Discussing His Tomorrow
Ndukwo got out of bed and stretched himself noisily. That morning was unusual and boring. Like other mornings, he would be woken up by his mother's screaming of his name. But today, his mother ignored him and left him sleeping in bed until hunger woke him up. He became conscious of the day and then thirsty. He found a glass cup of water on his bedside table. It was the cup of water which he left untaken precious night. He took it and drank the water. He had hardly dropped the cup then his mother barged into the room as usual.
"It is time we ate breakfast," his mother announced manly.
"What is the breakfast, mama?" asked Ndukwo.
"Yam with egg sauce - your favourite," she answered briskly.
"Thank you, mama," Ndukwo said. "I am coming," he added.
"Come now!" His mother said and left.
He checked his wristwatch and it said 10:45 a.m. It was almost noon and no one woke him up from sleep. Why did his mother serve breakfast by this time? Maybe today was Saturday, he thought. He seemed to have forgotten their breakfast routine on Saturday. Breakfast was usually served late in the morning of every Saturday, he remembered. His mother usually made sure she finished house chores before preparing breakfast for Ndukwo and his father who often had little or no engagement that day, except in the evening. That was the sign Ndukwo always looked out for to say what day exactly Saturday was. Sunday morning was different. They did not always eat breakfast before leaving for a church service. He was used to such a practice and had never complained about it.
He placed his feet on the floor and yawned noisily. The floor was dry and chill. He walked tiredly to his wardrobe, put on new wear and headed for their dining room. There was no life in Ndukwo's pace. He seemed tired and hungry. As he walked on, the thought of Iyabo's mockery filled his heart. He became angry and, at the same time, he tried to forget it but to no avail.
After that day Iyabo mocked Nkdukwo, she had been away from school throughout the remaining days of that week. The incident happened last Tuesday. Many a classmate believed that she was afraid of what Ndukwo would do to her. Anyone in her shoes would be afraid because the angry boy had a bad temper. That was one thing he had that was not working for him.
That day of mockery, Iyabo returned home in the evening in her unusual person. She was somewhat covered in a quilt feeling it was the guilt caused by her act of mockery. It made her remorseful all through the evening. She could neither eat dinner nor relate with her family as usual. Her parents noticed that behaviour and worried her to tell them what was going on with her.
What happened at school, Iyami? asked her mother in Yoruba, but Iyabo bowed her head, saying nothing. She had been warned against making trouble at school, but she often found herself in the act of troublemaking.
When her mother pestered her vehemently, she opened up: Mummy, I am sorry.
That answer did not satisfy the anxious mother. It only made her too worrisome. Sorry for what? Let it not be that a boy had eaten her daughter, she thought, feeling crazy.
Why are you sorry, Iyami? Her voice came another time, screaming hysterically in Yoruba at the young girl.
Iyabo was startled greatly and began crying. Her father stopped the interrogation and took the girl into her room. She could not stop sobbing.
It is enough, Iyabo. Stop crying. Her father consoled her, soothing her back. I don't want you to cry anymore, he said and continued. "I'm you father, and you know how much I love you. Do you think your father can't protect you from harm?
No, she mumbled a reply, shaking her head.
Good girl!" He said and cuddled her, then freed her. "See Iyabo, I believe you're beautiful and I want you to look at me and talk to me. Okay! So, what happened? Your feeling, I have noticed, has been strange, her father worried her, and she finally spoke freely.
Iyabo went on to relate all that happened at school that day. It was obvious that she was more unhesitating with her father than her mother. She admitted before her father that she was at fault, that she was sorry for mocking the boy.
Daddy, can you do me a favour? Iyabo requested.
What favour?
Can you help me plead with Ndukwo?
Is he the boy that you mocked?
Yes. I am afraid, he might beat me.
Her father smiled and nodded to that request. Is there any other thing I can do for you? he asked, but Iyabo waved her head and said no.
See, Iyabo", his father began to talk to her in a new calm tone, your mother and I love you and your younger siblings. Don't keep any information about yourself away from your parents. When you do so, you have somehow kept them away from protecting you against danger. Always be ready to share with them your problem, sadness or happiness. Do you understand me?
Yes sir, she replied.
Let me call your teacher and tell her you will not be in school until next week. Is that okay with you?
Yes sir. She smiled and embraced her father happily.
