My mother likes to plan ahead. If there is no plan, she collapses. If one thing goes wrong, she has always prepared another way. I am nothing like my mom. I try to plan but if I think too far ahead I get confused and scared. My mind spirals out of control. I am not like my mother and it makes sense, because I am not hers. She found me by the road at night when she was driving home. She almost killed me. Some days, I wish she had. I don’t remember much before my mother, just a vague face, one of a man. I do remember his back, always just his back. Even in the loose white shirt you could see the rippling of muscles. Chocolate brown skin with sweat always dripping from it. I don’t know if it was work or the sun, maybe both. And his hands. Rough and large, like a gorilla (no racial stigma attached). It’s moments like this I think of that man. Moments when the sun is beating down on me through the window and mommy is giving me another lecture. About how I’m not disciplined, reckless, impulsive.

“What is the point of having such a big brain when you never use it?”

I am barely listening. Just staring off into space. What was the reason I got in trouble this time? Releasing the chickens from the shed, no. Leaving the compound to hang out with Tolu, Daniel, and Chiamaka, maybe. Or was it that I forgot to wash the dishes again; does it matter, they’ll get done either way. I don’t know why she’s yelling.

“Nicole! Nicole!”

Large back, chocolate skin, sweat dripping down. “Oluwatolulope Somtochukwu Nicole Egbuiwe!” I snap my neck up to her. Mommy’s stern face looks down at me. Brow furrowed, eyes hard. The wrinkles on her forehead deepen. I feel like she frowns only because of me.

“Yes ma!” If I don’t answer she’ll beat me with a cane. “Are you listening to me, you no de hear word(1). Shebi(2) I’m the one that brought you into this house! I’ll remove you just as fast, make you no de try me oh!(3)”

“Yes ma.” It’s better to accept than fight, because when you fight, you get punished, and I’m not in the mood to kneel for four hours till my legs are numb, and my raw skin bleeds from scratching at it.

“Comot for road(4), I have work.” I get up from the plastic chair in her office and walk out the door. The wooden door slams behind me, and the netted door follows after I release it. The splinters in the poorly cut wood pierce my hand, but I don’t flinch.

I turn left and stare at the clock at the end of the hallway. It’s half past twelve, I need to eat. I walk in the direction I turned my head, slightly up, then turn right into the kitchen. I flick the light switch on the wall, but no light comes on. Two options, either the bulb is out, which means I have to change it, or NEPA(5) has taken light, which means it’s not my problem. I walk up to the fridge and pull the door open; cool air and light hit me at once. Oh god, I have to change the bulb.

I walk out of the kitchen all the way down the hall, past my mother’s office and room, past my room, and into the living room. The fan is on, but the lights are off. I flick them on and off to make sure I don’t have to change those too. I don’t. I turn right to the living room and unlock the door into the heat. The sun beats down on my skin, and I squint to let my eyes adjust to the light. I step out onto the burning pavement, no shoes on, who cares.

We live in a compound: basically a large apartment building with walls surrounding it on all sides. The only way in is through the gate; don’t try to climb the walls, the barbed wire will cut you everywhere. Sometimes it feels like a prison, but when the gunshots are heard so closely it feels like they’re right next to my ear, I’m grateful for this prison.

I walk up to the small house next to the gate, separate from the main building. The guard lives here; he opens and closes the gate when we drive in, and only allows people in that we trust. Mr. Abu, he’s funny, I like him.

“Mr. Abu, I need new light bulbs!” I yell from right outside his door. Some guards also sell goods on the side through a small window in their tiny parlor.

“Ay, who are you?” Mr. Abu opens the door and pokes his head out at me.

“Mr. Abu I no get time(6) for jokes now please gimme the bulbs.”

“When was the last time you came to visit me that I go give you(7) bulbs like that,” he says, the grin on his face betraying his hard words.

“Old man I no get time for you, I go call(8) the madam to come and beat you oh.”

He makes an incredulous face and says, “Chai!(9) You are a mean girl, wait one moment.” He disappears into his little house and comes back later with two bulbs. I take them from his hand and give him 20 Naira. “Ah Ah, when have you ever needed to pay me?”

“So I can have it back?”

“Eh?! Goodbye small girl!” He closes the door as I walk away laughing.

“Your voice is so loud, I can hear it from Sokoto state.” I jump and look into the window next to me. Tolu’s grinning face is pressed against the net on the windows.

“I hope you inhale dust and choke,” I laugh at him. His grin widens. Oluwatolulope, my name sake and my secret boyfriend, although he doesn’t know it yet.

