Chapter 1: Whispers and Shadows

Our school dey Awka, where red dust dey paint your socks and okada horn dey wake you before cock crow. Na for this stubborn government college everything start—place wey everybody sabi your story before you even open mouth.

My babe, Ifeoma, na bookworm wey dey collect every prize—her name dey always first for result board. Her brain dey shine like morning sun, and her smile calm person like Sunday harmattan breeze. Anytime she answer question, even teacher go pause, dey nod. Sometimes I go wonder how I take jam her side. I dey ask myself, "Omo, shey na jazz or na luck?"

Because of that one, plenty classmates and all the subject teachers begin dey vex for me. Dem dey talk say na me dey drag her back.

Na so the whisper begin spread. Dem dey run mouth like pepper seller for market: "See am, na that boy dey make Ifeoma no dey focus. Since she start with am, her mind dey somewhere else." If I enter class, eyes go dey follow me as if I carry wahala for head. Small thing, one person go cough, another go clear throat—coded way to show say dem no happy say I dey her side. Even junior students dey look us like say we be film for DSTV.

The form master, Mr. Eze, call me talk plenty times, even use him own money carry me go chop night food—mama put rice and stew—dey share him life story with me. He carry me go one roadside mama put, where egusi soup dey smell for air and flies dey hover for corner. Dem dey fry plantain for back, stew dey bubble, oil dey float for top. Wetin he dey talk, e fit summarize am like this: “If you really love her, do wetin go favour her. For una age, to break up go favour her pass.”

That man, e get soft voice when e dey serious, as if e dey beg life itself. He tell me about how him own secondary school love scatter, how e still pain am sometimes but how e no regret letting the girl go so she fit fly. As we dey eat for that roadside mama put—me dey pick fish bone from my mouth, e dey suck stew from spoon—e just dey look me for eye, say, "My son, sometimes love no be to hold, na to let go make the person shine. No spoil her chance."

I feel the concern for him voice, e no get as e be.

For inside that mama put, light from small kerosene lantern dey make shadow for wall. I see say Mr. Eze really mean am. E no talk like teacher wey dey chase pikin away from trouble. E talk like person wey don taste pain before. I chop the rice but e no sweet. My chest just dey tight like wrapper wey rain beat for line.

As I reach house, I tell her make we break up. She no gree.

I sit down for our parlour, fan dey blow anyhow, NEPA light dey play hide and seek. I carry my small Nokia phone, type message tire, delete, retype. When I finally send am, I dey shake. But Ifeoma just reply, "I no fit. Why you dey talk like this?"

Her voice crack, like say she wan cry. I just hold phone, dey look ceiling. She say make we talk for call. Her voice soft, like small rain. She say, "Na you make me smile. Why I go lose you for nothing?" My heart jump, but fear still dey my mind.

Next week as I come back school, na so Mr. Eze change seat for class.

Before bell ring for morning assembly, he call register, draw diagram for blackboard. "From today, new seating arrangement!" E talk am like say e dey share national cake. Everybody dey look me with that eye of, "We sabi wetin dey happen." My own seat land for last row—last row dey near window, breeze dey blow dust enter my eye, sun no dey reach there. I just drag my bag go back, eyes on ground. I look Ifeoma, she look back, her face squeeze small.

Dem push me go last row, but my babe dey front row.

She and her new seatmate, my greatest wahala for this love matter, dey for front. E be like say na movie dem act. My own leg weak as I dey pack my things. I look around, classmates dey whisper, some dey laugh under breath. Even my close guys no fit look me for eye. Na so school be sometimes.

E even worse as her new seatmate na my number one rival for love matter.

This guy—Chukwudi—tall, fine boy, skin dey glow like person wey dey chop correct ogbono soup everyday, always dey wear new sandals from Onitsha Main Market. Book no dey hard am. If dem ask question, na him hand go always first. Even teachers dey use am example. E get confidence wey dey make person feel small. Since day one, I know say e get eye for Ifeoma. If e dey talk with am, voice go sweet like song, e go dey laugh, dey show white teeth. Me, I just dey watch from corner.

