Moses

"Guy, I am telling you. If you follow that road, BB will break your legs. This na real life wahala o!" Moses whimpers, his grip on my school uniform. We had just walked out of our school gate and Moses had pinned me to a spot with his iron hands.

  "I am not scared of him. I need to go home so I must pass that road."

  "Lolade, let's follow back road na. We can squeeze ourselves in between those abandoned houses and use shortcuts to reach your place," he says and pulls me backwards. I stagger, lose my footing and crash to the ground. "If you follow that main street, you will be dead."

  I frown, lying on the floor, the sun on my eyes. He extends his hand to help me but I ignore him, rising to my full length. "Why should I be scared of man?"

  "Ode! God did not say you should catwalk into danger," he hisses and eyes me. Three students walk out of the school gate and down the road Moses forbids me to follow. We both know that at the end of the street which is a long walk from here, BB and his gang will be waiting for me.

  "I am not catwalking. I'm following the normal route to my house. I cannot be scared of man."

  "Lolade! Lolade! How many times have I called your name? E be like say you wan go hospital today, abi?"

  "I am not scared! Period!" I bark and wiggle my fists in the air.

  "Ewo! You don die be that na," Moses cries out, frantically. "I'll eat your burial rice. Don't worry."

  "I won't die."

  He presses his lips together and sucks in a draw of air, the veins in his forehead twitching with seething rage. "Do you remember that insect documentary we watched in your house and how the soldier termite killed the ant?"

  "Moses, don't even dare to insult me."

  "I'm sure you get the picture."

  "You mean I'm the termite right?"

  "I want to laugh but this isn't a joke. Look at yourself. Are you a boy that beat BB?"

"Yes!"

  "My guy, you lie."

  "Moses, you are a coward."

  "I'd rather be a coward and be alive than to miss my external exams because an idiot beat me up."

  I take a step towards the road and pause. A strange sensation (uncertainty and a big chunk of fear) slips down my back like the red slide in the playground of our school that has the laughter of children in the air. My breath is bated. I glance at Moses and he nods, stifling his laughter as he knows wisdom has dawn on me (like the bird that had perched on the school fence that is high to protect a three-storey building).

  "I'm starting to see the sense in what you are saying," I comment.

  "Ehen! Because we have many of our dreams we haven't achieved. BB is just enemy of progress. Who knows whether the devil is using him to stop you from writing your WAEC."

  "Bro... That’s true," I chuckle.

  "I am a wise guy na! You dey whine me?"

  "But– "

  "The dog?" He knows my thoughts.

  "Yeah!"

  "It's in the sewage already!"

  "How, why and how do you know that?"

  "A man ate it with his okoro soup!"

  "Goodness!" I exclaim. "That big dog?"

"Yes! He killed it, roasted it and ate it for dinner. Someone had told me. There is no dog to chase us like before. Now… Can we go?"

  "What if it's flooded like before? I don't want to have a skin rash like last time."

  "Lolade, if you don't want it to happen again, stop looking for trouble."

  "How did I look for his trouble? I just said facts," I grouse, huffing out air as I puff my cheek in anger.

  "Telling an olodo that he is an olodo is troublesome," he sneers and slams his palm on my schoolbag, pulling me towards the road that will help us escape BB.

  "You mean stating the facts?" I roll my eyes and spot other students curving into the street Moses is preventing me from taking. The sun is hot on their heels and also, slanting to caress our skins, our bodies heading away from its ray.

  "Why did you tell BB that you are more mature than he is?"

  "Dude, it's the truth. He needed to know that his future won't be bright because of his lifestyle."

  "Your mouth needs a padlock."

  I bite back my reply and force my eyes down the road we will have to take to avoid BB. I don't have a problem with it but I do have a problem with the thin road between two abandoned houses we would have to take. I have had a bad experience with it. I'll say it's the worst alley ever. Moses grips my collar and we match down the street, take a right turn and stop at the middle of the two houses.

  "Must we?"

  "Yes!"

  "But the water?"