“Wait for me, I want to eat with you.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “We don’t have enough food to feed your fat mouth! Don’t come out!” But he’s already dashed off.

I’m still thinking about if I should run home and leave him when I feel his breath right next to my neck. Goosebumps form on my skin. “Good you didn’t run away, I would’ve chased you around the compound.” His breath tickles my ear. If I was white I would be blushing, but I’m black so I back step onto his bare foot.

He jumps back in pain, holding his foot and hopping around. I double over with laughter.

“You think this is funny? This is why you don’t have a boyfriend, nobody will marry you.”

“Good, that means I can live my life in peace.” He sets his foot down and walks towards me, linking his arm over my shoulder.

“You have to get married, so I can take care of you,” he grins down at me. I wish I had the courage to kiss him, but I don’t, so I look at the ground bashfully.

“Shut up and let’s go.” We walk back to my house, his arm still around my shoulder. I don’t move it.

When I open the door, mommy is sitting on the couch watching TV. NCIS flashes across the screen. Tolu quickly removes his arm from my shoulder and kneels to greet my mother(10). Cool air hits the place where his arm once was. I frown slightly at my mom. Why did you need to come out of your office now? My mom doesn’t spare Tolu another glance and she waves her hand for him to get up.

“The bulb in the kitchen is out,” she says, staring into my soul.

“I know, I just went to get more from Mr Abu.”

“How much did you give him?”

“Twenty Naira.” Pause. For a split second that feels like hours, I hold my breath.

“Alright. Tolu help her change it please I don’t want her to fall.”

I breathe out as Tolu jokingly salutes her. She smiles softly and goes back to watching TV. I grab Tolu’s hand and drag him to the kitchen.

“There is no chair here for me to stand on,” I sigh.

“Do you want me to go and get one?”

My mom is right, I’m too impulsive. It would have been easier for him to get a chair, but instead I say, “It’s fine, you can just lift me, right?” I cock my head to the side and smile at him cutely.

He grins at me. “Alright.” I set the bulbs on the counter, and stand under the burnt out bulb. Tolu squats and wraps his arms around my thighs, then he lifts. Quite easily too. “Did you lose weight? You seem lighter.” He looks up at me concerned.

I smile down at him, “Why, do you carry me enough to know my weight difference?”

“Cause your skin is soft and I like it.” My eyes widen at him. This boy is too bold for his own good. I look up and unscrew the bulb and he lowers me. I set it aside, and grab one of the new bulbs.

Tolu lifts me again. “Oh my god, ?” I smack his head with my free hand and laugh.

“If you smack me again, I’ll drop you,”

“If you drop me, my mom will kill you.” I screw in the new bulb and Tolu sets me down. He quickly runs to the light switch and flicks it on; light suddenly illuminates the room.

“I did it!” Tolu yells excitedly.

“I’ll beat you again–what do you mean you did it?” He laughs at me and hoists himself onto the counter next to the bulbs.

“So what are we eating?”

“I don’t know.” I open the fridge and look into it. Stew, half a loaf of sliced bread, jelly, ketchup, and a container of fried plantains. “Do you want indomie(11) with chicken?” He nods and I walk to the cupboards, bringing out two packets. I boil water in a pot and throw the noodles into it. I hoist myself onto the counter next to Tolu.

It’s the first time today I’m getting to admire his face. A rich dark brown, big black eyes, sharp eyebrows, strong jaw, and thick lips, slightly pink at the bottom. Sometimes it’s amazing that he’s only seventeen: a year older than me. “What are you looking at?”

“A foolish goat.”

“I didn’t know my face was a mirror.” I slap his arm and he laughs.

“How is your mom’s work?”

“I don’t know.”

But I do know. I know that the Nigerian government failed to handle the coronavirus outbreak. I know my family members died from hunger. I know the company my mother worked in had to shut down because it wasn’t essential. I know my aunt had to sell her house and move with her husband and son to a smaller house. House is a generous description. I know my mother had to get three new jobs just to help us survive. I know the rich continued to live affluently while people of the lower class suffered. I know the government blamed it on the white man. I know the riots almost had Tolu killed on his way back from boarding school. I know all this because my heart beat along with the gunshots around our compound. I leave my necklaces and bracelets and rings at home when I go outside because I don’t want to get beaten, raped, and robbed.

“If you guys are struggling you know my mom and I would be happy to help.” Of course they would. My mother has known Tolu’s mom since she was in kindergarten, they would do anything for each other.

