Kokonma.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw him. At first, I thought that I was seeing things so I rubbed my eyes vigorously and looked closely at the stranger in front of me. He was still there, I was not hallucinating.

He was dirty, his clothes torn in various places and the most shocking part should have been the fact that he was covered in blood from head to toe, no, the most shocking part was the fact that no one, no one, paid attention to him. Everyone looked straight, looking anywhere but him, no one got out of their car and offered him help. I found that even my mother was doing the same.

He looked.... weak. He looked lost and confused but still no one gave him more than side glances. I turned to my mom:

"Mummy, look at that man." I blurted out as I pointed at him.

He was standing in the middle of the cars caught up in the go-slow now. His hands were covered in blood too and he held them in front of him like they were foreign object. Judging from the wide patch of deep brown stain on the front of his shirt and the fact that he was not clutching his stomach in pain, the blood did not seem like his own.

"Jesus! Chim o!" My mom shouted unceremoniously as she took in his state, as if she had not seen him before. "Nothing that we will not see on the roads of Lagos! Look at that poor man, he must have been in an accident."

I stared straight ahead as I said, "Or maybe he killed someone, mummy."

My mother's head turned sharply to look at me, then at him, then back at me again.

"Koko!" She laughed a little, nervously scratching her chin. "You have such an evil mind."

I laughed too, not in the least amused one bit and said, "Well, it comes from being a therapist for prisoners sometimes, mummy. You wouldn't believe some of the things that people do."

She laughed again.

I fumbled for my glasses and peered at him again. He was looking slowly at everyone on the highway and people were already honking and shouting at him to get out of the way. He seemed ready to cry and I felt my heart lurch in pity so overwhelming that I was surprised. I did not know this man and only God knew what he must have done to get that much blood on him.

But as I watched his movement closely, he did not seem like some of the murdering psychopaths that I had encountered even though one could never tell with them. I brought out my phone and took a couple of pictures of him.

"Oga, abeg leave road!"

"Comot nau! Didirin!"

"Be like say this guy na ritualist o!"

Everyone seemed to be talking at the same time, throwing spiteful words at him and the look on his face was close to.... it was close to betrayal and confusion. Could it be amnesia?

I wanted to tell them to stop it, to help him, to do anything but I knew that I would probably get lynched. Besides, my mom would not want to get involved in something as messy as this. She was nice, but not up to that extent.

Suddenly, I begun to wish that I had taken my own car maybe then, I would have driven him to the nearest hospital or something. I wanted to ask my mom if we could do that but I knew that she would say no. She would not want blood on her new leather seats, and my dad would probably question the hell out of her. He would probably accuse my mom of cheating on him during our three-day stay at Akwa-Ibom.

The traffic was already thinning out and our car was moving albeit slowly. I saw now, as I squinted my eyes at him harder, that some of the blood was his own. He had a deep gash on one side of his head and blood was gushing out of it, fast. That would be the reason why he was so weak. He was in dire need of medical attention.

He put his hand on the wound, as if just realizing that it was there, and flinched. He looked at his hands again and held it in front of him, he then started to walk slowly, his stance mimicking that of a zombie.

It would have been easy to jump out of the car and help him in, to drive him to an hospital. But what type of person was he? Would he even want help? Well, I would never know unless I tried.

My hands were already on the handle, when our eyes met and I could not explain how I felt. He stared blankly at me and I wondered, for a split second, if he was looking at something over my head. He wasn't.

His eyes widened in fear as I maintained his steely gaze and he begun to run, slowly and unsure at first and I jumped out of the car and shouted, "Wait!"

He broke into a steady run and I stood there, feeling inadequate, as I watched his bloody back disappear from my view.

"Kokonma! Come back here!" I heard my mom say, but I stood there until I could no longer see him.

"Koko!" I sighed and entered the car. It was no use. The man was gone and I could have helped him, only if I had made up my mind in time. I wondered if I would see him again. There was probably no chance that seeing him would happen, I thought.

So much for my powers of prediction.

                               ~°~°~°~

Idakpo.

There she was.

That woman I had seen on the highway those few months ago. She was sitting with a mug to her lips, working on her computer.

The universe was against me! Did she have to come here? What if she recognized me? She couldn't. I was a nobody and she seemed like a somebody, why would she recognize me?

Well, I would not take any chances, I would stay away from her. I would serve other tables and not even go close to her-

"Idakpo," Mr Olu said, cutting into my thoughts. "Serve table four. The other waiters are busy."

Oh no! That was her table. My bad luck working against me again. I looked around and saw that the others were just sitting around doing no work at all. Why did it have to be me?

"Sir?" I hurried after him as he had begun to walk away. "Table four?"

Mr Olu sighed and shook his head as he eyed me viciously, his gaze telling me that he was tired of answering stupid questions. "Yes, Idakpo. Table four, that was what I said."

I chose my next words very carefully, "Sir can I serve another table? Please."

