk am with confidence. Normally, if I ask am, e go just mumble.

Zainab Musa pause small. She bring out her phone, scratch her nose as she dey reason.

E get as e be, like say memory dey knock door for her mind.

“Hm? Why e be like say… I don hear your name before?”

My chest tight. Na only God know wetin she go remember.