Tolu and I ate our food under the light of the single bulb in the kitchen of a home with a woman struggling to survive with a child that was never hers. Sometimes I wish she had killed me, and I would die with the contrast of white cloth and black skin. Sweat dripping down.

(1) you never listen

(2) aren’t/yes

(3) don’t make me upset

(4) leave

(5) a light company that controls electricity in Lagos

(6) “I do not have time” - proper english

(7) “I will give you” - proper english

(8) “I will” - proper english

(9) Exclamation word

(10) Kneeling is a sign of respect; dating is not allowed

(11) like ramen

I feel the heat before I smell the smoke. I snap my eyes open, fire engulfing one half of my room, window broken. They must have thrown bottles through the window. Mr Abu, did he let them in? No, he wouldn’t, he must be dead. I jump out of my bed and run past the spreading fire.

“Mommy! Mommy! Where are you!”

Flames lash at me as tears fall from my face.

“Mommy! Mama! Mama please tell me where you are!”

I can’t even see the door to her room over the flames. I need to get out. I make my way to the door, past the burning wood and the baby pictures. Past the flames of the couch and the ornaments my mom got from the U.K. when I was ten. I burst through the door onto the concrete, coughing out the smoke from my lungs. I look up to see the entire building on fire, flames rising out of the windows. People’s screams echo around my ears and I crouch, arms around head, to try and muffle the sound of their dying.

I hate this country. I hate this place. I want to leave. I want to die. Where is my mommy?

“Nicole! Nicole!”

I turn back to the flames of our house, my mother emerges from within. “Mommy!”

I jump up and run to her, tackling her into a hug. The warmth of her body calms me down enough to fully realize the chaos around me.

In the aftermath of the coronavirus pandemic, Nigerian citizens were so fed up with leadership that riots broke out all over the country. Senators and ambassadors were killed left and right. The president fled the country in fear. I live in a time of revolution, and it is horrible. The sky is alight with the flames from our homes, and the screams and cries will follow everyone for the rest of their lives.

They never found out how the fire started, but everyone knew it was the rioters disturbing those who dared to live in peace. I was right, Mr. Abu was killed, and the pain from his death follows each of us everyday.

Since the building was destroyed, people had to find new places to live. Many became homeless beggars, but some moved into abandoned buildings and became rioters themselves. And some, like my mother, Tolu, his mom, and I moved in with their families. Since Tolu and his mother didn’t have family close by, they followed us to live with our family; my aunty Amanda, uncle Olu, and their son Daniel, who is like my older brother. Seven people in a tiny two room flat, it was horrendous. Tolu’s mom begged us to let her leave because she felt like a burden but we refused. It was too dangerous and they didn’t have any money to travel.

The sun beat down on my face as I lay on the dusty road, daydreaming. “Why are you always staring off into space? One day, mosquito go fly(12) inside your ear and you won’t know,” Daniel looks down at me blocking the heat of the sun.

“I’m just chillin’,” I grin at him.

“You’re just chillin.’ My friend, get up from the ground. We have to go and carry water.” I groan in frustration.

The place where my aunt and uncle live doesn’t have running water, and so everyday we have to walk three miles back and forth to carry water from the nearby river. It is not sanitary, but what are we supposed to do? I get up from the ground and dust myself clean as Tolu walks out from the house. “Were you daydreaming again?”

“None of your business,” I spit at him and he laughs.

“I would say you two should get married but nobody has the money to pay for your wedding, so stop flirting and let’s go before I throw up on the floor.” I frown at Daniel, and Tolu makes an impression that he wants to throw up on the ground.

We start the journey to the river and back, trying our best to spill as little water as possible. By the time we’re done, I can’t feel my legs and my arms are like jelly–they blow with the wind. “Chai! If I keep this up my arms will fall off by the end of the week,” Daniel complains. I don’t even know what day of the week we are on, as if keeping track even matters.

We don’t go to school anymore because the country has completely collapsed. We learn if our parents want us too, but my mother is too busy with work to check if I’m actually studying advanced trigonometry. And bonus, my books were burnt to ashes.

“Let’s go and boil water for dinner,” I say, ignoring Daniel’s comment. We head inside, past the adults filing papers on the floor, and into the kitchen/bathroom. Half the room is covered by a shower curtain, and behind that shower curtain is a bucket of cold water with a sloping ground that connects to a hole to drain the water. The other half of the kitchen has a small gas cooker, a tiny fridge and freezer, and just enough cupboard space to keep only necessary utensils.