The guy sabi book well—na only my babe dey beat am for class. For everybody eye, dem fit be perfect match.

Dem dey compete for first position every term, dem dey read together for library, dey compare answer scripts after exam. If dem stand together, people go say, "E fit be twins." Sometimes, na their joint reading dey trend for class. People go say, "Make una two teach us, abeg." My own side na just shadow—nobody dey see am.

As everybody expect, the guy begin dey chase her with full chest, all the classmates dey support am, teachers dey encourage am codedly.

If he buy gala, he go buy extra for Ifeoma. For assembly, if rain dey fall, na he go hold umbrella for two of them. Teachers dey smile, dey nod head, dey push two of them together for any small group work. Sometimes, if I waka pass, dem go clear throat or laugh, as if dem get coded gist. The encouragement dey come in small small ways, but e loud for my ear.

Na so form master get wetin him want.

Ifeoma dey drift, teachers dey happy, class dey balance—at least for their eye. Me, I dey feel like person wey dem use broom chase out from shrine. Nobody dey ask how I dey. Na only small group of boys wey dey my side, dem go just pat my back, "O boy, sorry." But even dem dey fear make dem no collect stray bullet from teacher wahala.

All the subject teachers, as if dem plan am, dey pair two of them for everything—classroom decoration, meetings, even for Christmas party, music teacher give them special slot to sing Tiwa Savage "Love Because It’s in the Heart" together for finale. For rehearsal, dem dey spend all afternoon and evening alone for the school hall, dey plan steps.

December dey near, Christmas party dey hot. Music teacher—Aunty Blessing, wey dey always wear red lipstick and big Ankara—just announce, "Ifeoma and Chukwudi, una go sing duet. Make una rehearse well-o!" All the girls for class dey giggle. I dey for back, dey squeeze pen. Rehearsal dey stretch long. Sometimes dem go forget time. If I waka pass the hall, na their voice I go hear—laughter, song, sometimes Ifeoma dey correct am, "No, start from chorus." My own chest dey ache like old wound.

After Christmas, everybody for school dey talk about the two of them—na dem be the new golden couple.

You go hear, "Ah-ah, those two! E fit reach marriage." Even junior girls dey dream to be like Ifeoma. Boys dey hail Chukwudi, dey ask am for advice, "How you dey do am?" Even teachers dey tell story, "See, two brilliant heads together dey make fire." My name just fade for story. People even dey forget say na me and Ifeoma dey first.

My babe, I no know whether she really no notice or she dey pretend. She just dey act like say nothing dey happen. Everyday, I dey waka for life like zombie, like clown wey light dey shine on, shame dey burn me anytime I enter class.

When bell ring, my leg dey heavy. I go enter class, all eyes go turn. Some go whisper, "See am." Ifeoma go wave, smile, act like nothing. For corridor, some boys go tap me, "Guy, you try!" but na mockery. Sometimes I go waka past mirror, see my face, wonder who I turn to. E dey pain, but I dey act like say I no send.

The one wey pain me pass be say, my rival birthday and my own na the same day, but I no know.

For our class group chat, e dey always talk about horoscope, birthday, but I no notice say him own fall same day as my own. I even dey plan small surprise for myself, dey hope say Ifeoma go remember. My mind dey play me. I never sabi say na the same day dem go scatter my heart finish.

On my birthday, after night prep, class prefect tell everybody make dem wait small.

I dey happy, dey expect cake, dey imagine say Ifeoma and my close guys plan something for me. Class prefect, Seyi, shout, "Make una wait!" Everybody calm down, switch off classroom bulb. The hall quiet, only sound of generator dey hum from distance. My body dey shake small, hope dey bubble inside me.

I dey hear my name for my mind, dey imagine Ifeoma go shout surprise. My chest dey drum. Some people off light, everybody begin sing birthday song.

The voice blend—girls, boys, even teachers dey peep from window. I dey smile, dey feel love wey dey fill the room. The sound sweet me. I dey imagine say na me dem dey celebrate. All my pain begin melt, small joy dey return.

