I can hear Mummy talking to someone in the room. At first, I think it is Daddy, but with the manner of her carefreeness- the laughs, the jokes, the excitement, I am quick to decipher she is on the phone with someone.

When I enter the room she shares with Daddy, she looks at me, a smile hanging on her lips as she waits for the person on the other end to speak.

"This one that you are traveling up and down, why don't you take me along?" She laughs. After a few seconds, the laugh cuts off as quickly as it started. "Ehn ehn, no badmouthing my husband, please. If it is homewrecker you want to be today, let's just end the call here, Tomi."

The minute Mummy mentions her name, I advance towards her, my hand stretched out for the phone. Mummy ignores me and keeps talking. When I don't budge, she sighs quietly.

"See, Nadeen wants to speak to you. She won't let me rest." She hands me the phone. "Two minutes, and you cannot cut off my gist afterward."

I take the phone from her and stick it to my ear, and Aunt Tomi's girly voice makes me grin in an instant. I find it cute that she has such a young voice at such an older age, but Aunt Tomi said it makes people take her unserious.

"Naddy!" She squeals. Only she calls me Naddy, and I like that exclusivity right given only to her.

"Aunt Tomi, where are you this time?" I ask her.

"I'm in Ivory Coast oo, and come and hear my French. Wee, wee, meksi, sava oo. I am giving them left, right, and center here." 

I cannot help the laugh at that. She fills me with more details about her trip; how she almost missed her flight, a taxi driver that had confused her with someone he once knew back in his University days and gave her the ride at half the price, and how their Jollof rice is underrated. In return, I fill her in with the details of mine; the ongoing midterms, the after-school lessons we would soon start, the way prices of things have gone up because Christmas and New Year are around the corner, the way harmattan is finding its way into our mornings and how thicker cardigans, vaselines and boiling water for morning baths would soon be needed.

"And when will you be back to Nigeria?" I ask her. My mother must have forgotten me there because it is already a long way past two minutes.

"Wo, Nigeria will be soon. I have to even come back for my brother's graduation. Did your uncle call your mother?" She asks.

"I don't know." And truly, I don't. It has been quite a while since I heard from Uncle Jamiu. He is always busy with school work - his Master's-  unless he comes around, which is once in a blue moon as well. He and Mummy are not too close.

"Okay, Iffat nko? How come I haven't heard anything from her?" 

"She is on her phone." As always, I want to add, but hold my tongue back. I move towards the kitchen where I hear the sounds of pots clanging, and I see Mummy and Iffat there, Mummy slicing carrots and Iffat, on her phone.

Yes. As always.

I hand the phone to her and her eyes light up when she sees the caller. Their conversations are mostly in Yoruba, the mother tongue Iffat is more fluent in than I am. Where the words move on her tongue with the fluidity of someone well-accustomed to tonation of its Do-Re-Mi marks, mine holds crutches, stumbles, and demands rest at some point. 

In the bowls on the counter, I see broken coconut in one, and in the other, there is coconut water. Mummy must be making coconut rice, and my heart swells with joy. Nothing is more relaxing than coming home to a well-cooked meal(or the process of one). 

Iffat does not stay long on the phone before Mummy takes over. She comes over to my side and nudges me with her shoulder.

"Did you tell her to buy you a phone?" She asks me.

I shake my head. "Daddy will not like that."

She sigh. "True, but Mummy can pretend like she is the one that bought it for you."

I can't do that. One because it is lying and two, because Daddy will think Mummy has enough money to waste that he might not bother putting down the food money on time anymore. 

"He is rich now, so money should not be a problem for him. I mean, if he thinks Mummy bought it, it shouldn't bother him that she did." Iffat says as if reading my thoughts.

I eye the phone in her hand. Having a phone means being enslaved to the world of social media and chatting, and with my need to keep my position in school, I am not sure I can handle such a distraction. I mean, even Iffat cannot focus on her studies because of that phone.

"Ah, that your Aunty ehn." Mummy says with a laugh as she puts down her phone. She goes back to chopping the carrots as she speaks. "Ajala the traveler. She will soon be in Nigeria, and Jamiu didn't even tell me about the graduation, can you imagine? If he wants me to come, he will have to call me himself."

