"How much last for the yams?"

"Ahn ahn, I don tell you say na 4,500 for the six of them."

"And I don talk say na 4,000 naira I get." 

I hop from one foot to another, careful not to let the Alabaru carrying the bags of potatoes and onions on his head hit me. He shouts for people to clear his way as he moves at a fast pace, and I wonder if he would go home that night and sleep with a wooden-like neck stiffened from carrying loads for a livelihood.

The floor of the market is all muddy and mushy with squashed fruits and vegetables, and the horrid mix emits a smell that makes me peg my nose with my fingers. It is almost noon, and the market gets even fuller by the second, people thronging in for cheap organic foodstuff.

When Mummy Anu came to tell Mummy where she could buy foodstuff straight from the farm and at a very low cost, Mummy jumped on it immediately. So on the weekend I am supposed to be at Madrasah, I am in the market with her. Iffat is studying, the same old anthem, although I have seen her put more effort in her books than her phone these days, I am just surprised she is maintaining that self-discipline.

I feel we should have been done in the market since, but despite the low prices, Mummy wants to spend time bargaining and bargaining. I have tried to get her to hurry up, but she keeps saying she's coming and continues. Now, I just leave her to be because there is no point.

The trader holds up the yam for Mummy to inspect closely. "Madam, I hope say you see the size of this yam. It is Abuja yam oo", he uses his thumbnail to peel a part of the yam's skin, showing the starchy white inside to Mummy. "Madam see oo."

"I know, sell am for me na", Mummy is getting impatient. The trader gives her a blank look, a resignation, one that has many times made guilt rise in me, and tells her to bring forth her Bagco bags.

"Madam, I no wan sell am for you, but you go use me do customer", the trader says, and with a strength I marvel at, he puts the yams into the Bagco bags.

"Make I drop am here, I go carry am when I come back. I wan quickly go buy fish for that woman hand", Mummy says. I pull at her cloth, and she looks at me.

"But you said we're done", I complain. A woman shoves me with her body from behind, and I really can't take it anymore.

"Only fish Nadeen, and we are done, take a soft drink in the meantime, see one hawking. Miniras! E wa!" 

Mummy waves over the hawker of soft drinks and bottled water. The young woman approaches, and from the bucket on her head containing a variety of drinks submerged in ice blocks, Mummy pulls out two Mirindas.

"But I want the energy drink", I say.

"That one is more expensive, they are all the same sugar. E gba", she gives the woman money and collects the change. I don't drink the soft drink, it would be ingested with all the market smell, and I would probably throw up.

Mummy doesn't even wait before she moves on to buy fish. The fish vendor, a smallish woman with her wares stored inside a makeshift cooler of cartons to keep the fishes frozen, jumped to her feet. I stand behind her, sweat finding its way down my back and wetting my grey top.

Mummy begins her haggling over two large Panla, and I wait. The fish woman doesn't back down, and neither does Mummy. 

"Nadeen, let's go and buy at another place", Mummy says, pulling my arm with her. 

I know this strategy of hers. She will pretend to move and wait for the trader to call her back, and if she doesn't, it means the trader has given her the true last price of the goods.

We barely move before the fish lady calls Mummy back. She places the fishes on her small wedge of thick wood that serves as her chopping board, and brings a large chopping knife down on the fishes, cutting them into fives parts and bags them up with a black nylon bag, putting in a bit of carton to soak up the dripping of the blood.

"Oya, let's buy ewedu", Mummy says.

"But you just said we are done", But Mummy doesn't even listen to me as she goes over to the ewedu trader, who thankfully, isn't too far away.

Finally, we are done, and Mummy heads back to the yam trader to collect all the load. She divides it for both of us to carry, and I find it too heavy.

"Let's call Alabaru", I say, pointing at a man with a large bowl balanced on his head for hauling load.

"No", Mummy puts down my finger. "It is not that heavy."

"It's too heavy for me, Alabaru is just like 100 naira to reach the bus stop."

"The 100 naira that I will use to pay your transport fare, wo, Nadeen, I am tired, let's go. My load is even heavier than yours and you are complaining, don't be lazy."

"It's too heavy!" I cry.

"Carry it on your head then, abi?"

Mummy offers no solution other than that. She moves forward, carrying the load with ease while I try not to lose my balance and keep on track with her. 