He raised his eyebrow and turned so he could look over to the table, "What? You're scared of a woman now?"

"No sir, it's not-"

"Then what is it?!"

"Nothing sir."

"Go serve the table."

My walk to the table was painfully slow and my heart thudded against my chest. When I thought of it, there was really nothing to worry about. Even if she recognized me, there was nothing she could do to me. I would tell no one even though what happened was a mistake. She forced me to do it.

I was only a few feet away from her but she had not even noticed me. She was hunched forward, typing furiously on her computer. It was now or never.

"Ma'am? What would you like to order?"

She raised her head, her eyes twinkling with an emotion I couldn't quite put my finger on. Was it happiness? Her eyebrows furrowed but it was only for a second. She smiled and said, "Do you have ofada rice?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What about those soft chicken that you guys cut into small chunks?"

Against my better judgement, I asked, "You've been here before?"

"Hee-hee! Yes. I came here with my mom last year."

"Oh. We have the chicken."

"I'll have all that and one fanta, thank you."

I hurried away and let out a small breath that I had been holding in. She did not recognize me! She didn't. It was supposed to feel like a little victory but it made me feel oddly disappointed and unseen. I had been so convinced that she would know me, even at first glance. She had squinted at me so hard, that day, that even my head had hurt. But today, she only saw the shy waiter that would bring her food. I should not have been surprised by this, like I said, I was a nobody.

"Kunle, table four wants ofada rice and plenty pieces of chicken." I told the chef as I grabbed a bottle of Fanta from the freezer. I got no reply.

"Kunle!" I said again, more sharply, and he turned slowly and shrugged. He had been talking with one of the waitresses.

"I heard you the first time, man." He said softly, obviously irritated. "You couldn't see that I was busy?"

I apologized.

About ten minutes later, I was walking back to her, a tray full of what she wanted in my hands. I placed it on her table gently.

"Oh, thank you." She raised her head and smiled at me. I was unbelievably flustered.

"Yeah, sorry it took so long," I mumbled. I was worried that she would not hear me but she did anyway.

"Oh, no problem. You must have had other customers that you needed to attend to." She took one spoonful of rice and smiled again. I smiled along like a fool. God only knew the reason I was still standing there. I made a move to leave.

"Wait," She placed a hand on mine and I felt electricity shoot to my spine then through my entire body. She removed her hand quickly and I remembered, although it was irrelevant, that she had shouted that same word at me on the freeway those few months ago.

Her eyebrows were furrowed though she was still smiling, "I am sorry for acting like a psycho but you look awfully familiar."

The warning wheels in my head were spinning out of control, cautioning me to get as far away from her as possible. Another part wanted me to stay and remind her where she knew me from and perhaps tell her the circumstances that led to that event. As I thought very well about the latter, I deemed myself foolish. Someone that I did not know from anywhere and I wanted to tell her everything. What other name could that be called but foolishness?

"Ma'am, I don't think I know you," I said, my voice shaky with my pretence. Suddenly, I wanted to get away from her, I wanted to get away from the restaurant, I wanted to get away from my sad life.

"Don't call me ma'am. I'm Koko," She smiled again. "And I could swear that I've seen you  somewhere before."

I shrugged when she looked at me expectantly for an answer, and she laughed again. She seemed like such a happy person and for a moment, just for a moment, I despised her.

"What's your name?" She used her fingers to pick up a piece of chicken and stared at me as she placed it in her mouth. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I found that...well, I just found it somehow. A nice kind of somehow.

"It's really unprofessional to tell you my name, ma'am."

She laughed and said, "My name is Koko!"

I smiled but shuffled uncomfortably on the spot where I was standing.

In a minute or two, Mr Olu would burst out of his office and shout, claiming that he was not paying me to stand around and chat with customers. I had to leave.

"I-"

She seemed to read my mind, "Say no more. You can go. Here's money for the food so you don't have to tend to me again."

And I didn't.

Immediately I left, I worked on other tables and I did my best to ignore her. I did not notice or know when she left but she was not there when I went to clear her table. She left a 40 percent tip under her plate. I almost cried.

~°~°~°~

She came back four days later, wild-eyed and restless. She looked furtively and I was confused at first but then something clicked; she had remembered. I was alarmed, then flattered, then alarmed again.
Even if she had recognized me, why had she come back? Was she merely curious or was it, as some would say, something about me?

"Hi," She tapped one waiter on his shoulder. "I'm looking for someone that works here," She paused. "No, I don't know his name." Another pause. "Um, he's muscular, very tall, light skinned, has a mustache, um...um, he is also very handsome and he seems shy."

I heard her thank the waiter as her eyes continued to dart through the restaurant. She seemed so confused and I smiled at the expression on her face. I recalled her words: he is also very handsome. Me? Handsome? That was roughly the most nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

Perhaps that was why I walked over to meet her, my heart and brain clouded by her kind words.