Mummy is still ranting as I take the cloudy water of the coconut and manage to drink only a sip. Only a sip because Mummy is quick to scream my name. I almost drop the bowl unto the ground.

"Don't you know that drinking coconut water makes you olodo? Abi do I have to tell you that one again?" She yells. "Do you know what your father will say if anything happens to your brain?"

Iffat's laugh that follows is maniacal. "Mummy is so old school ehn. Imagine believing coconut water kills brain cells. It is all just a superstition."

"Superstition or not, Nadeen, don't drink it." She warns me. 

Iffat is still laughing and there is a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she looks at me. She takes the coconut water and swallows a whole gulp. This does not go unnoticed by Mummy. 

Mummy sighs and goes back to chopping. Iffat's jolly face sizzles out into a frown.

"So it is okay for me to drink coconut water?" She asks Mummy.

"Didn't you just see me tell Nadeen not to drink it?"

"Yes, but you acted as if the house was going to collapse even before the bowl touched her mouth. But when I drink it, you don't bother because I am a lost cause abi?"

I step away from Iffat. Her voice is already rising.

"Sebi you just said it is superstition? So why are you now fighting with me?" Mummy asks.

"That is not the point. The point is you are insinuating that you don't care about me while..."

"Iffat, please, please, please, jo. Jo nitori Olorun, don't start this afternoon..."

"...I am not starting anything. If I say the truth like this it is problem, or you try to shut me up or even report me to Daddy. Stop running away and deal with it."

I back further away. Mummy has stopped chopping and is now fully facing Iffat. Iffat is fuming, and there is a momentary silence.

"Walahi one more word from you, one more word from you Iffat...Walahi ma fi omorogun se yin lese." Mummy threatens to use the wooden stirring rod to hit her if she speaks again. "Abi what is wrong with you? The more days pass, the more you grow wings. What are we talking about here and suddenly you are speaking to me like you want to beat me? Do you know how stressed out I am? Is it because I don't say it? I'm in the shop all day and I come back home again to cook because you cannot even boil water without burning it because all you know is phone, phone, phone, in fact, I am seizing that phone. Give it to me!"

Iffat slams her phone into Mummy's hand without any argument and storms out of the kitchen. My heart almost skips a beat when the door of our room slams and shakes the house. 

"Oniranu." Mummy mutters under her breath and continues chopping away. She keeps muttering, and I slide out of the kitchen unnoticed. I try to pinpoint how and where exactly things escalated so fast.

I shouldn't have just drank that coconut water.

I head towards my room, and I knock on the door. There is no response. I try to open it but it is locked. I knock again.

"Iffat, please I have to take something," I tell her.

"Tell me what it is that you want to take and I will pass it." She says in an angry tone.

"I have to check. You wouldn't know."

"Oh, of course." The door unlocks. "You are the genius anyways."

I get angry at that. I don't understand why she is angry in the first place, her body is too hot. All the time, every little thing, angry, angry, angry, why can't she just control her emotions? Why does she always have to be a ticking time bomb?

"Please I want the room to myself." She tells me, or rather, barks it at me, another way to tell me to hurry up and get out. I enter the room and scatter through my stuff in the cupboard, not even looking for anything in particular. I take a note and leave, when the only thing I was actually looking for was how to resolve this issue, and explain to her that Mummy didn't mean anything by her words, she was only just stressed, and they should both forgive each other and reconcile. 

Even look at me now, angry, yet I still have control over my emotions, I mean how hard can it be? And she is supposed to be the older, more mature sibling.

When Daddy comes back from work, he does not ask why I skipped Madrasah, but I have to so I can focus on the next midterm paper. He looks worn, and Mummy is there to welcome him at once. She picks his shoes by the doorway, takes his jacket from the chair and his suitcase from the floor, and goes to put it inside their room. He asks about Iffat, I tell him she has a headache and is sleeping. 

"Headache? So me that is outside in the office and still facing traffic does not have headache?" He hisses and lets it be. Thankfully. I cannot afford for him to go and find out that she is just pissed and locked herself in. "Ehen, someone told me that your Aunt posted something about speaking to her family on Facebook."