  "Here is the deal. I'll carry you," he says, his voice soaked and swelling with authority, baritone hyping its texture. My brows go up (slowly), giving him time to rethink his decision.
  "Why?" I finally ask.
  "There is water there! You'll get rashes."
  "You want to carry me? A man of this calibre?" I wave my hands around my body, my lips slanting to form my typical smug look.
  "Which man are you talking about?" his eyes travel around the place. He turns left, right and left again. "Which man?"

"Don't act dumb! I'm a man.”
His eyes twinkle with a laughter that he stuffs into his belly.

  “Won't your back break?"
His mouth is wide, a tunnel that reveals his dentition as he laughs deep and gutturally. "Tallest! You know I fetch water every day. The gallons I carry have trained my muscles."

"But I'm Tallest na? Your back will break. I mean it."
He is in mirth as he replies, "Lolade...You are a joker. Number one African clown."
  He bends and gestures that I climb on him. I groan but do it anyway. We pass the small pool of water (a weed and waste batter) in the alley and he bends for me to get down.
  "As I have saved your life– "
"My reliable brother," I tease. "Let's get home before you begin to brag.”

  "Na to chop be the goal," he announces. "Let's race."
  "You know you will win."
  "Are you afraid of a challenge?"
  "Oya! Let's race," I cheer, our usual play in action. Tom and Jerry on the run!
  "Okay," he responds (smiling) and crouches. "At your mark, get set– "
I smirk and run off.

"Lolade! That's cheating," he screams but I've already gone far.
It breaks my heart to see him sprint pass me and soon, he is by my house gate.
  "Lolade, you lost," he points out and wiggles his index finger at me. "L for loser. Loser for Lolade.”
I mumble incoherent words and knock on the gate. My gatekeeper, a slim but well-built man, trained to fight best with punches, opens the door and I greet, "Good Afternoon sir.”

"Welcome!" he replies, shuts the gate and strolls back to his favourite plastic chair. He was a man of few words.  "Can we eat now?" Moses whispers as we walk into the house. I creep the door close and bolt it. Though my parents owned the bungalow and we had no tenants, I feel more at peace with the door shut than open.

"Yeah! Let us eat," I reply. "So that we can read."
  "I'll need your laptop today."
  "For coding?"
  "Yes! I haven't finished my online course on it. I'm working on an app. See eh! I can't wait to start studying computer engineering in the university," he lays his school bag on the couch and sits to take off his socks. "Wo! When I graduate with my first class, I'll start producing great and reliable computer devices in Nigeria. Yes! And my company will create an app too. I just don't know what the app will be used for. I'm hoping to create an app that will make a great impact in the lives of Nigerians. I'm praying to God for ideas."
I smile. "I'm proud of you. I'm impressed that you have started learning programming. I'm proud that you have a vision...a dream. Unlike me."

  "Lolade, no compare yourself with me o! Your brain is hot."
  "Yes! I'm intelligent and it is causing confusion. I don't know what I want to study in university. I don't know what I want to be in the future."
  "Eh....There is still time to think."
"I know I can study medicine but I am not sure I have passion for it. Like, what will I major in? Brain, heart or Kidney?"
  "Well– "

  "I can study engineering but do I have passion for it?"
  "Well– "
"Because passion is needed. I believe when you have passion in what you do, you live a healthier and happier life. It gives you hope in the good and bad times."
  "Well– "
I interrupt Moses again and say, "The thing is– "
  "Lolade! Can I talk?" he snaps and tosses his socks at me. One falls to the ground beside me and the other, on my shoulder. I narrow my eyes on it and with a flick of my finger, it falls to the ground.
 
“You want to say something?"
  "Before nko!"
  "What?"
  "I dey H."
  "Eh?"

