These gone weeks have given me a lot of questions I never knew I would ask till now: Why are humans born if they’re just going to die? Why does my mummy force me to finish everything in the vegetable soup she makes and does everything in her power so I can drink the bitter leaf water for strong bones and teeth? Bones that by fire and even much more force are going to be weakened in the next sixty years, making me like Grandpa in the village.
It’s the two-week anniversary to Mrs. Ajayi’s lashing on me, and guess who reminds me. Constance. Someone I never even speak to. I’d just blame Hamzat because I know Emelie can never say something he doesn’t want to say without knowing. Looking back at this week, I’ve been just the ideal friend, so I see no reason for him to say a word. At the beginning of the English class this morning—before Miss. Kachikwu comes in— all the way from the front, she says, “Elvis, remember what happened this time last two Fridays?” with her pointing finger in her mouth then Seun Aro mounts his desk and begins to spank himself. I was expecting that from Dotun, but he has been calm as a lamb and I don’t know what’s wrong.
It has been since that Friday He, Mercy and I entered a lot of trouble, but that couldn’t be it. He's just too stubborn to be held back by a ten minutes punishment of ordinary kneeling.
Since Mr. Ojo, the school accountant came to give Emelie a letter to give his parents yesterday, he’s been pretty distant, but I don’t know why. Because of this, I sit by Dotun today since Fehintola wasn’t in school yet.
“See the funniest in the class,” I say before I sit.
His eyes roll to see me then back to his desk and they say, “Get out!” Note: He doesn’t voice it, his eyes do.
“Why you so quiet?” I know I may be looking for trouble, but seriously, I miss the lively Dot Man, he called himself.
“If it’s your mission to get me in trouble, like I got you, I’m sorry.”
“What?” I’m so confused by this guy now. I thought Dotun didn’t know any of the magic words, but clearly, he did. “Sorry for what?”
He pushes his chair out and I think I’ve released the lion, but he goes to the open door quietly and returns to his seat to whisper to me, “Miss. Kachikwu is coming.”
I don’t know what to do, but for sure, I don’t sit there anymore. “Just smile today, please.” Dotun is not okay, and I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. When I head to my sit, I see Dotun crying, but when I look at him again, his face is as dry as Chijioke's chapped lips. I must be running mad.
Hamzat is the only one who notices me rubbing my eyes just as Miss. Kachikwu enters and he whispers, “You can see the ghost too?” when we are standing to greet.
I’m confused. Hamzat always confuses me. “What ghost?” I reply when I’m slowly sitting down.
He feels foolish or rather idiotic, and doesn’t say anything.
I take advantage of the fact that Miss. Kachikwu is shaking her marker and facing the board and I bow my head nearly to the level of my desk. “What is wrong with Dotun?”
“So you don’t know,” he blurts. “He is coming from the orphanage.”
Like a witch, Miss. Kachikwu commands, “Hamzat, get up.” Without even looking to the back.
I don’t feel the smallest guilt for making him stand, so I still tug at his trousers. “So?”
He says, “Leave me alone,” at first, but I silently pester him more and more, so he tells on me. “Miss. Kachikwu, Elvis won’t leave my shorts.”
Now, like a good witch, she says, “That’s not true. Write while standing, for lying.” I won’t lie, I couldn’t stop laughing. But without making any sound.
Hamzat is the tallest in the class and he’s already beginning to slouch like an old man. And he’s not even ten till next month. He has his hands at the edges of his table and he is not writing. He looks at me from the corner of his eyes. “Why would you say ‘so’? So? Don’t you know what orphans go through at all?” I almost don’t here anything, because his voice is so low, like a cat's meow.
“I don’t know now…” I whine.
Miss. Kachikwu is writing on the board another essay topic for us. Descriptive Essay: My home. I find this below my standard after all I have done since Year three. She should know this is below my standard. Anyways, I write as she writes. She is giving out outlines, tips and instructions when she alerts: “Someone’s pen is talking. Is it Elvis'?”
Of course, I have nothing to say to that and I just stare at Hamzat, waiting for him to answer me.
He looks at Miss. Kachikwu, then me, then Miss. Kachikwu again—like he wants to cross the road— before he raps, “He’s going to be suspended if he fights again, and the orphanage he comes from don’t play o. If they suspend him, the orphanage will remove him from school permanently.”
I’ve only seen Miss. Kachikwu smile once, since I have known her and it was the first day I came to Bells in August 2013. My mummy came with me and Vivs, but Mrs. Oke, the proprietress said she wouldn’t take Vivs in, because she would be a big liability. The first time I had heard that word and it stuck, because Mrs. Oke didn’t just say liability, she said big. Mum's eyes were red immediately she said that, and leaving the room, she bumped into Miss. Kachikwu at the door, who knelt to talk to Vivs. She and Vivs were communicating with signs, and Mum didn’t know have what to say, except, “Thank you. I needed that.” Miss. Kachikwu said she had a little nephew with autism and that everyone learnt sign languages online, so they’d be able to communicate with him freely. “Vivian’s case is different though,” she says. “She has really high chances of speaking fluently. In fact, she will speak fluently.” Ever since then, she comes to our house on Saturdays she’s free to give Vivian speech therapy and I try to be as helpful as I can, so she doesn’t tell anyone that I have a sister that doesn’t talk well.
I find it hard to believe that Miss. Kachikwu does anything at all to favour me. She turns around finally, and drops her glasses on Constance’s desk. “Hamzat, why can’t you stop talking?” She steps to the middle of Nneoma and Constance. “And you are talking to someone you are supposed to be fighting to get higher than. Stop talking, check your scores and try to boost them.” If at all, she makes things worse for me.
She is not done scolding Hamzat, but I flip to see my last two Fridays’ essay. I don’t know what I wrote, but she gave me twenty over twenty and two stickers; and blue star and a purple smiling face. Her comment is long and it’s in red pen, so if someone saw my book from afar, they would assume that she was correcting me, instead of praising me. I won’t talk about your imagination anymore, but just cherish them like gold. You are ten children in one and that’s something to be proud of. Keep it up, Elvis even though this ought to be a narrative. The skies are your starting point. I cover my book immediately and I start to pant. I look at Miss. Kachikwu, then Hamzat, still standing in shame, then my essay. Can you talk? Of course, I can talk. That’s the greatest story ever told. What if I can't talk and she can’t talk? Would that be the commonest story ever told? I close it again and keep panting, because it is another sixteen lines of that nonsense, and I don’t want to see it.
I look through Emelie, Mercy, and Seun till I gaze at Dotun. “If they suspend him, the orphanage will remove him from school PERMANENTLY.”
YOU ARE READING
Running Away Solves Everything
General FictionIt's 2018 on the islands of Lagos, Nigeria and however hard Ekene, Tomilola and Elvis try to convince themselves that they're okay, they know they aren't. Ekene had always struggled to be noticed and acknowledged, but now, as it extends to even his...