It is a question masked as a statement, and it is directed at me. Sometimes I wonder how Daddy knows some random things about Aunty Tomi, but then again, Aunt Tomi updates things about her life on social media, even up to if she had Bournvita with breakfast rather than Milo - Iffat told me this when she was scrolling through her page. She is big on social media spaces because her job also requires it.

But still, Daddy hates her. I don't think there is anyone Daddy hates more than Aunty Tomi. He hates the septum piercing on her nose, the way she gels her baby hair and lets it peek out of her hijab, the way she laughs and talks like an 'agbero', the way she is too friendly, the way she always has red lacquered nails, something only ashewos wear to show they are available, and the ultimate one that he hates the most and gives him more solid confirmation that she is indeed an Ashewo, the way she is still single at thirty-eight.

"A woman that has everything in life but doesn't have a man is like having one million and removing the one in front. What are you left with? Only zeros. Nothing." My father will often say to describe her.

And that is one of the many reasons we rarely see Aunty Tomi. I see Uncle Jamiu, whom we all know as Daddy Ismail, more often, and my cousins; Ismail and Toheeb, who all but act like they always want to leave the minute they step into our house. They are both younger than us, and just like Iffat, they have their eyes always glued to their phone, stunting their ability to have proper conversations.

"She called," I tell Daddy. "She's in Cote D'Ivoire now."

Daddy rests his back against the chair and loosens his tie as if he is fighting with it. He looks like a baby goat trying to free itself from a rope.

I stifle the smile at that thought and watch the TV with him. The news comes on, and the newscaster stares at the cameras, waiting for the cue to begin.

Mummy comes in and drops a tray of cold sachet water on the center table. Daddy looks at it and groans.

"Food, Iya Iffat. I want food." He says. Mummy carries the tray away, and Daddy resumes watching the TV. He then begins talking about work to me, loud enough so that Mummy can also hear from the kitchen. And she does, for she punctuates occasionally with the right response, albeit monotonous, but it is better than no response. He does not like being ignored.

Minutes later, the coconut fried rice is served, and Daddy rubs his hands together as he digs in immediately. He nods in approval.

"You tried." He says between mouthfuls. "The salt is a bit much, in case of next time."

Mummy sits next to me on the adjacent couch. She listens as he keeps talking about work. Right now, he is talking about some clients that he wowed in a meeting. I zone out, there are too many marketing lingoes.

"That your sister, can't she find a job that will make her stay in one place?" Daddy brings forth the talk of Aunty Tomi again. He tears the pure water and takes a large gulp. "This one that she posting up and down on social media."

"Tomi enjoys it oo, if I also see opportunity, I'd also like to travel. Even if it is just for some days." Mummy says.

I think she's trying to hint at Daddy, a way to see if he'd give her a go-ahead this time. Aunty Tomi would not mind taking her along on one of her trips, but Daddy has already said, in one of their past fights, that if my mother were to travel without him giving her permission, he was going to divorce her and throw both Iffat and me into the streets at night.

"You cannot find anything else you don't have here. Here you are complete, a husband and children. However, that Tomi, she can travel to the ends of the earth and never be complete. She can't even feel close to being complete because she doesn't have this that you have. A family." Daddy says. 

I know he means it as a compliment to Mummy, but I do not miss the squirms from Mummy on her seat. She scratches her week-old cornrows, and she doesn't say anything.

"What did she say when she called?" Daddy asks. I see his eyes directed at me.

"She...she... wanted to greet, and keep her up to date on my school," I say.

"Huhn." He shakes his head. "No children to call. A very sad life."

He tears at the large chicken lap and nods in satisfaction. Again, I imagine a baby goat struggling to tear it off when he goes for the second bite, but it is disturbing, to imagine a baby goat eating chicken in the first place; it paints the mental image of a carnivorous zombified baby goat, so I blot out the thought fast.

They talk about Jamiu and his graduation, and Daddy says if he has the time, he would attend the ceremony after. I hope he would be in a good enough mood when the day comes to allow us all to go, I really could use some sort of celebration. It has been so long.

"Did you tell that your sister about my promotion?" Daddy asks Mummy, picking up a toothpick and working it between his teeth.

Mummy nods. "Yes, I mentioned it. She also mentioned her own promotion at work."

Daddy does not say anything more for the rest of the evening. The newscaster drills on with reports, and we all listen on without any more words.

-

-

-

"What is heavier, ice or water?"

