I get to school late the next day.

Not that I am an early bird to begin with. A student like Yusrah, my best friend and neighbouring seatmate, is one of those who waits for the gateman to open the school gates. But I always make sure I get to school before 8 o'clock, just before a teacher assigned to round up the latecomers stands in wait with his long cane.

I manage to get to school a few minutes before 8, and the teacher on duty, Mr Wasiu, dangles the cane in my face and spares me, mainly because I am the health perfect and have a good moral and academic record. Being a prefect is both a blessing and a curse; a curse because hawk eyes will be focused on you for you have to be a good example, and late-coming isn't a good one. A blessing because of the pride that comes with it, it means you stand out, and even though I would have wished to be the head girl, settling for the health prefect is still an okay option.

And even though being a prefect gave Mr Wasiu more reason to cane me, I was spared because he loves the way I answer his questions in exams, as he always never fails to say occasionally.

I meet Yusrah gisting with Aisha and Juwayriyah. She sights me and waves me over. Aisha and Juwayriyah look in my direction just then, and Juwayriyah sends a small smile while Aisha outright ignores me and continues talking.

Her action hurts, but I am kind of used to her on and off mood. One day, she is the best friend I'd have and the lively bubbly girl who would spend all day talking to me, the next day she is aloof and ignoring my existence. I told my mother about her, and my mother had told me understanding people was the first way to bridge the everlasting relationships between them. So I understood Aisha, weird moods and all.

I walk forward and extend a Salam to them all. Yusrah's reply is beaming, Juwayriyah in her shyness gives me a cheery response and Aisha murmurs it. The assembly bell goes off just before I can say anything else, and all of us head to the assembly hall downstairs.

"You told me you had a bad break." Yusrah brings up. After Iffat had shown me funny videos after funny videos, I borrowed her phone and used it to text Yusrah without any details.

"Daddy issues," I say in response, my code word for any eruption or beating my father had caused.

"Again?" Yusrah tuts. She makes way for some junior students hurrying down the stairs, and she looks at my face, her big round eyes behind her big round glasses squeezing in scrutiny.

"He didn't beat me, just my mother." I tell her.

"Oh thank God." She pauses for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. "

I nod in understanding. A way to see if Dad is truly angry is when he extends the beating towards Iffat and me, so I completely understand Yusrah.

More juniors rush down the stairs, giggling. One shoves Yusrah, and before Yusrah could deal with her, we see Mrs Tahir holding a cane so thick and taking determined steps downstairs .

No one tells us twice before we run and join the assembly.

Monday is one of my favourite days of the week. I know a lot of people hate Mondays, but Iffat and I love Mondays. One, Iffat could have the house all to herself since both our parents would have gone to work. For me, it is the fact that I start out the day with Biology, my favourite subject in school.

Our Biology teacher, Mr Wasiu,  steps into the classroom once all the Arts students walk out for Literature. I wave at Juwayriyah as she steps out, leaving me and the other science students in the classroom.

"We are now in the final term before you become finalists." His face beams and his tribal marks, a straight deep mark on each cheek that looked like the number eleven was written on his face, push up further on his cheeks. "That means you will all soon start growing Big Boy and Big girl wings, parading the school pompously and putting your hands in your pockets when you talk to teachers." He looks at all of us as he tosses his cane in the air, and catches it. "That is why we have this straightener to straighten you."

Murmurs fill the classroom, and he tosses the cane again and catches it again, then the class falls silent. Again.

"Mitosis and meiosis." He begins, swivelling on a heel and writing the topic on the board. Yusrah looks at me and she rolls her eyes. I giggle in silence. The class goes on, and I decide that I don't like these particular topics. The class drags on till the bell rings, and the minute he is out of class, I pick out an old novel I had and use it to cure myself of the boredom of class.

"Hey, you." I scooch and Yusrah sits on the small space of my chair. It is one person per chair and desk here. She stares at the worn cover of my novel and did that tutting thing again. "You are reading action film in words."

"You should actually try it."

"Oh well", she sighs and smiles. "My interest lay in romance, you should actually try it."

I shake my head. I know Yusrah's choice of books. I know she enjoys reading Harlequin or Mills and Boon, and I know she tears off the covers and piles them in her journal in a box under her bed, in a far end corner dark as the sin written in those books.

"How's your Mum?" She asks as we wait for the next teacher to come in.

"She is fine, I think. Mummy Anu treated her this morning. She can see with that eye..."

"He gave her a blow to the eye?" She hisses, big eyes even getting bigger.

"I think, I was not there. But it was not too bad, Alhamdulilah."

