Running Away Solves Everything

Tomilola

There I stare at my wardrobe in my huge school apartment. It’s pretty funny how it hasn’t moved yet; Rotimi used to say a bunch of things about how fixing your eyes on an inanimate object could make it change it’s position, so that’s, as a matter of fact, what’s saturated my head, but now I want to forget him. I am set on what to establish this great lecture slash stress-free morning.

Tomi, I mutter to myself, you are here now; stay focused.

I look at myself in the wardrobe mirror, and my brain just grows numb, as I think of the argument I had with this older brother of mine, Rotimi, the other day. Somehow, it’s like I’m reliving the moment.

I am cutting carrots and green peas and humming along to songs off of Sia’s This is Acting album when he storms into the kitchen. “What are we eating?” His voice is coarse and it almost sounds like a statement not a question. I continue with my singing and washing, “You came to take me away, so close I was to heaven’s gates… Oh, you tried to track me down. You followed me like the darkest clouds… Oh Reaper! Oh no baby, no baby, not today.” Raising my elbows high like that big, green, and brainless monster on TV, I repeat, What are we eating, under my breath. Then, in my head, as if he couldn’t see the carrots, green peas and sweet corn on the counter.

“What did you say?” His eyes are red. I can see the veins on his hand.

I laugh and tease in my best British accent, “I’m just singing. Do you want dessert young master?” because I know if he tries anything stupid I can yell out the name he doesn’t like to hear. Màámi!

He smiles sheepishly and walks away defeated.
Then, he comes back. “Tomi, where is my tab?” sounding peaceful as an idle pen.

“I don’t know.” I stare at the skull on his shirt. It’s all grey, but with a tint of black for the eyes.

“What’s your problem? I told you never to touch it!” He sounds like he’s about to cry and I try to take advantage of that. He clenches his hand, I think.

“And I didn’t!” I waste no time in snapping back.

He grabs my shirt. I smell his breath. Yoghurt, cigarette? “Liar!”

I slip out and race to the door. He loves to make a big deal out of everything. His life is a fuss. Sometimes, I think he’s on––

Then a wooden spoon flies in my direction. The one Mama and I use to turn garri, or Papa’s… It touches just the tip of my head, so I’m not hurt. But I’m severely vexed.

“Something is wrong with you!” I sprint away. “Màámi!” ––drugs. Who drops out of the prestigious Obafemi Awolowo University to go for the Big Brother Naija? Neither had he been chosen to be in the house, nor had he gotten famous. He dropped out to get ready for the year’s audition and competition in February and June ending respectively. Pathetic! And to make things more pathetic, he was in his third year studying law. Third. And to crown all of this, he was on a probation. Like the management of OAU saw him as a liability of some sort after his first year. To speak the truth, I can’t explain, but if I told anyone this story, and say it’s someone not related to me, they laugh and say, “Ha! Village people are at work!” That's literally all they have to say.

I blink my eyes. I touch the spot where the spoon hit me, and all of a sudden, I remember the cloth he wore.

“Ooh!” I wail. “Finally, Timi is useful.” I pull out the green hanger holding my grey and black striped palazzo trousers. Wearing it to the waist of my rosy, multi-coloured shirt, I toss my feet into typically effeminate slippers, then I return to the mirror. Good. With my brown powder, eyebrow pencil and eye shadow moderate as intended.