Zainab and I are on our way back from Madrasah after a morning class. It is Saturday, the second weekend after the midterms. Even after the tests, I feel a renewed sense of courage in my performance. I read about the spiritual ways I can boost my grades, so I set the alarm on Iffat's phone to wake up at exactly 4:30 a.m. every day to beg God to keep me in the first position in this midterm and the future ones plus every exam I will ever take in my life.

Madrasah was Hifdh and Tilawah. Afterward, the plan all week is to spend the afternoon at Zainab's place since no one is home. And she had Netflix, so we can watch any movie we want. Plus her siblings always bought her snacks when they visit, so that is in endless supply. So the afternoon is something I have been looking forward to all week.

"Ice or water?" I reiterate her question.

"Assuming you have the two exact buckets, one with ice and the other with water, which is heavier?"

My eyes pin on Iya Abbey's shop at a distance. People are crowded there today.

"I think it depends not really on the exact same bucket but the density?" I say unsurely.

Zainab's mouth widens into a smile; she looks like SpongeBob right now.

"You're so smart, Nadeen!" She says. "Yes, and also because ice is set in a crystalline lattice, so this means there are a lot of spaces left empty. When you melt the ice, these spaces are filled with water molecules. So, hence, the density. Water is denser." Her eyes are as bright as torchlight as she speaks. It's not surprising, she lights up whenever she shares something new. "Notice that ice floats too, yes? I won't go into the chemistry of it and explain the H-H bonds because we are almost home!"

She jumps at this. I think I  hear a faint calling of my name behind me, but Zainab is quick to speak again.

"We should go to Abu Hurairah after, don't you think?" She suggests.

"I don't know. My Dad went to an outing today." A friend's birthday. "And I don't want him asking why I came home late."

I'm really scared of the day Daddy finds out I go to Abu Hurairah's after Madrasah. He doesn't know anything, and I avoid telling Mummy as well. All they know is sometimes I can stay up till Magrib prayers in Madrasah, and that's it. But if they know the reason, especially Daddy, I'm afraid that will be the last time I go there. I don't know if that is what will happen, but I can't risk not going over to their place ever again.

"We will just watch movies and eat, eat and watch movies..."

I hear my name again. This time, Zainab and I turn back. I scream when I see it is Yusrah, and we both run up to each other and hug.

"I was calling you since." She says, breathless.

"I heard my name, but I thought it was just me hearing things," I tell her.

"Oh well", she grins. "Turns out I am free today, and I wanted to come to visit."

Her eyes go behind me, and her smile drops into a straight line. I look in the direction of her gaze, and I see Zainab standing there with a smile. This is where two friends from two different worlds collide. Strangely, they are meeting for the first time.

"Yusrah, this is Zainab. Zainab, Yusrah." I introduce.

"Salam alaikum, Yusrah. It feels like you're my friend too!" Zainab beams. "I have heard so much about you."

Yusrah smiles. "Walaikum Salam. Yes, thank you. It's nice to meet you too." Her smile picks up when she faces me. "Oya, let's start going to your place. I have so much to tell you."

"Nadeen and I are heading over to my place for some Netflix and snacks. You're more than welcome to join, it's going to be like our own mini party. There are no parents!" Zainab is excited again.

Yusrah looks at me. Because we've been friends for years, I can read her expression without her saying a word. This one reads one thing. A capital NO.

"But I told Nadeen I would be coming over after midterms," Yusrah says, enunciating her expression that she isn't going over to Zainab's.

"Yes, yes, you did," I say. I can feel it, the invincible hands reaching out to squeeze my heart and choke me in seconds to come.

"Okay, so let's get going." Zainab who is oblivious to our silent conversation says. She starts walking ahead, short legs propelling her like a girl on a mission.

"Nadeen, I want to tell you some stuff in secret. I won't be free or chanced to come over soon. Tell her to reschedule. I told you first about my coming over." Yusrah whispers.

"But I thought you'd be coming over during the midterm break," I say, the tightening in my chest already making me sweat.

"Shebi the two of you are always together even on weekends? And you two even stay close to each other." Her eyes go towards Zainab who is now moving towards us when she notices we aren't budging from our spot. "Are you saying I should go home, Nadeen? After dressing up and coming all the way here?"