That was how Iyabo stayed away from school throughout the remaining three days of that week - she missed schooling from Wednesday to Friday. In that part of the world, Monday was a sit-at-home day. It was a day the people accepted among themselves to be their holiday, and they did not go out for their businesses to mark the remembrance of their beloved fallen heroes. Hence schooling continued holding from Tuesday till Friday.
After talking with Miss Ozioma concerning the fight between her students, Iyabos's father requested the number of Ndukwos's father. He placed a call to the reverend pastor, but no one picked it up. Later in the evening, the reverend returned the call. It was in the discussion that Iyabos father realized he was speaking with his former pastor at the church he was attending. They spoke happily and then reconciled the fight between their children.
One certain day before Iyabo's mockery, Miss Ozioma called Ndukwo to her table and offered him a seat. She presented him some snacks and ice cream but he declined it. Since Miss Ozioma had been working as a teacher, no student had turned down any present or gift from her. That was a good reputation to her, and she had wanted to keep it up. But today marked the end of that goodwill. She felt bad when the boy who sat in front of her turned her present down. Several entreatments came from her until the boy gave in and received the presents.
"Thank you, Miss," Ndukwo appreciated.
Don't mention it, Miss Ozioma said.
Ndukwo smiled at that expression. He remembered that Miss Ozioma had taught them to say 'Don't mention it' or 'You are welcome' after someone said thank you. But he was uncomfortable sitting beside his teacher. He was so shy that he was tongue-tied, unable to express himself. Since he began schooling at Elite or elsewhere, he had not found himself sitting very close to a teacher, especially a female teacher. He was uncomfortable. Sudden heat developed in him and sweat covered his face, running down. She offered him a long toilet roll. He got it and wiped his face. There was no one in the class at that time. He feared Miss Ozioma was up to something bad, as his intuition informed him. His heart kept beating fast; he could even hear the sound of his heartbeats.
"Ndukwo, how are you?" Miss Ozioma said.
"I am fine, Miss."
"Are you scared?"
"No, Miss."
"Okay. Don't be scared. I am your teacher. Okay?"
"Yes, Miss."
Miss Ozioma paused, examining Ndukwo's awkward response and continued calmly.
"Ndukwo, she called him.
Yes, Miss.
Do you know that you are bright?" said Miss Ozioma.
"No, Miss."
"Yes, you are. I have seen it in you. Everybody in this school knows that you are bright. But there are things you have that are not working for you. If you don't end them, they might end your life," she said.
"What is that?" asked Ndukwo.
"You believe in Ogbanje, that is the thing. Although you were born with half a little finger, it is not enough reason to say you are Ogbanje. Do not listen to people and their fetish stories that they tell to explain most things that are beyond their understanding. I have also noticed that you are bad-tempered. Have you not noticed it too?" She asked.
"No, Miss. I have not," Ndukwo answered, frowning.
"I know you may not have noticed it. I have seen, that you are quick to angry. And I want to help you overcome anger..."
Miss Ozioma was still talking when Ndukwo got up. See the standing, he stopped talking.
"I want to leave, Miss," Ndukwo said, interrupting her.
"Sit down, Ndukwo," said Miss Ozioma. "I am not done talking. I still have other things to talk about with you."
"I am sorry, Miss," Ndukwo said in anger and left her.
Miss Ozioma felt disrespected by Ndukwo's attitude. She waved her head in regret, for she did not expect that her most outstanding student could just walk out on her. She knew the boy was promising; she envied his brilliance and intelligence, but she doubted whether his end would be pleasant. That boy was struggling with a false belief his family, his entire society, held of him. He seemed to have accepted the belief - the belief that anyone born in the manner of his birth was Ogbanje. The danger of accepting such a belief was a turnaround of his destiny. And to survive this struggle, he inevitably took up violence and hate as weapons of survival. Until he survived the struggle, he would lose his life. Killing or hating people could not see him through in the struggle. If truly he was Ogbanje, as he had believed or was made to believe, he had better return back to where he belonged it was useless to be alive hating people especially those who shared that fetish belief. All these thoughts preoccupied Miss Ozioma's mind throughout the day. She saw herself in the queue of men and women hated by the ever-sad-boy. She decided that she would one day make time to visit Ndukwo's parents and discuss the boy's future with them.