We finally reach the main road where we would take a bus back home. I feel like I can breathe real oxygen for the first time. Mummy wipes off the sweat from her brow, opens the Mirinda, tips her head back, and gulps it down. I am fuming, sweaty, smelly, and starving, and I have this annoyingly terrible urge to cry.

"Ah, this market is good, next time Iffat will come along", Mummy says. 

"I hate it, it's too dirty."

"Is it the market you want to eat or the food?" Mummy shoots back at me. 

Her attention is grabbed by the bend-down-select vendor who calls out One thousand five hundred naira shoes! for the second-handed shoes. I look at them, a variety of shoes of different colours and sizes spread out on a piece of material for a showcase.

"And those shoes look fine oo", Mummy says. "Nadeen, didn't you tell me you need new school shoes?"

"I want new shoes, not some Oyinbo's hand-me-downs", I fold my arms in defiance. 

"These are the ones that will last more than a year, not the ones I will buy like five thousand, and before your term ends you're giving it to the shoemaker to repair its life. So do you want or not?" 

I look at the shoes again, and I say nothing.

"Nadeen", the sharp way Mummy calls my name turns my attention back to her.

"I don't like them."

"Torh, be doing shakara like your elder sister. I don't have any five thousand to buy any shoes for you."

I can see she is pissed, but I am too tired to even feel anything. A Danfo stops before us, and Mummy and I clamour in with our bags. The bus conductor shoves my bag in when I try to pull it, muttering something in Yoruba about me wasting his time.

I take the Mirinda and drink it then, and there is this relaxation that comes over me as the fizzy liquid quenches my parched throat and the coolness spreads inside me. I rest my head on the back of the seat in front of me, and the coolness doesn't last as the bus ambles into a mini holdup and the sun cooks us all inside, like a tin foil cake pan inside an oven.

We arrive home within the hour, and I practically drag the bag with me. Iffat opens the door immediately after we knock, and scrunches her nose in disgust.

"What's that smell?" She asks, sniffing the air around us.

"Carry the load to the kitchen", Mummy instructs her. "Thank God we met light, so put the fish in the freezer."

"But I can't touch it, everything stinks."

"Iffat, if you complain again, one ifoti will reset your head. Ask Nadeen about the stress that we went through and ordinary kitchen here you're saying nonsense", Mummy hisses in reprimand and walks past her.

"Any small thing, threat", Iffat also hisses, but silent enough for only me to hear. 

"Nadeen, carry your own load yourself oo", Iffat says, breathing heavily as she lifts Mummy's own to the kitchen.

I don't waste any time to bathe. I remove everything I am wearing in the bathroom and put it in a bucket of detergent and water to allow it to soak in the soapy water as I thoroughly wash my body. I can feel the sting of the bruises on my palms from the load. Afterward, I scrub away the horrid smell from my clothes.

After I hang the clothes on the nail at the back of the toilet door pending the time I spread it outside, I head to the room, and Iffat is typing on her phone. She looks up at me briefly and returns to her phone.

"Your friend messaged you oo", she tells me. "That one that used to send you clouds."

"Please, what did he say?"

The last message was of me asking him if there was any special reading routine he was into, and I am ready to go over the top and do more to know his schedule. I have even gone to the extent of asking what time he sleeps and how often too, the food he eats, the games he plays. If he thinks of me as weird, he doesn't show it, and so far, everything about him is normal, and I hate it.

Iffat reads me the message. "I like to read for an hour after school each day, and I like to make general research about general things. I am just curious like that."

I am disappointed, to say the least. I read nothing less than three hours each day since he joined. And what general things is he talking about? Does it sound like he is trying to hide something?

"You nerdy people sha", Iffat says. "Going to school to study, coming back home to talk about how to study. Can never be me."

"Can you message him and ask what general things?"

Iffat rolls her eyes. It looks painful as she does it. "Fine."

"And did Daddy give you the money for the textbooks I asked him for?" I ask her. There are some textbooks I saw with Nasir on his desk in school one day, and I had run back upstairs during prayer time to copy down all the names.

"Daddy didn't give me any money oo. Better don't put your mind there. He will tell you he has bought all your books, anything extra is from Mummy", Iffat says.

My mood falls even further, and I just climb to my bed and lay on it, the tiredness aching in my bones.

"Nadeen!" Iffat calls me in a hushed voice.

"What?"

