AMID SECRETS - CHAPTER 10
*Nwanyieze’s POV*
While he drives, I sit silently beside him, enjoying the warmth of his jacket and looking out the window. I’m still trying to figure out why on earth Maduka has to be around me in times of trouble.
Still in my thoughts, I jerked when he called my name.
“Nwanyieze.”
“Hmmm?”
“Tell me about yourself, please.”
The request catches me off guard because to me, it’s unusual. None of the men I’ve ever been with have asked me such a personal question. Usually, they just want the sugar. I’m suddenly uncomfortable, and find myself looking down at my hands.
“Why do you want to know?”
He briefly glances at me and smiles. “I’m merely curious and since this car is as silent as a graveyard, I thought it would be a nice way to start up a conversation. But, if you don’t want to, then that’s fine.”
He doesn’t look the least bit bothered or disappointed. “Do you want to hear about me, instead?”
The question makes me laugh. “Somebody likes to talk.”
“I like talking to people. Making connections, getting to know them. Humans should communicate more in person.”
“Wisely said, Professor Maduka…what’s your surname?”
“Obiagu.”
“Professor Maduka Obiagu.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Okechukwu.”
“You told me your parents are deceased. I’m sorry about that.” I said
“Thank you.”
“What’s your favourite food?” I asked
“I love abacha,” I said with a laugh. “Sadly it’s not popular in Lagos.”
_______
*Maduka’s POV*
She loves abacha?.
The revelation silences me for a few seconds and I feel her watching me.
As children, before I left the orphanage, the Nwanyieze I knew loved abacha so much that Sister Benedicta used to buy it for us thrice a week in small nylon sacs, and I would tie the end of the little sac, bite a hole through it, and hand it to Nwanyieze so she could suck the meal through the hole.
Usually, she quickly finished hers and demanded for a part of mine, which I was always glad to let her have. Infact, I deliberately ate mine slowly and left a part of it for her.
“Gimme, gimme,” was what she always chanted, making grabby hands and reaching for my food.
She taps my arm roughly. “Do you want to get us ki||ed? Abeg oh, tell them say you no see me!” (Please, tell them you didn’t see me!)
“What happened?” I asked, snapping out of my thoughts.
“You almost hit another car!”
“I knew what I was doing,” I argued, inwardly cursing myself for zoning out. This was what had been happening, me zoning out sometimes during the day because my mind was being overwhelmed by memories I had suppressed so long ago.
“Ehen. Observant driver,” she snorts.
“Who do you stay with now? How long have you been in Lagos?” I asked
“I live with my aunt.”
“How long have you been in Lagos?” I repeated.
“Is this an interrogation?”
“More or less,” I laughed.
“Stop it, then.”
I realise how uncomfortable she is. In the silence of the car, I hear her stomach growl. Embarrassed, Nwanyieze crosses her arms over her torso and tries to sink into the car seat.
“Ignore that sound!”
I hold my laughter and nod dutifully. After a minute, “Do you have food ready at home?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m silent for a few minutes before she says, almost tentatively, “I’ve been in Lagos with my aunt for three years.”
“Obviously, you’ve adjusted pretty well.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. We’re at Fadeyi now, and I’m hoping that she won’t notice. At this time of the night, the road is occupied by few cars, allowing me to speed freely.
“Won’t you ask about how my parents died?” she questioned, Ç0ç?ing her head to one side, her big eyes fixed on me.
“That would be prying,” I replied, although I’m anxious to know because it’s really important.
“Oh, I don’t mind you asking.”
“Okay. So would you tell- ”
“Hey Maduka! We’ve passed Onipanu! You’re supposed to go into Shipeolu through Elediye!” she interrupted, looking out the window and whipping her head back to glare at me.
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
Alarm briefly shows in her eyes and she seems to shrink away from me. I feel terrible because the light in her eyes has dimmed.
“You’re just like Saheed,” she whispered.
She has no idea how the remark affects me. I’d never throw her into a pool or hurt her while trying to stuff her into my car after a quarrel. Added to the fact that I actually disliked the guy.
“I am nothing like Saheed.”
“You take decisions concerning me without my permission!”
“Oh, come on, Nwanyieze! I’ve never hurt you, have I? Trust me a little!”
“Where would you be taking me to by this time of the night if not my house or…”
“A hotel, abi?” I smirked at her.
“Maduka, if you know what’s good for you, you’d better take the nearest U-turn and drop me home!”