  "I'm hungry na! Very hungry. In your words, I'm famished."
"Yes! Speak that way. We'll be writing Waec soon. Don't go and full your brain with pidgin."
"I still know English. I'm just speaking with what makes me comfortable and free."
I hold back my reply. He stands and picks his socks. I take over his spot on the couch and roll my socks out of my feet. I undo my tie and fold it on the couch. I line my socks beside it and free my wrist, my wristwatch now off. I pick up my belongings and escort them to my room. On the stairs, I halt when Moses inquires, "Aren't you hungry?"
  "Kai! I'm hungry o! What should we eat?"
  "It's your home. You choose. Beggars are not choosers."
  "Dude, beggars have no choice."
  "I've heard."
  "Let's eat noodles. Also, you aren't a beggar."
  "I know. I'm just using idioms," he replies, his voice webbed with insecurities. "We are cooking it, right?"
  "Yes."
  "Let me go and change my uniform. I no wan hear story that oil touch it or soup poured on it."
  I chuckle and continue my journey up the stairs. "Change in the visitor's room. You know where that is.”

"Yeah!" he says. "My parents had to throw their pride away to beg Tobi's parents to give us his uniform since he has graduated. I must protect it till I graduate from school.”
  "Yeah,” I utter, moving up on the stairs.
"What I faced before wasn't funny oo. I used my Js 1 uniform till ss3. Goodness! My uniform was like baby clothes to me. It was too tight and short. The trouser fear ground. I'm happy with this new one. I look sharp."
"I agree! Students really mocked your old uniform," I respond and chortle, now on the topmost stair.
"Yes and I don't care because the vision I have for myself is to concentrate on my academics and goals so as to have enough finance to run a school."
I raise a brow. "A school?"
"Yeah! Computer school that teaches programming, computer science and computer engineering. It will teach the basics, preparing the students for the University. Make sense?"
  "Moses aka Chinedu! How do you have all these dreams?" I quiz and lean on the stair rail.
  "Lolade, let's concentrate on food na! I know if we start this conversation. Food will not reach my belly."
  "Okay! Sorry. Do not forget you started the conversation o! I’m already heading to my room. I'll meet you in the kitchen. Let me shower," I say and run into my room.
  I quickly head into the bathroom and I cleanse myself from my olid perspiration. I wear a simple attire (black T-shirt and blue shorts) and leave my room, glad that my younger brother hasn't set my room asunder.
  "How many packs of noodles?" Moses asks as we stroll to the kitchen. He is clad in his usual Yellow frayed shirt (hand-me-down from his sister) and worn out blue jeans that were badly torn last week when playing football but now, patched.
 
"Six? What do you think?"
  "It is your house. You choose."
  I sigh. Moses can never be free when it comes to this matter. He is always self-conscious because of the difference in the financial status of our families. His father and mother had started life early during their second year in the university (I am glad they did not choose to abort their first child or Moses would not be here). They had dropped out and had to train their two children, Moses and his sister, by selling smoked fish. Life had been rough for them. Moses had gotten admission into our school through scholarship. His sister had attended a public school. They had lived a life of sheer hunger and pain. However, I am impressed and grateful to God for His grace in their lives. Their daughter just graduated from the University with first class. Soon, she will be our next medical doctor. Their dad went back to school and will be graduating this year. A good job is presently waiting for him. The best part, Moses will be graduating from secondary school too. They didn't give up. They didn't let poverty, shame or any social vices swallow them up. They stood firm in their faith and one day, they will all reap the fruit of their labour.

"Let's do six! I'm really hungry so it's only three that can fill my belly," I tell Moses and unlock the kitchen door.
  "It's the small pack of noodles, right?"
  "Yes! Six of them.."
  "Oya! Let the best chef in Nigeria make it for you."
I shrug and pull out a medium-sized pot.
  "You know my cooking skill is great."
  "It's because you've been cooking for years," I tell him.
  "So? Didn't you start cooking two years ago? You should have mastered noodles."
  "I have," I flash a smile. "Let's prepare the best homemade noodles."
  He nods in agreement and we arrange our ingredients on the table (my kitchen: simple, modern layout, well-equipped).
  "We are adding enough pepper oo" I say, pointing at the fresh and ground red pepper.
  "Ah! I hope you have cold water."
  "Always!"
We begin to laugh uncontrollably, fully aware of the enjoyment that will engross us twenty minutes from now.
  "I want us to put in sardines."
  "Hmm… Lolade! Okay."
  "Let me get it." I grab the wooden chair resting at the corner of the kitchen and pull it towards the cupboard.
  "My guy, no na," Moses exclaims. "When I'm here, you don't need to stress yourself."
  He lifts a hand and opens the cupboard above him. He gets the sardine and drops it on the counter.
  "Tallest!" he voices and winks at me.