As I’m pouring water into a pot, I don’t notice Daniel and Tolu have gone quiet until I hear the voices from the other room. “How can you make such a big decision? Is it not too soon?”

Aunty Amanda: “Sister, I’m tired of this country, we need to go and we need to go now.” My mother’s voice echoes in my head. Go where? We don’t need to go anywhere.

“But you barely have the money, and you don’t know anyone in America, what will you even do?” Tolu’s mom. America? Why would we go to America?

“Onyeala!(13) Look what you’re doing! You’re pouring water on the floor!”

Daniel shouts at me and I stop pouring the water. My feet are in a small puddle of water. Tolu runs and gets a rag to wipe at my feet.

“Sorry, sorry.” I step back, still in disbelief at my mother’s words.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Daniel looks at me worriedly, “Do you think she’s joking?”

“When have you ever known my mother to joke?” That is a half truth, my mother only jokes when other people joke first.

“Either way she’s right,” Tolu stands up from the floor, rag dripping water, “What is left of this country? If my mother and I had the money, I’m sure I could convince her to follow you guys.” There is silence in the kitchen once more.

“Can’t you just stay for a few months before making such a big decision,” Uncle Olu has always been a soft spoken man. Against the harshness of my mother, he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Olu, this country is in ruins, and I refuse to let myself and my child die along with it, we’ll be leaving in a week, I already booked the tickets.”

A week?! My heart pounds in my chest, and tears form in my eyes. I instinctively look up at Tolu. His face is expressionless and he stares at the ground right in front of my feet.

“Jesus Christ, one week, is this woman mad(14)?” Daniel looks at me. I can tell he’s about to cry. I grew up with him, I’m like his baby sister. Even though we’re four years apart, we do almost everything together. I place the bucket of water on the ground, wipe my eyes and go outside. I feel my mother’s eyes on my back as I leave, and I know she knows I heard. She will not tell me we’re leaving, and if I am not ready when she’s about to leave, she will go without me.

My feet lead me to Chiamaka’s house and I bang on the gate. The guard pokes his head out for a second, and upon seeing me, immediately opens the gate. Chiamaka is sitting on the steps to her house watching her brother and sister chase each other. She looks up at me, and I don’t know if it’s the frown or the tears suddenly streaming down my face, but she runs and hugs me.

“Whatever happened, it’s alright. Who do you want me to beat, hmm?”

My tears soak her shirt and we stand there crying together for what seems like an eternity. When I finally pull away, I tell her what happened.

“So you’re leaving in a week? Just like that? Nicole, I’ll never see you again.”

“I know.” I stare at the ground because it’s easier than looking her in the eyes, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t force me to.

The sound of the gate opening makes us both look up, and Daniel and Tolu walk inside. “I knew you would come here, you’re always running to her.” Daniel takes a seat next to Chiamaka and Tolu sits next to me, but I notice he keeps his distance. My heart hurts and I want to reach out and hold his hand but I continue staring at the floor.

We talk till the sun starts to set about everything except me leaving, and when the time comes to leave, I look at my best friend’s face for the last time. I know it will be the last time because her bitter smile and tears tell me so. When the gate closes behind us, my tears fall once more, but this time I have two sets of arms wrapped around me instead of one. We walk back home in silence, kicking glass bottles and watching the water of the gutter rush past us. In a week I’ll leave the flames that have engulfed my country, and I will make the echoes of their cries heard around the world.

(12) “A mosquito will fly into your ear” - proper english

(13) Mad woman

(14) crazy

I wish I could slow down time, but as I stare at the stars in the sky, I know my time is up. The week was a blur. No matter how many times I tried to slow it down, I was always pulled to do something else. Now in the quiet night with the crickets chirping and the mosquitoes flying around my face, I know it’s all over.

I know he’s watching me, he has been for some time now, but I won’t push him to talk till he’s ready.

“You’ll be gone in a couple hours.”

I hate that this is how he chooses to start. I turn my head to him. Big black eyes stare right into mine. I want to try and smile, but I cannot bring myself to do it. Instead I pat the floor next to me, and he shuffles to sit beside me.

“Can I stuff you in my suitcase?” He laughs and I can finally crack a smile.

“Never mind you’re too fat, they won’t let me bring it on the plane.” He elbows my shoulder and I chuckle bitterly. I hate that my reasoning for acting on my impulses comes from the fact that I’ll probably never see him again, but I turn and say,

“I’ve liked you since I first saw you, and I’ve never stopped. I don’t think I know how to stop.”