Iffat jumps off her bed and reaches for under it. She brings out a large wrap of what looks like pounded yam and a ceramic bowl decorated with flowers on top. I sit up, knowing this bowl is from Mummy Anu.

"What are you doing?" I ask Iffat.

Iffat hurries to lock the room door, one silent click, and she is back on the floor, her eyes shining.

"It is Korebami's birthday, and she sent this over", Iffat opens the ceramic bowl, and inside, are about four large pieces of meat submerged in a very rich-looking Efo riro. My mouth waters, but my guards are up. 

"And what is it doing here?" I ask Iffat.

"See, if we put this in the kitchen, we will not see what to eat from there. Mummy will serve Daddy, and Daddy will finish it", Iffat says in that same hushed tone.

"So you're stealing it?"

"No jo", she frowns. "It is for us, Mummy Anu says, it doesn't matter who eats it."

"It's for all of us."

"Look, it's still hot, I only waited because I know you will be tired, and I have already even bought Malt for both of us", she reaches under her bed for a black polyethylene bag and brings out two malts. "Ehen, they are not too cold but they are manageable. Oya, Bismillah."

Saying Bismillah before eating stolen food feels like two parallel lines that should never meet.

Iffat unwraps the pounded yam and looks at me as I stare at it. From the way it stretches in her hand, it looks like actual pounded yam, the one done with mortar and pestle and not the processed one that disintegrated like the powder it is in the mouth.

I don't know when I move to the floor, I don't even know when I sit down, and I don't know how my hand reaches for the pounded yam and dips it into the vegetable stew and into my mouth. The pounded yam feels perfect and tastes even heavenly, and I eat some more, grateful for such a meal.

Iffat gives me a wicked smile. "In this short life ehn, just enjoy. Any other thing comes after."

And so I eat each morsel with my guilt and drown it even further with the malt.

I'll worry about all of that later.

-

-

-

"So", Yusrah plops a chemistry textbook on my desk and uses her derriere to shift me so we can share my seat. "I am stuck, and I need your help."

Happiness swells in my chest. Knowing Yusrah, she could have decided to go and meet Nasir for help like most people in the class are doing now, but she has chosen to come to me. She points to a question on the page, a molecular problem. I take out my pen and write down the variables in my note.

"Nadeen, exams are in about two weeks, I am scared", she says.

My heart tightens, something that has been getting worse of late.

"Why?" I ask as I solve and she watches. 

"They are saying I should put in more effort at home oo, me that I don't care, am I going to be a doctor or an engineer? No oo, me that as long as I enter University, I am fine."

I think about Zainab, and the dilemma she has in choosing what she wants to be in the future. 

"You don't even have something close in mind?"

"No, and I am good that way. Let me tell you the truth, not knowing what to do and going along with the flow is so much easier than having a dream course of study. I can live with no regrets while if it's another person who doesn't achieve their dream course at the end, the person will keep feeling unfulfilled", she states to me.

I pause in my solving, trying to make sense of what she is saying.

"So not having dreams is freedom?" I ask.

"I'm not saying so oo", Yusrah debunks. "But if you don't have one, it has its benefits as long as you have an overall goal."

"What does that mean?"

"Okay", she puts her arm around my shoulder. "Me now, my overall goal is to make enough money, the course I study doesn't matter. If now I say I want to be a doctor laslas, I will focus on working abroad instead of Nigeria so I can get more money."

I think about Zainab again, and her dilemma. I for one have always known I was going to go for Medicine and Surgery, and it just feels like the right course to go for. Nothing else has ever shaken that decision, but if I don't enter for it? Will I be so bullheaded in running after it like it's a do-or-die affair?

I honestly do not know, and I cannot afford to entertain any what-ifs. Medicine is a must.

Medicine and Surgery is a straight road, it is what I expect of myself and what everyone expects of me.

"The thing is, as destiny reveals its hands, I will just take anything and be continuing with my life", Yusrah says. "Oya Nadeen na, finish solving and explain to me."

The noise that comes into the class disrupts our lesson. The boys walk in, hailing Nasir in their middle. Abdullah wipes Nasir's shoes as he walks, and another boy touches his head and pretends to be severely burnt.

"And where are you guys coming from?" Aishah asks, seated on Fateemah's desk.

"Nasir just beat our senior scholar, in conc further maths. He was boasting that he can beat Nasir oo, but we showed him. SSS 2 boys win!"

And just like that, pain out of nowhere stabs right in the centre of my chest, causing me to scream in pain.

