There are myriads of emotions to beginnings. The joy of a parent when a child takes their first step. The freshness of blooming flowers, the petals unfurling, the colours bright and vivid. The giddiness and slight uncertainty on someone’s first day at a new job. There is beauty, there is joy, and then there is what I felt the first time Bolanle Badmus resumed at my school. Annoyance. He was a tubby, whiny, sweaty, ugly boy who didn’t seem to know when to stop talking.

“But why should I leave Home Economics practical because I am a boy?”

Amina Kazaure and I rolled our eyes behind his head as he said this. He was challenging Mrs Abidoye, who vehemently asked him to exit the Home Economics laboratory during a pastry practical. He refused and stood facing Mrs Abidoye. He cut quite a funny figure as he breathed heavily, his sea-foam green uniform too tight for him. His forehead was sweaty. I was quite sure his hands were clammy too. Eeeeeeew.

He began to break when the girls started making fat jokes about him. “Just because you can’t say no to food doesn’t mean you should be in the laboratory with us,” Hannah Udensi said as she clapped hands with her friends and laughed jeeringly. He left briskly as everyone joined in the laughter, his belly jutting this way and that.

The next day, his mother, Barrister Badmus, stormed our school, a gorgeous woman who for some reason reminded me of Regina Askia. Her golden yellow skin gleamed and beautifully contrasted with the navy skirt suit she wore. Uche Nnamani ran into class and said her green eyes were glinting like a cat’s as she threatened to throw Mrs Abidoye in prison for embarrassing her son. Then Fatima Ganiyu came and added that Bolanle’s mum slapped Mrs Abidoye and made her cower. “Mrs Abidoye was saying, ‘I am feri feri sorry ma. Feri feri sorry.’” That day officially marked Bolanle as a pariah in the school, and Mrs Abidoye became “Feri-feri,” a nickname whispered behind her back.

Perhaps I am attracted to broken things and think I need to fix them and fix the world, but my heart began to soften toward Bolanle the day I saw him all alone on the playground, he was trying to propel himself forward and back on the swing in the school playground. It was break time and everyone was busy with their friends. I sauntered toward him after I lost yet again to Linda Panshak in the Suwe game.

“Why are you shinning your eyes at me?” He said as I got closer to him, his lips curled maniacally.

“What did you also use to see me? Mtcheeew.” I hissed and walked off. It was my fault trying to make him less lonely. The bell rang at that moment and I went to join my friends so we could get back to class.

“Please sorry, I did not mean to annoy you. You hear?” It was Bolanle, almost out of breath as he ran to keep up with me.

“Hmmm, it is you that know,” I said stiffly as I stormed off.

“Temi sorry… Te…mi,” he called out after me but I ignored him.

Bolanle hovered at my desk and only left when the teacher came in, and that began his routine every time we had a free period or were teacher-free. He would hover at my desk and pester me with mundane questions while our classmates looked at me with questioning eyes, wondering why I was talking to someone who had been declared persona non grata. Like they knew why they should be ignoring him. Like they should even ignore him in the first place.

We bonded the day I saw two Enid Blyton novels as he arranged his backpack.

“If you liked them that much, I can also bring you the Harry Potter book too but it is very big o.”

My eyes widened in excitement. I was, at that point, an inhaler of books. Fiction. Anything that would traverse me from reality into a fantasy world.

I and Bolanle would prattle about the magical world of Harry Potter and argue about the correct pronunciation of spells. When I watched the movies, I cornered him on the way to P.E class and yelled, “Expelliarmus! Not Hexpelliarmus! I watched the movie and that was how it was pronounced!”

“So Hermione Granger of you,” he said and grinned.

I was somehow almost fenced out with Bolanle as one of the people to avoid in school, but I didn’t even notice. I wanted to read the bulky novels as soon as I was chanced. At break times I would read. During free periods I would covertly read, my head on my desk and the books between my laps. The teachers had threatened to seize it because it wasn’t a recommended school textbook, but I was eager to know what happened to Harry Potter next.

Bolanle invited me to his house and I told him to tell his mother to ask my mum. I knew Mrs Sanusi would rather chew dirty jeans than allow me visit any friend yet Barrister Badmus proved why she was the best at her firm because my mother dropped me off the next weekend in their house and said she would be back to pick me up at 4 p.m. on the dot.

Bolanle’s house was massive, at least compared to ours. They even had a cow ranch in the yard. We only had chickens that pooped all over the place in ours. In the living room, painted a rich shade of ivory, I saw a photo of Bolanle’s dad shaking hands with someone who looked like the president.

“That person really looks like Obasanjo,” I said as I sucked on an empty Capri-Sun juice box.

“’Egs zey wan,” Bolanle mumbled unintelligibly as he gulped down Ribena.

“Huh?” I asked.

