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It was raining.

The clay roads were muddy as water puddles were pooling at potholes and dips. The water flowing through the street was dark red. Emeka watched by the door of his mother's food store as it rained. Occasionally a car or motorbike will pass by, inevitably splashing water on pedestrians that were trying their best to hurry back home.

Emeka hated the rain. But no matter how much he hated the rains they happened every year from June to September — raining season.

"Nwa m." The sound of his mother's voice made him turn to look at her. She was inside the small shop, covering the bags of grains so that water wouldn't get into them. Emeka was sitting on the clay slab that served as a stair into the small store. Emeka smiled at his mother, getting up before skewering into the store to help her protect her goods.

"Nwa m, ewela iwe," the middle-aged woman said, smiling at Emeka as she clasped her hands together in a pleading motion. She was a plump light-skinned woman, while Emeka was dark. No one would guess they were related until they saw his father. "Help me go to her shop," the woman said, pointing out into the rain. Emeka looked out, noticing that she was gesturing at the road that led to his aunt's shop.

"Tell her I need beans," his mother said, adjusting her wrapper as she looked back at him. "biko na."

"Okay," Emeka said after some hesitation. He didn't want to go out in the rain, but his mother might remove her slippers and give him a beating if he tried to act like a grown up. He smiled at that as he put on his sandals and picked up a nylon bag to cover his head before running into the rain. Igbo parents were funny. One minute you were a small child at eighteen, and the other minute you were an adult. Well, it depended on whatever mood they were in.

Emeka was an only child, so his mother was a little more patient with him. It wasn't the same with his friends, some of them were still getting scolded like children by their parents.

Emeka had just finished his last year of secondary school, and even though he had written the jamb exams and chosen his first and second choice universities he wasn't putting much hope into it. A lot of people in his village couldn't just afford it, and that included his family. Even though he was the only child, his mother's food store and his dad's mechanic workshop wouldn't cut it when it came to raising funds. He had just decided to be happy for his friends who could while he realistically looked into helping out with his father's business.

"You're not going to university?" his friend had asked him while they were sitting on the grass together watching a football match. It had been in the empty clearing with concrete blocks piled high on two sides to create goal posts on either side of the field. Multiple boys ran around barefooted as they chased a worn-out ball.

"I'm not," Emeka had confirmed, looking down at the grass.

"Ah, it will be hard to marry. Everyone wants their daughter to marry a doctor or an engineer," Ebube — his friend had said while morphing his hands into a tiny picture frame. "You won't get married if you can't pay the bride price oh!" His friend pointed out, making Emeka roll his eyes.

It was true, a lot of the girls around were looking for the city boy that would come and marry them. At the end of the day, those types of men coming back to the village to find a wife were far in-between. It's not like there weren't any women in the city — there were plenty.

"Self, it's not like you have any babe you're targeting," his friend had continued, and Emeka had simply given Ebube a nervous smile, saying nothing in return.

There was something Emeka couldn't tell anyone, and he was beginning to be afraid that people would catch on. He didn't like girls — he didn't pay them much attention. He threw himself into his studies so that he could say books were his concern now, and people, in general, believed him. With graduation, he had a feeling his mother and friends would start pestering him.

He liked men. But that was something he only knew in his mind. He hadn't said it out loud, or even to himself in his mind. The fear of uttering such a thought into the wind meant that it would linger in his mind — become more than a thought.

The rains were less heavy now, Emeka could somewhat see where he was going. "Hmm," he sighed, letting out a small complaint when mud got to the sole of his feet through his sandals. He didn't blame anyone for walking barefooted in the rain. The roads ran red and muddy, and sometimes a motorcycle with an unconcerned driver would splash mud on you.

He continued to walk in the rain, and he gave thanks when the rainfall turned into a light drizzle. The rain eventually stopped on his way, and the clouds gave out, making way for the hot sun to shine again.

It was odd. So much rain, but it was still so hot.

The street he had to pass to get to his aunt's shop was lined with mansions surrounded by seven feet walls. It was an Igbo tradition to build a house in your village once you 'made it' in the city. Most of these houses didn't have anyone in them, and maybe sometimes at Christmas, a family or two would visit for the holidays. That's why it was surprising when Emeka met one of the gates wide open with people running around with brooms, trashcans, and dustpans. The rain had just stopped so, it seems they were taking to opportunity to sweep now that the soil was damp and wouldn't float around as dust.

Emeka spotted three cars under the canopy, and he could see luggage still waiting around to be sent inside.

Did they come to clean? He wondered. Sometimes the families that owned the houses sent people over to do some cleaning. He stopped in front of the gate and looked into the mansion's compound. The house was a dull eggshell white color with black metal roofing. Emeka tried to search his mind for a time when he remembered this particular gate being opened but he couldn't remember.

Families didn't come to the village during the summer often, so he wondered why this house's gates were open.

"You." The sound of someone yelling in an odd accent made Emeka blink before looking towards the veranda. It was then Emeka noticed the group of nicely dressed people sitting around a table and sharing drinks.

"Yes you, what are you looking at?" the young man said. He looked about twenty, and his words seemed to have startled both Emeka and the people sitting around. The man was wearing plain jeans and a red tee shirt. His hair was high — uncommon around the village since most people kept their hair short because of school or the mere practically of easy maintenance.

"Nothing..." Emeka trailed, pulling down the black nylon bag he had put over his head. "Sorry."

"Don't be standing there while saying sorry, leave," the man continued, and Emeka nodded before walking away as fast as he could.

"Why would you do that?"

"Do you like people looking into the compound like that? What if people are planning to steal?"

"Haba! Nonso, calm down. It's your village, be kind."

"They're just going to gossip, what's the point?"

Emeka couldn't hear the rest of the conversation since he had walked past hearing distance. He went to his aunt's shop and got his mother the bag of beans she had wanted.

"Did you see? Oyinbo!" his aunt had said when she packed the beans into a cloth bag for him. He knew what his aunt was talking about. Emeka just smiled at her, not wanting to be pulled into a discussion about the people in that house. He was still a bit flustered from the interaction he had with that man. He thanked his auth when he tied the bag and handed it to him. Emeka left her shop, and he avoided taking the route he had come through to bypass walking past that house. He didn't need anyone shouting at him like as if he was a thief.

Glossary:

Nwa m: My child.

Nwa m, ewela iwe: My son, don't be angry.

Biko: please.

Oyinbo: White person, Foreigner*

*But sometimes it's used to refer to Nigerians that don't live in Nigeria. The actual full term would be "onye obodo oyibo" (Person who lives in a foreigner's land.)

Explaining intonations: Nigerian and generally African languages are tone based. Some words do not have meaning and are just for dramatic effect. In English, there are some examples ('urg', 'err', 'hmm'), but there are more in languages where the tone of your voice is important when determining what you mean. An example of one I used in this chapter was 'na.' Na does not have a meaning, but it's used when you're trying to sound 'cutesy.' The other one 'Haba' is a tone you put when expressing frustration with someone's decision. A few other tones that don't have a meaning: 'ke', 'pim pim pim', 'ewo', 'haye', 'chai' etc.