I don’t know which is funnier, her facial expression or her thr_@t. Either way, I burst into laughter. This girl really is something else! Hungry and basically helpless, she’s making thr_@ts.
We argue until I pull up at Allen Avenue, Ikeja.
“You can’t be serious,” Nwanyieze said with a laugh. “University of Suya?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” I asked her, getting out of the car.
She remains right there on the seat, obviously struggling to keep being mad at me. I go round the car, open the passenger door, and lean close to her. Her scent rises to tease my nostrils and I wonder what her skin would feel like against my lips.
“If you like, keep doing shakara. Me, I’m going to buy suya and when I come back, don’t even think about begging me,” I whispered into her ear. “Because I won’t share it.”
I leave her there and walked away.
______
*Nwanyieze’s POV*
OK, fine!
I’m actually hungry. I follow him to the little building, where he stands before the row of mallams roasting suya. There’s a little crowd, and so I have to elbow my way to stand beside him. The sweet smell of roasted beef and mixed spices makes my stomach grumble and my mouth water.
“What would you like?” he asked me.
“Gizzard dey?” (Are gizzards available?)
“Sure na.”Of course.
“I’d love some gizzards and beef please. Lots of yaji and onions, too.”
In ten minutes we are seated at a small table, busily chewing suya and gizzards. Maduka orders for two bottles of chilled Coca Cola.
“Look,” he said, showing me his Coke bottle. “It says ‘Share a Coke with Saheed.’ ”
I burst into laughter and I notice him watching me with interest.
“Mine says ‘Share a Coke with Chief.’ ”
“Hey, let’s exchange. Saheed is yours, not mine.”
Maduka reaches for my own bottle of Coke and I snatch it away. “He’s your friend, too!”
“He’s more than your friend!” He said
I like the way he looks when he’s laughing. His nose scrunches up like a baby’s and his eyes grow smaller with crinkles at the corners. His lips rise up at the corners to reveal strong, white teeth. I notice a long scar above his left brow and absently reach out to touch it.
“What happened to you?”
I notice he doesn’t flinch. Infact, Maduka seems to lean into my touch.
“I got it while fighting.”
“You don’t look like the violent type.”
Suddenly his gaze seems to intensify. A corner of his mouth rises higher than the other. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. How’d you get it?”
“I can’t remember why I even fought.”
“I’ve never fought in my life.”
“Despite this your sharp mouth? I’m surprised.” He said
“I had my ways.”
He tried to bite off a chunk of suya from the kebab stick, and flinched when some pepper got into his eye.
“$h|t!” he exclaims, quickly getting up and stalking outside. I grab a bottle of water from a passing waiter and run after Maduka.
“I’ve got water!” I exclaimed.
He turned to face me, one eye closed and a hand outstretched. I helped him wash his hands first, then stood by while he washed his face.
“Ndo, (Sorry.)” I told him as he dried water from his face.
“I meela, (Thank you)” he replied.
“Does it still hurt?” I asked.
“Yes, a little. Could you please check to see if there’s anything left in my eye?”
Using the torchlight of my small Nokia phone, I checked his eye for him. Maduka is extremely tall and has to bend to my level. I hold my breath cautiously so he won’t perceive the onions on it.
“It still feels like there’s something there,” he says.
But I can see nothing! I think, annoyed. I’m running out of breath and my lungs are beginning to burn a bit, but I hang on, bent on making sure his eye doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m still thoroughly examining his eye when he starts to shake. When I realise he’s laughing, I step back, confused.
“Are you done suffocating?” he questioned.
“Maduka!” I exclaimed, getting the joke. He knew I was conscious about my onion breath, and so decided to waste my time! His mischief causes me to laugh, too.
“I thought you were going to faint.”
“Such a smart @zz,” I retorted before turning to go back to our little table.
We round up our meal, he paid the bills, and ushers me back to his car.
“Now I can finally take you home.”
“Finally.”
“Tell me one thing, though,” he said after two minutes of silent driving.
“What’s that?”
“How old are you?”
Why is he asking such personal questions? If I tell him my age, will it make him treat me any differently? Will he think me immature? He looks to be in his mid-twenties, from my observations.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Ah,na waa oh. Are you one of those girls who don’t tell guys their age and then give out their emails only to reveal something like sarah1993luvsyou@yahoo.com?”
I chuckle inwardly. That’s a plain stupid thing to do.