Zainab eventually reaches us, and she asks, "Is everything okay?"

I nod. "Yes, we were thinking...we were thinking...we don't want to watch Netflix."

"Oh?" Zainab says. "Okay then, we can just talk."

Yusrah folds her arms, and she pins me with a frown.

"Maybe we should reschedule going to your place. I...am so tired. And I... I'm sorry, I didn't mention it earlier", my tongue feels it's in a race to get all the words out, and it is all coming in a jumble. "I... should have said it. I...uh...I'm so, so sorry. There will be other days your parents won't be home. I can come over the entire day. So look, it is better that way."

I stop when Zainab nods. I am unable to meet her eyes for more than two seconds.

"I...okay. I'll let you know." Zainab says. When I look at her, she looks so sad. Sadness looks like a crime on her.

"Bye Yusrah." She says, and off she runs down her street towards her house.

"Finally," Yusrah says. "So that's the Zainab that's borrowing you all those books that don't make sense? I said that she's as boring as her books, and I am right. She was wearing Dunlop slippers, did you notice? And she wore a yellow skirt and orange hijab! Ah, Nadeen, you don't just befriend anyone anyhow."

The tightening has loosened, but I still feel a heaviness inside me as Yusrah and I walk.

"I didn't notice," I say to Yusrah. Truth is, I barely notice Zainab's dressing. Maybe because we're close and I have gotten used to it.

"It's terrible, being a girl and not now knowing how to dress again," Yusrah says. "She looks like someone who has mouth diarrhea."

"Mouth diarrhea?"

"Yes na. Someone whose words keep rushing out of their mouth with no stop in sight." She enunciates. "Me oo, I cannot be her friend. You are trying. One minute and I can already tell she talks a lot, abi don't you notice?"

Zainab does indeed talk a lot, but she does have a lot of new stuff to always tell me. Truth is, most of my new knowledge is from her. Things I didn't know, news I missed, scholarships, everything, and anything. But looking at it from Yusrah's perspective, true, being around talkative can be tiring. 

"Yes, she does." I agree with Yusrah. As we pass Iya Abbey's shop, I see a man take an entire wrap of Fufu and dip it in what looked like to be Apon soup, and watched as the brown mucilaginous soup stretch upwards with his hand as he chomps down half of the Fufu at once. He must have a very large mouth.

I take my eyes off him. "You're right. Canceling going to her place is a good idea."

"You see?" Yusrah says. I feel better when she gives me reasons, it makes the heaviness feel lighter. "And you need to learn to be standing up for yourself more. If you don't want to go, then say you don't want to go. You aren't going to die."

But I did want to go. I hear a quiet voice inside my head say.

When we get to our place, Iffat is home alone. She and Yusrah know each other, so they converse as I get something for Yusrah to eat before we move to our room.

"Ehen, ever since that day that Nasir sent that love letter, has he sent another one?" Yusrah asks, sitting next to me on the rugged floor.

"It's not a love letter."

"Sha answer the question, since you don't want to show us what's there." She says.

I shake my head. Truth is, I really don't want to be Nasir's friend. I want to block, break and avoid any forms of interaction with him whatsoever.

"I'm telling you, it's either he likes you, or is trying to be your friend so that he can get close to me." She says.

"He doesn't like me," I say. "Talking to a guy doesn't mean there has to be anything romantic going on."

"Well, in this case, there is, especially since you received a love letter..."

"It's not." I sigh, and I give in."He was only just talking about the clouds."

"Clouds?"

"Yes, he was telling me his favorite. That's all." I say.

"Hmm." She jumps on my bed and takes off her glasses. "Why would he be discussing his favorite cloud with you?"

"You said you wanted to tell me a secret?" I steer the conversation to another topic.

"Yes", she says. "But really, about Nasir, there's no secret there for you to keep. I mean, you tell me way deeper things and you're hiding this?"

Maybe because I feel I'm giving out too much to you. Maybe I just need something to hold back from you.

"We're best friends, Nadeen." She smiles at me. "So, my mother just got me this dress. She was pissed at the tailor..."

My ears perk up. It is the usual talk we have; boys, dresses, books, gossip. I tether a rope to my thoughts to stop going off to Zainab, but every now and again, I still see that sad face of hers.