She looked shocked to see me, as if she could not believe that I would come to her voluntarily, then happy but before she could open her mouth, I said, "Maybe we shouldn't talk here."

We sat silently on the bench at the back of the restaurant for some long minutes until she said, "You recognized me, didn't you? That was why you were so shy?"

I nodded, looking forward, "Among other things, yeah."

"Can you look at me please?"

I did what she asked but looked back down almost immediately. Her stare was too intense and it made me nervous. But then, everything made me nervous.

Her hand skimmed lightly over the wound that I had had. It had healed up nicely over those few months but there was still an ugly scar on my head. She remembered that too.

"If I had seen it, I would have recognized you immediately," She said and smiled again, her hand on my cheek. She was so beautiful, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration as she took in my face. I wanted to touch her, even if it was only her hand. But I was too scared, my hands shaking violently that I had to hide them in between my laps.

"Care to tell me your name?" She was still smiling at me and I wanted to smile too, but my lips were stuck in one place.

"It's Idakpo," I spelt it for her.

"Huh, nice name."

I smiled now, "There's no need to patronize me, Kokonma."

She laughed again and stopped and was silent for a while, her hand now on mine.

I knew what was going on in her head, I could almost hear it. For some reason, she wanted to know what had happened to me and for some rather odd reason, I would tell her. I had a feeling that I would tell her my middle name, which I had never uttered to anybody in my life, if she asked.

"You want to know how I got all bloody and shitty that day?"

She laughed, the sound harmonious to me, and said, "I did not think you would be one to be so vulgar but yes. Tell me how you got all bloody and shitty that day."

"Okay."

Then I told her everything.

~°~°~°~

Kokonma.

He said that he had stabbed his stepmother on that fateful day.

No, no, he said hurriedly, she did not die but she deserved to anyway because she had taken it a step too far.

What was the it?, I asked.

She molested and raped me, he said.

My heart stopped then. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. To tell the truth, I had thought that it was only females that could get raped. It was only females, who had been molested and assaulted, that appears on the news and on social media. I had never thought that there were men out there afraid to say something for fear that they would be mocked because to almost everybody, men did not get assaulted or rather, they could not get assaulted.

"Um, I'm sorry," I said after a while.

"No need to be. You did nothing to me, it was all her."

"How did it happen?"

"How did I let it happen, you mean?" He chuckled without humor, not giving me any chance to talk. "How indeed. She started doing those things to me when I was sixteen, or she made me do things to her when I was sixteen. I don't know which, maybe a little bit of both. She would threaten to kill me, my best friend, my dad. My mom is dead so she couldn't kill her," He chuckled again and I closed my eyes, tightly, my hand still on his cheek.

"She enjoyed hurting me," He continued. "She whipped me with belts and tied me up and sometimes, she burnt my skin and would say that I would grow to like it. I didn't, I hated it. I hated her. I hated myself for being so weak. She told me that if I did not sleep with her, she would tell my dad things and I would lose him because he would believe her. She made me call her mommy."

His face twisted in disgust at his last sentence and he moved a little bit closer to me. "She just made me do things! Stupid things. Afterwards, I would be so disgusted with myself. I would try to kill myself but she always managed to stop me. She saved me again and again but she would not stop."

They were tears in his eyes but they remained unshed, a heavy restraint obvious in his shoulders.

"Idakpo..." I hesitated because I did not know what to say. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Whatever," He looked up to the sky, trying so hard to blink the tears back. "Anyway, she came into my room that day and I had had just about enough. I told her no. She would not have it though, and she had hit me with something very heavy, I can't even remember what. I had stabbed her on her shoulder with a knife, those small ones. I really don't know why I did not do that sooner."

"What did your dad say?"

He shrugged, "I haven't set eyes on him since that day, and he hasn't called either. The employment here comes with a live-in at the boy's quarters."

"What about your clothes?" The irrelevancy of the question hung in the air, but he answered me anyways.

"I bought new ones. You know, I collect a salary."

"You don't go out with friends?"

"I don't have friends."

"I'll be your friend."

"Yeah, sure," He grunted.

"Listen," I placed my hands in his. "I  have friends, Idakpo. Friends who can help put your stepmother in jail for as long as you want. I want to help you."

He was already shaking his head before I completed my sentence, "I don't want anything to do with her. Besides, I'll be mocked Koko! What will people say? I'm twenty-six for goodness sakes. They'll laugh at me. I've gone through my journey alone and I'm still alive, damaged but still alive. So, no, thank you."

I nodded. It was only natural he should feel that way. Maybe something else could help him, something that would help him loosen up, something that could make him trust me because I knew he was having his doubts, something that would make the burden he was carrying a little less heavy. I knew the exact thing.

"Um, what about a therapist?"

He shifted uncomfortably, looking this way and looking that way, but then he stopped and stared at me. And in his eyes laid a promise, a promise so heady, it made me dizzy and happy.