“Soon you’re going to ask me when I last had my period! You’ve asked so many questions. Now it’s my turn.”
“Fine, ask anyway then.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Old man.”
“Hey, I’m working towards being the best sugar daddy in town.”
“Don’t give up on your dreams.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Where are you from?”
“Imo State.”
“Oh, wow. I’m from Imo State,too.”
I don’t bother asking which Local Government Area, because I’m very sure he’ll ask the same and since I never knew my real parents, I don’t know where I’m from.
“Where in Imo are you from?” he asked the dreaded question. My stomach ties itself up in knots and I feel a flash of self anger. How many times have I told myself to get over it, to forget that I’m displaced in my own country and that no one will ever come looking for me because I belong nowhere?
“What’s your favourite song?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I love almost all genres of music, so that’s a difficult question.”
“Me, too. From Flavour to Cynthia Morgan, Asa, then back to ABBA and Whitney Houston and Bob Marley! Heck, sometimes I enjoy K-pop.”
At that moment, he turned on the radio and Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time begins to play on Cool FM.
“I love this song!” I squeal, surprising myself.
“We’re soul mates, then,” he said with a laugh.
“No, we’re not.”
“Is there anything wrong with what I said?”
By now we’re at Jibowu, making a U-turn under the bridge.
“I don’t have a soul mate,” I blurt out, suddenly feeling this overwhelming sense of vulnerability from nowhere. d@mn, it must be my period on its way, scattering my hormones all over my bloodstream and messing with my brain.
I haven’t genuinely enjoyed anyone’s company in such a long time. If I’m not at school or at home, then I’m in some hotel room underneath the sheets with a man old enough to be my father two times over (they’re the ones who pay much more). I’ve always felt that I’m tainted, too undeserving of some of the pure pleasures life has to offer. Pleasures such as having a nice chat over good food with a friend, laughing at jokes instead of discussing segz and it’s price.
No, this life isn’t for me. I’m not going to find a soul mate and settle down because, obviously, no one would want someone like me. If he ever found out what I did… I can’t imagine this handsome, laughing, open face scowling at me in disgust, but I know it’ll hurt like hell. What would his deep voice sound like, full of stinging words and curses?
“Hey, Nwanyieze,” he said ,waving a hand in front of my face.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and notice that Maduka has parked the car by the side of the road and switched on the interior car lights. He’s leaning towards me, brows drawn together in concern.
“Are you okay?” He asked
“Of course,” I replied. Looking for something to do, I shrug off his jacket and twist my body to fling it onto the back seat.
“What happened to your arm?”
I touch the scar on my right arm. It’s a shiny, horizontal one, darker than the surrounding skin.
“I’ve had it forever. It’s always been there.”
He looks thoughtful for only a second before running a hand over his face. “It’s very late. Let me drop you so you’ll have some sleep.”
A strange silence hangs over us until he drops me in front of my gate. Just as I’m about to get out of the car, Maduka grabs my wrist. The contact is warm and firm, but doesn’t hurt like Saheed’s grip.
“When’s your birthday?”
There’s something about the way he asks, like it’s urgent. A hint of desperation intensifies his gaze and this makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“March ninth, 1996,” I whisper.
He releases my wrist, nods, and says softly, “Good night, Nwanyieze.”
I half-run away, looking back only once to see him still watching me. Across the distance, it’s like his eyes are able to touch me. Giving him a small wave in the darkness, I let myself into the compound.
I hear him drive away, but not before his tyres screech wickedly on the asphalt.
I know something is amiss.
______
*Maduka’s POV*
Sister Benedicta was there in the nursery, sitting on a chair admist cots and gently brushing the baby’s hair and cooing to her. I noticed a bandage over her tiny right arm.
While growing up in the orphanage, the infected wound had healed to become a scar, which she often touched and raised to show me whenever she wanted my attention.
*”Her: “I’ve had it forever. It’s always been there.”*
~~
“Will she have a birthday?”
“Ninth of March, 1996.”
~~
Her: “March ninth, 1996.”
~~
“She doesn’t have a name, Sister Benedicta.”
“Why don’t you name her, love?”
“I’ll name her Nwanyieze.”
~~
Her: “Nwanyieze.”
~~
While driving home, my hand rises to touch the scar above my brow.
I’d gotten that scar from fighting the orphanage bully because he had pushed Nwanyieze to the floor while dragging her doll from her.
Ooooh My God. What a coincidence..
.
.