“He is the one.” He belched after responding and walked off into the house, not seeing my surprise. Their living room was the size of my father’s study and our living room combined. The chairs sank comfortably as I sat and surfed the TV channels while I waited for Bolanle to return.

He came back with a tray of snacks. He heaved as he set it down and announced proudly, “I made this with my mum.”

“Hehehehehe, lie lie.”

“I am not lying.” He looked offended.

“Oya sorry. I did not know. Do you watch Xcalibur?”

“Yessssssssssssssss!” We surfed the channels till we landed on the one where Xcalibur was showing.

Bolanle’s parents’ library had a mini section for books for Bolanle, but I wandered off and removed Beautiful Feathers by Cyprian Ekwensi and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë from the racks.

“You will have to ask my mummy if it is fine to borrow her books.”

“Duh, I will,” I said as I rolled my eyes again.

The chef, yes, Bolanle’s family had a chef, came to announce lunch was ready and as we wolfed down the savoury jollof and chicken at their equally massive dining table, I told Bolanle he was definitely lying about making the doughnuts and puff puff.

“Uncle Mensah! Uncle Mensah!” The chef popped his head from the kitchen like a lizard. Bolanle faced the other end and asked, “Who made the puff puff and doughnuts?”

“Chale, it is you now. Mini chef.”

Bolanle nodded his head with delight and I laughed.

That became the norm from time to time. My mother would sometimes include my twin siblings Lanre and Laolu in the drop offs but soon stopped the day they broke an expensive vase.

On one such visit, as we argued about which was better between English and Math, Bolanle suddenly blurted, “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.”

I stared at him, confused and wondering what to do with the information. He stood up and ran inside, his body weight jiggling along. He soon returned with a transparent plastic bag bearing a red plastic rose. He presented it to me and I collected it, confused.

“What is this one?” I turned it this way and that.

“It is a rose, it is for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you like me?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes. If I hate you, you will have died.”

“No. Do you like me like your boyfriend?” He swallowed as he said this.

“Are you not my friend already? Yes.” I shrugged.

“Okay. But I mean boyfriend.”

“Uhmmmm, I don’t know. It is bad.”

“Why?”

“Because my mummy says so.”

“But I will not do anything bad to you. I am not a hired killer.”

“That is true.”

“So we cannot kiss?”

“Eiiiiii!” I shouted.

“Why are you screaming?”

“Because you said kiss! Kiss is bad! We are not bad children!”

“We are not, but I like you and we will be like Thomas and Vada in My Girl.”

”But Thomas died.” I said as I pulled out the rose.

”Me I will never die.” He puffed out his chest and I laughed.

I sniffed the plastic rose because I had seen a character do that in a movie, and it smelled like the cheap perfume the Cotonou maid who cleaned our house used.

Like all things that go to die, they eventually become forgotten. Bolanle became a dry memory. He eventually thinned from my thoughts like flowers left too long without water, dry and brittle.  Common entrance and starting boarding school further ground what was left of the brittle flowers and blew it all away.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

You will never know how many dreams

I’ve dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

There is something about memory that becomes wilted leaves. They are always present but no longer green, but with a little watering they begin to lift their heads again.

“Hermione Granger!” a gruff voice called out behind me. Nothing registered. I was trying to decide whether to buy tampons as my friend had suggested or keep sticking it out with Always Ultra pads. I smelled him before I saw him, a spicy musky scent. I moved a bit, sensing a presence beside me, and turned my head to see the bearer of the indulgent smell I had just perceived and found myself staring at teeth. The dude I moved for to pass was smiling hard at me and I moved back cautiously, realizing a lot of crazy people roam the earth and Abuja is not immune.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I thought you would recognize me,” he said as he saw me still taking some steps back.

“It is Bolanle, Bola, Bolanle Badmus from Ajoke Primary School Ilorin.” He removed his glasses as if that would help.

I looked confused, a series of scenarios rushing through my head, wondering if this was the new way people begged.

“I am so sorry,” I said as I dropped the Tampax and Always pad and put my hands up like a shield. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. Sorry.” I began to scurry away. What if he starts stalking me? God.

“Temilola Sanusi!” I stopped in my tracks. This person does know me. “It is me, Bolanle Badmus from Ajoke Primary School. Fat Bolanle. Mrs Abidoye Feri-feri?” He threw it all at me hoping one would stick. Then it clicked.

“Oh!” I mouthed. “Yeah, it’s me,” he grinned.

“Oh!” I said again, registering what was standing before me. Bolanle was transformed. Every inch of fat had been replaced with lean muscles and God seemed to have stretched and stretched him because now he was towering above me. And his face? The pudgy baby face has flattened into a nice angular masculinity.

“Lovely to see you again.” I held out my hands for a shake but he gently slapped them aside and enveloped me in a hug.

“Temi! You still look the same! Wow.” He twirled me around and I almost lost my balance. “Ooops sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine and you have really transformed.” I took in the black linen two-piece he wore and his piercing. “Does your mum know you have earrings?”