Puberty and genetics favoured Moses. That's how I can explain this. He is already six feet while I'm still struggling with five something (the lowest of that range). I am not sure since I have not measured my height in three years. He has grown facial hair and I still have a smooth (chubby due to fat I inherited from grandpa) baby face. Moses’ Adam's apple is visible and his voice is deeper, but guess what? I don't even have close to that. Puberty, where art thou? I walk past him and his elbow slightly brushes my forehead. I'm not a dwarf, I'm just (really) short. You can't blame me. My grandparents aren't tall but my parents are. Just put it thus; my parents gave all their heights to my siblings and left me with a pinch.
 
"How many soups do you know how to cook?"
  "All the soups my mom knows. I'm always learning about cooking every day. That's because my sister has been in school and I'm the only one that can help my mom in the kitchen," he elucidates as he cracks the noodles into the pot.
"Sometimes people have the impression that boys need someone to take care of little things like cooking and washing clothes. I feel it's best if we learn how to do it ourselves. One should not live a life dependent on someone else. You can become a liability to them. That's not the best relationship to share with anyone," I chip in.
  "Your mother has influenced you greatly," he opts.
  "Yeah!" I chuckle. "She wants me to be able to take care of myself wherever I go". My mother is a staff in a crèche. She loves children so much that she has chosen a job that has to do with them. That is the kind of life I want to live. A life with a career I have passion to do.
"But your brothers aren't like you. Lazy bunch! They can't even cook noodles for themselves. They rather starve than enter the kitchen."
  "That's why they love junk food. It's easier for them to get," I snicker, amused by Moses’ thought towards my brothers. I would not blame him. My older brothers badmouth him every time they lay their eyes on him.

"Are they still working in your dad's shop?"
I heave a sigh. My dad is a trader. He sells London used house appliances, computer devices and office equipment. One can say he is an okrika seller. My father wants his four boys to give him quadruple of what he earns. I chose the science department which offended him and tried to compensate for that by working in my dad's shop but an expensive item broke in my care. It wasn't my fault but my brothers shaped their lies to get rid of me. I don't work for my dad again and now, they can successfully gather the money they want through embezzlement and exploitation.

"Do they still work there?" Moses asks again.
  "Yes"
  "Those boys will soon become millionaires."
  "Through fraud!" I snap. "When dad finds out, they are dead meat."
  "Tell your dad na"
  "He sees me as a liar, spoilt brat, irresponsible and rude child. With all these, you can guess why I can't talk to him."
  "Your relationship with your dad is really bad. I hope you both reconcile."
  I blow out air and hunch my shoulders. "Mtchew! I don't care. As long as my mom loves me, that's all I need."
Moses rolls out some noodles on a fork. He drops it onto a plastic plate on the table and tastes the food. "Haew! The pepper in this food oo!"
  "Is it too much?"
  "Not really! But it is hot."
  "That's how I like it. Is it ready? Let us start dishing."
  "It is," he goes to switch off the gas cylinder. "Bon appetit, my brother."
 
I serve the food and a bottle of water along it. We pick them up and stride to the living room. I open all the windows and we sit to eat.
  After five sets of the noodles down my throat, I exclaim, my voice ringing against the walls, "Omo! Moses! Abeg fan me. This food is too hot.”
  "Gerrout! I need my hand to fan myself."
  "Nepa should bring light oo," I yelp. "I need AC."
  "Ah! Rich man pikin! You wish."
  "Faith can make it happen."
He laughs, “Let there be light.”
I add in. “And there was light.”
  “Lolade, there is no light o”
  “I need AC,” I whine.
  “You are enjoying. I wish I had AC in my house but there is no way it can fit into that stuffed cube I call home”
  My ears stand alert and my eyes are on him, watching and discerning the source of his words (disappointment, jealous or anger).
 