"Oh, Alhamdulilah." Yusrah is quiet for a while. I cannot tell what she was thinking, but she has that zoned out look.

"I'm just glad he didn't hit you or Iffat." She says at last.

Our Agricultural science teacher,  Mr Ambrose, walks in with a cane. I know they want to establish some kind of fear with the canes they carry around, and also add to the fact that they want to brandish the new canes they had forced the students to buy. At the end of the second term, three weeks ago, just before we went on a break, we were all asked to buy four strong canes. "Not the type that looks starved." Mrs Tahir, our mathematics teacher had said on assembly, putting a hand on her hijab-clad ear for emphasis. "I want fat ones that will not break for the whole term, even the whole year paapaa."

And so a corner of the female staff room held canes of different lengths and thicknesses. I don't get it though, we were forced to bring the very thing that would cause us pain, and if we did not bring it, we would be caned by another person's 'pain'.

School is a sick place to be.

Mr Ambrose begins his class after much browsing through his lesson note. He seems to enjoy swinging the cane and threatening for more than half of the class than the actual teaching itself. Then came the impromptu test that causes a muffled groan to ripple in the class. I am always prepared for his tests after almost every class, it is kind of his pattern.

The day goes by like a usual school day; five hours of classes, prayer break, another hour and a half and then closing time. Yusrah and Aisha usually go home together, which is a totally different route from mine, and I take a Danfo bus to my house. It cost me only a hundred naira since it is not too far from my school.

I get home around Asr prayer. The compound is neat, just as I had left it this morning. The smooth concrete floor is wet from a light shower rain earlier, and I am surprised Mummy Anu's children are not up and about, running in their school uniforms and tossing papers or candy wrappers at each other.

Our compound is comfortable enough for both of us neighbours to live in. From where I stand, right in front of both bungalows, ours looks neat and cosy; mint green walls are brighter due to the clouded sky and absence of the afternoon sun's harsh rays. And in contrast, Mummy Anu's bungalow stands like the grandmother to ours, grey and unpainted.

Not that I like the mint green of ours. It reminds me of the colour of puke in cartoons, and the colour of the green Close Up toothpaste. I really can not think of anything natural when it came to mint. I would have preferred dark green, the same shade of the green leaves with tips sprouting the crown of thorns flowers that do a good job in covering the moss-darkened part outside and inside of our compound.

I move to our iron door and knock. Just as I raise my hand to tap in the second set of knocks, Mummy Anu's door opens, and her face, sweaty, transforms into a grin as she looks at me.

"Nadeen, how was school?" She asks me after I greet her.

"Fine."

"That is good." She smiles. "Your mother is better today. I saw her at her store."

"Okay."

She smiles at me again. She comes fully into view when she steps away from her door and comes closer to me. She is wearing her leggings and tank top, and wrapped loosely around her is an iro ankara to cover her bulgy shape. 

She comes closer to me and draws a smile. This one is softer, emphatic, kind. She puts a hand on my shoulder and draws me into her arms. I can smell cassava Fufu on her. I almost recoil, I hate the smell of Fufu, the worst is its taste.

I hold my breath, and after what feels like an eternity, she releases me. I want to ask her what she is doing at home during the day, and why is she not at the hospital, but the Fufu smell does not leave me and I am afraid it will escape into my mouth.

"It was all a misunderstanding. You would understand when you get married." She says. Something in me chokes. She teases me with a humoured squeeze of her lips. "That should be in like roughly four, five years, yes? You'd be twenty by then sha, and that is if men let you rest. Men do not let fine girls rest oo."

I smile, and I knock on the door some more, hoping my action won't be interpreted as rude as if to send her away. But that smell; she still stands there in all her Fufu aura, and she still opens her mouth to say something.

"I know your mother will not tell me, but who are the boys that have been disturbing you?" She asks. I smile at this again, and I shake my head. No boys, I hope it says.

"Hmm, don't worry. We will have our girls' chat soon. You can tell me everything." She says.

The door opens just then. Iffat has a towel wrapped around her head, and she greets Mummy Anu. Mummy Anu moves to hug her, and I see my sister stiffen. Her teeth bite down on her lower lip, and I wonder if she will push our neighbour away. Iffat hates it when people make any sort of major physical contact with her; hugs, arms locking, hand-holding.

She presses her lips into a smile, but I can see the struggle in her not to show she is pissed. Her lips do this shaky thing when she is. They get all wobbly, as if she wants to cry, but the stern eyes give her away. Maybe the signs are visible only to me, because Mummy Anu is asking her about her JAMB exams studies, and she is doing her best to respond with her wobbly lips.