"Nadeen!" Yusrah shouts as I hold my chest. "What happened to you?"

I hear the shouts lower to murmurs, and I wish I didn't draw that attention to myself. The pain spreads and sears, choking me, holding me. I begin to sweat, and I stand, one hand on the wall for support and another holding my chest.

"Nadeen", I can make out Nasir's voice coming closer. A hand reaches out to me, and I fight it off, but the grasp gets stronger.

"It's me, Nadeen", Yusrah says. "Oya, to the sick bay. Let's go, let's go."

We make it down the stairs to the second floor where the sick bay is located. It isn't exactly a sick bay per se, just a room with one wall for dividing male and female students, and a two thinned-out mattresses cast on the floor for really ill students.  The school nurse -an auxiliary one working in our school during the day-  a diminutive woman with a kind smile, stands up to reach out to me.

"What happened to her?" She asks, taking me from Yusrah and guiding me to a seat.

"We don't know, it just happened suddenly", Yusrah sounds panicked.

The pain thuds with a dull sound, like my heartbeats are too painful to keep going. It feels like I am going to die, like I am having a heart attack.

"Pele, Nadeen", the nurse pats my back. "What happened? Do you have ulcer?"

I wipe tears off my face. I shake my head.

"Then what happened?" She asks again.

"I don't know", I say. The pain has been coming and going these days, and I can't tell what it is, and it is never a full-on pain like this one. "It feels like a heart attack."

"Hmm", the nurse's feet shuffle. "It is most likely stress. You should take Panadol for now, and tell your Mummy when you get home to take you to the hospital for further checkup. You hear?"

I can only manage a nod. My heartbeats recede with one final painful thud, and I can manage with the less sharp ones that now reside there. I don't even like the way both Yusrah and the nurse are staring at me, it makes me uncomfortable, so I stand up.

"I am fine now", I tell the nurse.

"Are you? You can rest here oo."

"Yes, I am sure I am fine", I try to sound convincing, but my voice comes out shaky like I am about to cry.

"Okay, at least let me give you some Panadol", the nurse takes the first aid kit and pops out two Panadol in my outstretched palm. Yusrah reaches for a bag of pure water, dust already gathered on top of it, and pulls out one sachet of water.

"Oya", Yusrah says, tearing at a corner of the pure water and handing it to me. I throw in the two Pandolat once, and quickly down a part of the water before nausea from tasting the medicine could arise. The nurse, looking satisfied, let us both go.

"But Nadeen, seriously oo, you should go to the hospital. You looked like you were in serious pain", Yusrah says, still putting a light hand on my back for support.

I don't say anything till we reach the class, and I can feel faces turn in my direction, and murmurs of sorry trailing after me. I put my head on the desk to calm myself, and I see a pair of perfectly polished shoes in my line of vision.

My body stiffens, and I look up. Nasir is standing before me, and his brows are upturned, his hands hanging in the air before him, uncertain. It's strange he's here because our conversations are limited to just online chats.

"Are you okay now, Nadeen?" He asks me. "My Aunty is a doctor, you can go to her hospital. I will call her not to make you wait."

"I'm fine", I say, hoping he will go away.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

I just nod my head.

"Okay, I will text you when I get home", Nasir says to me. He moves away fast and goes back to his seat.

I know Yusrah heard our conversation, and she sits on my desk and whispers to me, "You and Nasir chat?"

It is no use going around the truth, so I nod. "Yes, about school stuff."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"It's only what we do in class."

"Okay", Yusrah's voice is clipped. I sense the annoyance in it. "Which phone do you even have to be texting him?"

"I use Iffat's phone."

"Nawa oo, and you don't usually text me but you find time to text boy, issokay oo", she claps her hands and tucks them between her knees. "Hmm, text him oo, and forget about me."

"It's only school matter", I argue.

"And I've heard", Yusrah says.

The conversation doesn't continue, because Mrs. Tahir comes into the class, face frowning with displeasure, and everyone scampers to their seats. When I look toward Nasir, I catch his eyes on me, and he quickly looks away.

Less than a month to exams, and I am nowhere close to getting his hack.

There is only one way left to fix this.

Note: Please I am always looking to improve as a writer, so I would love constructive criticisms from you; anything you believe I need to work on more or add. The same goes for my first book, No Escape From You. You can always drop it in my comment section or my inbox. Thank you.