He notices and clarifies, “I mean my house is small and shaped like a cube. There won’t be space for AC. I like Air conditioners. It makes the house feel like a fridge. Very chilling. Will there be light today? Is your laptop charged?”
  "Actually they usually bring light at this time so let's wait."
The air is cool, not enough to reduce the heat boiling within us. We take off our shirts as we use exercise books to fan ourselves. After ten minutes, we have consumed our food and now, consuming the information from a YouTube biology tutorial video on my laptop.
  "I just wish I had my own. I'm disturbing your laptop too much," Moses, sprawled on the couch, mumbles, rubbing his belly.
 
"How?" I laugh. "Have you forgotten you encouraged me in the mathematics competition that led me to win it?"
  "Yeah but..."
  "You can use it whenever you want."
  "You have a phone. I just wish my parents could buy one for me."
  "Don't worry! They will. Just give them time. Besides, if you don't know what you plan to use a phone for, it can easily distract you from your studies."
  Bam! Bam! The sound reverberates in the house, rattling us to our feet. “Lolade, come and open the door,” My younger brother, Bolanle yells and slams his hand to the door (again). I grumble and storm to the door. I swing it open so hard that it slams the wall. We jolt at its rumbling crash and I lay my heated glare on my brother.
  “Must you knock the door like that?” I bark.
He ignores me, stomps to the living room and flings his bag to the ground.
  "I want to watch TV. Where is my noodle?"
  "Do you see light? And can't you greet?" Moses yells.
He is about to give a witty response when an alarm goes off, informing the neighbourhood that PHCN has been generous today.
  "I didn't know you would be coming home," I add, my voice low because I know shouting would not help me communicate with Bolanle, an eight-year-old with much wahala.
  "There is light now. I want to watch TV."
I roll my eyes. "Why are you here? What about dad's shop?"
  "Adeshola said I should go home," Bolanle scoffs. "Go and make my noodles."

"Sorry! I'm reading. You should have eaten before coming.”
  "Mtchew! Adeshola and Bankole don't have money for food."
   "They lied to you."
  "They will buy me a water gun if I eat at home," he butts in, strolling to the remote control.
  "I'm busy, Bolanle. I can’t cook."
  "But I'm hungry."
  "Just make your cereal."
  "I'll tell Mummy."
  "Go and cook it yourself." Moses’ voice draws tension into the room. "Go and cook your noodles yourself."
  "None of my brothers know how to cook," I remind him.
  "Then it is his business."
I want to smile but I don't. "He is just eight."
  Moses narrows his eyes on me. "I'm trying to help you and you are stating facts? Chai! I don commot my hand for your matter."

"I want noodles," my brother whimpers, forcing tears from their abode.
  "Stop that! Your tears won't solve it," I yell, annoyed that he thinks his tears are keys to unlock iron doors. He bursts into more sobs and throws the remote on the couch.

"Don't start with your tantrums. Big boy like you? Shame!"
He falls to the ground and his cry is loud like a shout for help. Am I killing him? No! Is anyone putting a knife on him? No! So why is he crying with all his lungs?
I roll my eyes and head to the kitchen.
  "I'll be reading," Moses informs me.
  "Okay!"
  I shut the kitchen door and begin to make the noodles. My elder brothers have given Bolanle the freedom to disrespect me. I just pray that one day, this can be amended. I prepare the noodles the way Bolanle likes it and take it to him. With one glance, he is crying again. "I don't like it. I'm not eating."
  "Why?"
  "I want rice and stew."
  "But you said you want noodles."
  "Not this kind?"
  "Which kind?" I bark. "Eh? Which kind?"
 
"Mtchew! I am still not eating."

  "Lolade, he is not hungry. Come and read," Moses voices.

Bolanle starts to cry and I wonder what had turned him to this crybaby: my parents pampering him or my lenient approach to his misconduct.

What do you think of Lolade now? Do you understand is character?

Thanks for reading.