Mummy Anu finally leaves, and she promises to bring us Fufu and Ogbono soup when it is ready. "And with big ponmo and beef." She adds with that bright smile of hers and walks back to her bungalow.

"I really do not know why Daddy has not built the wall to separate our houses." Iffat says as I step into the house. It is quiet, and there is NEPA light, and the halogen bulb washes the parlour in a yellow glow. It looks lively, everything here looks livelier with light; the brown sofas Iffat thinks are so boring,  the wide centre rug Mummy bought at Onipanu two years back, the golden curtains that match the golden highlights of the rug, the TV playing with Supa Strikas, the numerous scattered books on the centre table and unwashed dishes, and the Ox ceiling fan blowing with cool air.

"I was knocking since. Where were you?" I ask her as I place my school bag on the couch.

"In the kitchen. I almost burnt the stew Mummy made yesterday." She moves past me and locks the entrance door. "Seriously, I hate that woman."

My body revolts at her word. Hate. Instantly, I feel angry.

"She is the one who takes care of Mummy, and she is nice."

"She is nosy. Very nosy. Don't confuse the two. Were you two talking?"

"Yes."

"And what did she say?"

I shrug. I know what Iffat is trying to prove. "Boys and me being pretty." Iffat wears her naked arms into a fold, and it is a silent demand for me to go on. "About me most likely being married in my twenties."

"You see, not only is she nosy, but talking about boys with you, and putting rubbish ideas in your head. At your age, she's saying nonsense. Boys, boys, boys. I hate her and I hate boys." She is pissed now. There is no telling what could make Iffat pissed, it always occurs in a matter of a few minutes into most conversations, and there is no knowing if the aftermath of this one is going to be explosive, so I just keep quiet and do not argue.

I go to the kitchen to find something to eat before praying Asr, for after Asr is going to be Madrasah, where we learn everything religion-related and the Arabic language too. There is white rice in the pot that looks too soft it can be Tuwo, and the stew my sister was avoiding burning has already darkened. I settle for the stale bread in the pantry, and I go sit with Iffat in the living room, just as she is laughing at something on the TV screen.

She looks my way and frowns. "There is rice."

"I don't want rice."

"Okay." She is still looking at me. I tear the bread and put it in my mouth, the leathery crust hard to chew and even harder to swallow.

She goes back to watching the television, and it was then there were voices outside. I know Mummy is already around, and she and Mummy Anu's voices are just behind the door.

I ignore listening to their conversation and continue watching with Iffat. Minutes later, the door unlocks, and Mummy steps in.

The dark circular sunglasses she has on are huge enough to cover her black eye. When she takes them off, the skin around the bad eye, her left eye, looks even worse than the day before. It has turned purplish, and it takes a great deal for me not to look away when she smiles after Iffat and I's greetings.

"Nadeen, why bread?" She asks. She pulls the hijab off her head in one motion, and kept underneath is a simple gown that had seen too many washdays. She doesn't wait for my response before she moves to the kitchen, and I can hear the loud sigh all the way from where I am seated.

"Iffat, ordinary white rice and stew, ordinary white rice and stew!" She yells as she comes out of the kitchen, her sparse brows drawn together in a frown. Iffat takes her eyes off the television and looks her way, and she wears an even deeper frown than Mummy's.

"But I cooked, I made lunch." Iffat defends herself.

"That nonsense is lunch? Even Nadeen cannot eat it. She chose to eat the spoiled bread instead."

Iffat looks my way, and I am quick to say, "I am just craving bread. It is not spoilt."

But Iffat is angry already. She mumbles, or rather, grumbles out loudly the usual line about how she cannot wish to leave home, and she scrambles her books together in one huge messy pile in her hands. Mummy is still talking when Iffat walks to our room and slams the door, and this action will not pass Mummy. She knocks on the door, and counts till three, just before Iffat opens it.

I wish I can tell Iffat to be kinder to Mummy today. I wish I can tell her not to stress Mummy's face which looks like it is still hurting, and she should try to apologize for messing up a simple lunch. I wish when Mummy storms back to the kitchen to prepare another lunch, I wish Iffat offers to help instead of closing the room door back.

I finish up the bread and drink water. I decide to help Mummy in the kitchen instead. That way Mummy will most likely forget Iffat's behaviour. And I will apologize to Iffat and take her rice and stew as lunch in school tomorrow, that way food would not get wasted, Iffat will be calmed and Mummy will be calmed.

I just like peace to reign, and I will make sure of it.