“Ohhhh come on Temi! So, what are you doing in Abuja?”

I told him I worked there with Savannah Upstream but would be resuming in the Lagos branch in two weeks. I asked what he was doing in Nigeria since he left for school and we all stopped hearing about him. He said he returned two years ago to be closer to his team members in Lagos. He mentioned being the co-founder of a successful tech startup I had heard countless times in passing.

“Impressive. You have done well for yourself,” I said sincerely.

“And so have you. In every ramification.” He stared at me longer than necessary with and refused to let me pay for the items I bought. He also carried them to my car. He then asked me out for lunch or dinner as soon as he dropped them in my car.

“Any one her highness wants.”

I hesitated. I was in a relationship and I was cautious about roping myself into weird situations. Many times, what I assumed was pure kindness got mistaken for something else by men I absolutely had no interest in. Once, I almost got assaulted by a former minister in his office. He had yelled, “She was leading me on!” as I pried myself from his grip when someone who heard me screaming for help barged in.

“Come on, are you overthinking this? For old times’ sake then? We are meant to catch up. Please?” he pleaded earnestly.

“It’s okay. I can do lunch. I will let you know when I am free.” I began to get into my car.

“How?”

“What?”

“How would you let me know? I don’t have your number.” He raised a brow as he said this.

“Oh.” I called out my number for him and he dialed it on the spot. “I need to be sure I wasn’t losing you again.” he winked as he said this.

Lunch with Bolanle was great. He told me he looked everywhere for me. He mentioned me being the first person he tried to look up on Facebook. I giggled as I told him my Facebook account bore my name spelt in a funky way. Taymelowlar Sirnewsee.

“I never got the memo. I was looking through the nook and cranny of the earth for one feisty Temilola Sanusi instead.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“So, who are you still in touch with from our set?”

“Well, Amina Kazaure, Faridah Olowojaiye, Uche Nnamdi and occasionally Lawrence Obebeduo. You?”

“Me? Mehn, fuck that school. I barely have any memories of that school and I still remember what I ate on my first day in Flora School, so for all my memories of Ajoke to be zapped, that means I had a horrible time there.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. I remember you and then Mrs Abidoye because that was somehow how we began to talk, right? Honestly, now thinking about it, I must have been depressed as a kid.”

“Oh dear.”

“It’s gone now,” he added quickly.

My heart tugged for him, wondering how horrible it must have been for him as a child in our school. He must have seen the emotion on my face because he laughed heartily. “Temi, I am very fine now. Don’t worry for me. Come on.”

I managed a smile and then he began to prod. What capacity I would be working in at the Lagos office, my goals, my vision for the company, what I intended to do for myself, if I would still go to the fashion school in New York. I was so surprised he remembered the fashion school, a dream I saved for the next ten years or thereabout. I watched him nod his head repeatedly as I listed off what I wanted to sort out before going into fashion.

“I think we have been skirting around something though” he said as the starter was being served.

“You think? What are you thinking?” The olive dip that accompanied my starter was tangy and my cheek muscles mildly spasmed as I chewed.

“You good?” he asked and then continued when I gave him a thumbs up. “Yeah, so what I meant is, we both have discussed all we can discuss in detail yet somehow nothing about our dating lives. Wait, don’t tell me you are married.”

“I am not married, Bolanle, but I am in a relationship. It is pretty serious and that is that about that.”

I saw a mournful look briefly on his face but he recovered. “Well, that is quite something. How long have you both been together?”

“Five years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So what is he faffing around for? For men like me to snatch you off his hands?”

“What?”

“Yeah, you are a dime. Why would any man slack around with you?”

“It’s okay, we are fine and happy,” I snapped. Who is this boy to tell me what is and what isn’t? The buried memories of anger I felt for him threatened to rush back. I forced them back.

“He just might get what he is looking for,” he said under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nah. Nothing.”

The rest of the lunch was lighter and the conversation became less serious. He mentioned briefly he would be relocating to Lagos since it was the tech hotspot of Nigeria. He said he initially settled in Abuja because it was laid back and he could work anyhow, but now he needed to be in the heat of things.

“Honestly, if not for my work, Lagos can chew rocks.” I said as I dabbed my mouth with the serviette.

“Do you get? But it is all temporary so….”

”Lucky you. Must be nice to have the option to just up and go” I said acidly and he threw up his hands in mock submission not noticing the bitterness in my remark.

“So, I guess I would be seeing you in Lagos then?” he asked and stared at me as if he was daring me to refuse.

“We shall see about that, won’t we.” I smiled as I said this but internally I was wary of Bolanle and I don’t know why.

A part of me knows he wouldn’t try to hurt me the way the ex-minister tried to, yet I was worried something bad might happen. But what bad thing? I wouldn’t know.

If you want the next part up before tomorrow, comment Olololo in the chat box.