That moment, tears just begin fall, my body dey hot, everywhere dey sweet me as everybody dey sing.

Na so my mind dey race, I dey thank God for small mercy. My eye red with tears of joy, my hands dey shake. For my mind, I dey plan how I go thank Ifeoma, go hug my guys, go buy drink for everybody after.

But as dem on light, I come see say all the eyes, all the song, e no concern me.

Suddenly, I see cake for front, but the name wey dey written no be my own. Everybody dey look Chukwudi, dey clap, dey carry am up. I dey stand for one corner, mouth open. Light shine for my face, but na only me dey invisible. Even Ifeoma dey sing, dey smile. My joy freeze, embarrassment choke me. E be like say I dey dream.

My tears just freeze for embarrassment.

I no fit move. My leg heavy, my chest dey pound. Some people dey look me, dey pity. Others dey form say dem no see anything. I just stand, face wall, pretend say I wan find something inside my bag. But inside me, everywhere don dark.

I waka comot quietly.

I waka small-small, no look anybody for face. I dey pray make nobody call my name. As I dey close door, I hear small giggle, people dey shout, "Chukwudi, happy birthday!" I waka reach corridor, air cold, night breeze dey slap my face. I just keep waka, try make my tears no fall outside where people fit see.

Inside, the laugh and celebration still dey echo for my ear as I dey go…

Even as I waka go hostel, the sound of their laugh dey follow me. Every step, e dey loud for my ear. I pass some boys for corridor, dem dey gist, dey talk about the party. My own heart dey break, but nobody sabi.

After that one, I really begin dey feel say I no reach. I dey dodge people, no dey talk, begin hate school, dey fear crowd…

I waka reach hostel, I lock myself for inside, tears dey fall like rain for July.

From that day, I begin avoid everybody. For class, I go sit back, head down. For assembly, I go hide behind tall boys. My mind dey heavy, I no dey greet teachers again. I dey carry black mood waka everywhere. Sometimes, I go just dey think, "Wetin I do? Why everybody dey against me?" My confidence just vanish.

I begin dodge class, waka anyhow, disappear for days, just lose hope for myself…

Sometimes, I go hide for sick bay, pretend say malaria dey worry me. I go fake cough, lie down, dey count ceiling. For library, I go sit for one corner, no open book. When bell ring, I go disappear, waka reach old staff room wey nobody dey use. I go sit for window, dey look sky. My spirit just dey sink deeper, I dey tire for myself.

My babe try reach me many times, dey call, dey send long WhatsApp message.

She dey drop voice note, dey beg, "Why you dey avoid me? Wetin I do?" Sometimes she go write long message, "I miss you. I dey worry. Talk to me, abeg." I go read am, but I no get power to reply. My heart dey heavy, my mind dey roam, my fingers dey shake anytime I see her name.

She talk say she notice say I dey change, but she no sabi why.

She dey ask, "Did I offend you? Why you dey push me away?" Sometimes, I go almost reply, but shame go hold me. I no wan make she pity me. I no wan talk my pain, because e dey shame me say I dey jealous, say my spirit weak like this. I just dey lock my heart.

God, she no even know why I turn like this. Na deep loneliness just carry me, make me feel say I no belong for this world again.

Sometimes for night, I go lie down for my hostel bunk, dey look ceiling, dey count fan blade. I go dey wish say I fit vanish. My heart dey empty, I dey feel say nobody fit understand me. My mind go dey play old memory—when we dey happy. Now, I dey feel lost, like stranger for my own life. Even prayer hard. Only God know as my mind dey turn.

Na one week later my mama find me. As I see her, guilt just catch me. She don suffer, hair rough, face dirty, eyes red, voice don crack.

Na one morning, as sun dey break, I hear noise for hostel gate. Na my mama. She don search all hospital, police station, relatives. She waka enter compound with slippers wey dust cover, wrapper tie anyhow. Her face show pain—hair rough, face dirty, eyes like person wey never sleep for three days. As she see me, she no talk, just rush come hug me. Her voice no loud again, na only croak, "My pikin, na here you dey?" Shame just grip my soul.