Chapter 2: Corridor Gist and Heavy Memories

Before interview go start, everywhere dey buzz with gist.

For corridor, people dey whisper, dey press phone, dey adjust shirt like say breaking news fit drop any moment.

“The young madam wey dem wan interview today na the real oga for Onwudiwe family.”

Na so one cleaner dey yarn as she dey sweep. Security man lean for wall, dey nod head. Everybody wan show say dem sabi Amara story pass another person.

“I hear say five years ago, she lose her sight and dem even push am comot from family. If no be her fiancé stand by am, she for don finish.”

The gist dey flow like Nollywood script, people dey add jara join. As dem dey talk, I pretend say I no dey hear, but my heart dey count every word. Cleaner pause, wipe sweat with wrapper, eye the akara tray near reception.

“Shhh, lower your voice—”

HR madam quick hush dem. For Naija, gist fit fly but if oga catch you, query sure. Tone reduce but eye still sharp like ogbono oil.

I just dey one corner, try force smile out. My nails dey dig deep for palm.

As dem dey gossip, me I dey pretend dey busy for phone, but for mind, wahala dey boil. My finger dey pinch my palm, make I feel pain small so my mind no go waka far.

Suddenly, Uncle Musa, my senior, turn to me: “Ikenna, abeg, go fetch me water.”

Uncle Musa na correct man, always dey give small job to new pikin. I no argue, just nod, waka sharp-sharp to water dispenser near entrance.

As I reach dispenser, main entrance swing open.

The sound loud, e scatter my thought. My hand almost drop cup.

Somebody waka enter.

E be like say time pause. People stop dey talk. All eyes turn face door.

My mind blank.

For that moment, I no fit remember why I dey there. Brain just off, heart dey run like bus for hold-up.

After three years, Amara Onwudiwe don change sotey I nearly no recognize her.

No be that small pikin wey dey cry for night again. She waka enter like person wey sure for herself, head high, confidence dey shine for body.

Where she once be frail and thin, now she stand tall, face don soft, mature.

Her Ankara wrapper fine, the yellow and blue dey shine under office light, and the scent of her coconut oil waka enter my nose. Even her skin dey glow, her smile bend like crescent moon, but her eye no dey smile join. Person wey don see tears but now, e no dey show for her face.

“Excuse me.”

Her voice still sweet, but now e get weight. As she talk, e be like person wey no dey rush, every word soft but clear. The whole place just respect am by force.

She talk with calm voice, her eyes pass over me like say I be stranger, no stop at all.

No sign say she remember anything. E pain me small, but I gats maintain.

With bodyguards following, she waka go the stage.

Even the way her bodyguards dey waka, e clear say power dey her side. I look their face, nobody get time for small talk.

As she pass me, I freeze.

Na only my body dey move, my mind just dey hang. E be like say my leg dey rooted for ground.

E take me some seconds to return to myself.

Na only my own mind drag me back, Uncle Musa voice no come.

Those two years I spend with her na when Amara dey her lowest. Dem don push her comot from Onwudiwe family, car accident blind her, so she no know my real face.

All those days, na only my voice and my shoulder she get. Sometimes she go touch my face, ask: “Na Ebube?” I go just nod, but my heart dey pain me.

…No wahala.

I tell myself: Na so life be. Person fit do good finish, e go turn secret. E get as e go be.

When I carry water return, interview don already start.

I waka jejely, careful not to make noise. My seat dey back, so nobody notice as I slide enter.

Amara sit for stage, her eyes dey scan the hall, dey answer business question with composure.

She dey talk like say she dey deliver lecture for university. Even old men dey jot as she dey break business. She no dey shake at all, her voice dey command attention.

Suddenly, side door near stage open.

Na small creak I hear, then movement. People look back.

Ebube stroll enter, dey smile as he apologise: “Sorry, Amara. Work matter hold me for set, na why I late.”

Na so Ebube dey do—smile always ready for camera. Everybody dey look him, dey whisper.

He arrange suit, sit beside Amara.

E cross one leg, adjust tie as if all eyes suppose dey on am. E hard for actor to forget camera dey everywhere.

Room quiet small, then atmosphere warm. People dey eye them like perfect couple. I just dey look.

Uncle Musa sip water, look me: “Ikenna, you and Ebube get small resemblance.”

My mind cut, but I force smile. “Him na celebrity, abeg, you dey whine me.”

But na true. Because me and am, na real brothers we be.

Inside me, I dey think, "If only person sabi wetin dey under the surface." But for Naija, family matter na secret unless e burst for public.