He just looks at my face, silence engulfing us and freezing time. I get to admire his face one last time. Big black eyes, I never noticed how long his eyelashes were. Strong nose that flares when he’s upset, he’s scary when he’s mad. Sharp eyebrows and a strong jaw, when they twitch and shift I know he’s laughing or teasing me. Big soft lips, slightly pink at the bottom. I stare at those lips for a long time, and when he brings them to meet mine, the world melts away. I hate that this is how I have my first kiss. From a boy that I was supposed to marry, but now one that I will leave. I don’t notice the tears until I feel his warm hand wiping them from my cheeks. He places his forehead against mine and stares into my eyes. God if you’re watching, why are you being so unfair? To me, my mother, my family, my country, the world. We stay staring at each other for a long time, long enough for the sky to start to lighten, and then we go back inside to sleep.

Usually when my mother wakes me up, it’s with a cane because I should have woken up a long time ago. But this time she pets my nappy hair until my eyes flicker open. I have short hair like a boy because Nigerian heat will kill me if it’s any longer. I hold her hand that is petting me and suddenly I feel like crying again. Everyone has those moments when you feel like the world is against you. This is that moment. My mother looks at me once more and then gets up.

I rise and look to my left. I sleep against the wall, Tolu sleeps right next to me, and Daniel sleeps right next to him. I rise and tiptoe around them trying not to wake them up, and go to have a bath. The cold water does a good job in waking me up, and by the time I am out and dressed, everyone is awake and ready to see us off.

The goodbyes are long and drawn out, and even as the taxi drives away from the house, I turn and wave them goodbye. The airport is as hectic as it has always been, and I am grateful that at least this part of the country didn’t change. When the airplane leaves the ground, I know that this is the end. I close the blind of the window and lean my head on my mother’s arm. She holds my hand and we do what we always do. Silence the sounds of our tears, but let them fall freely.

For the first few months, my mother and I were in and out of homeless shelters, until she saved us enough to get a shabby house in the most dangerous part of Baltimore, Maryland. I spent my school days by myself, very much by choice, and at the end of the day, I was always the first one out of class and onto the street. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could sleep. My mother decided to go back to school along with working and so dinner would be us at the table eating bread and reading our textbooks.

I was questioned on a lot of things. My accent was weird, why wasn’t my hair straight, why did I speak English so well, and where was my daddy?

I spend a lot of time by myself doing what I do best, daydreaming. I wondered what Daniel, Tolu and Chiamaka were doing. Probably sitting in the house helping their parents.

When I walked into the school building, there were pumpkins and bats and fake cobwebs everywhere. Some girl noticed the confused and slightly frustrated look on my face and said, “It’s Halloween decorations.” I looked at her even more confused and she proceeded to tell me how people dress up in costumes and go around their neighborhood asking for candy. To be honest I thought Halloween was a joke on TV, but Americans really are weird. What was even stranger was that my mother had set up a bowl of candy right outside our door for ‘trick-or-treaters.’ I stared at her in disbelief, and she just shrugged at me and walked away.

When the doorbell rang, I opened it to see a pale white boy in a black skeleton costume telling me there was no more candy in the bowl. I went back inside and brought out the giant bag of mixed candy my mom had bought and poured some in his bag. During dinner, I questioned my mother.

“Do we even have enough money to spare to buy candy like that?” My accent was a mix of Nigerian and American and it annoyed me.

“What, you don’t want the little children to be happy?”

“Tell the little children to pay us back and I won’t be so angry.” She just laughed and continued eating.

That night I dreamt about the white shirt on the black man, but instead of me holding those calloused hands, it was a small white boy, the black and white skeleton costume vibrant on his pale skin. And they laughed and ran together.

If only stories like this were true.

Special thanks to:

The sources provided for me to make this story possible.

My mother for being a driving force of the plot of this story. Thank you for letting me share some aspects of your life story.

Bibliography:

Nwogbo, Ken. "COVID-19 Exposes Frailty of Nigeria's ICT Policy on Education." Nigeria Communications Week (Nigeria), May 4, 2020. Accessed May 17, 2020. http://library.pressdisplay.com.proxy5.noblenet.org/pressdisplay/viewer.aspx.

———. "COVID-19: Nigeria's Groan, Operators Feed Fat." Nigeria Communications Weekly (Nigeria), May 11, 2020. Accessed May 17,2020. http://library.pressdisplay.com.proxy5.noblenet.org/pressdisplay/viewer.aspx.

Egbuiwe, Augustina. Interview by the author. Los Angeles, CA. May 2020.