Chapter 1
#1: Moving amidst the barrels
New shoes!
New bags, clothes, name it, who doesn’t like new things?
I don’t.
So in exactly a hundred and sixty-eight hours, I will begin my new secondary school in the final year. Splendid.. This is a tale as old as time, new girl, new school scratch that not a tale as old as time. Despite my super high enthusiasm for meeting new sets of testosterones and progesterones along with playing house with my divorced parents and siblings, I lay on my bed to release the breath I held.
I used to be Amara Obi; the confident awardee of Howards Girls High School, Lagos, Nigeria. A well-reputed school. Note most of the “well-reputed” part is self-acclaimed. Anyways my life took three hundred and sixty degrees anti-clockwise on my fifteenth birthday. This was about a year ago. It was October, the thirteenth exactly. The heavens didn’t cry quite contrary to the typical wet October; graceful sun, cool breeze and loads of pretty birthday wishes. You can call it the calm before the storm. My jolly fifteen-year-old self frolicked home to meet a wonderful present; my parents arguing over the terms of their divorce. Things sped off much too quickly after that. Court cases, intervention from family members especially grandma, elder brother and sister who were over eighteen deciding to reside alone in their university hostels and other things like that. Nothing serious.
In the end, they resolved out of court and decided I would stay with my dad. The cause of their separation was never explained to me. Dad always avoided the question when I asked while mom just said it was for the best whenever she called or I called, both sides had no clear response. Within me, I knew I didn’t want their explanations rather I needed my family back. Dad’s feigning sleep whenever mom gave him the bills then he’d grab her and they would have a tickling contest, cooking together with mom and my sister, elder brother’s surprise visit and family trip- these are wanted but I only have the memories now.
During the lockdown, mom got a super cool job in Canada while dad got laid off. After the lockdown, their divorce was fully finalised, and she relocated there. Dad got a new job though it can be seen as a seedling when compared to his previous job. This warranted my new school. Technically my mom pays the bills for my elder sister, my dad is in charge of me, and the eldest my brother is basically independent. This arrangement is how my family works.
The day I informed my previous principal I had to withdraw due to lack of funds to proceed to SS3, final year class, I realised how things worked. The principal was furious and rained abuses on me that I had disgraced the school: “The Senior prefect stepping down and leaving? It’s unheard of!” Her exact words but she couldn’t give me a scholarship. I was an honours student, undented five years streak yet she let me go.
Back to my reality. We moved to our new house today the 7th of September, 2020. A Monday. Getting acquainted with new people was not on my list for now so I chose the bed. Mind you it’s quite comfy and I had the room to myself for the first time. Our two-bedroom flat appeared feasible for the time being. This week had been planned out for me. I flicked on my tablet to confirm with my notepad.
Tuesday - Go to a cyber cafe and take passport shots,
Proceed to the new school and submit the application form.
Wednesday - Check the result of the application ( just formality), and proceed with payments.
Thursday - Go to the market to purchase foodstuffs and the school materials I need.
Friday- Return to the school and secure my school wears and books.
Saturday - Cleaning the house
Sunday- Go to church
The first day - Move amidst the barrels a k.a try to appreciate the word ” new”
Maybe I lost track of time but Tuesday came. The cyber cafe reeked of perspiration. I held my number twelve paper as I stayed in the not-so-straight queue. Apparently, the number was ignored as several number ones kept going in. What broke the camel's back was when the man who I presumed to be the owner pronounced he was done for the day by 2 pm. While the crowd kept whining I noticed a young woman leaving while mumbling quietly. She regretted wasting her time when there was just another cafe close by. I tagged along and in less than an hour, I had my passport shots. After attaching the passports to the form I proceeded to the school to submit it in a jiffy. The school appeared quite small. I decided to save the sightseeing for later, I had a year to do that anyways. I finished and headed home. The school was close to the compound I now resided in about 15 minutes drive on a tricycle. As usual, dad returned by 8 pm from work. I served dinner, he inquired about every little detail about my mission for the day, we said grace and then retired to our rooms.
Wednesday held worse scenarios. There was a hysterical woman who made a scene at the administration office. She happened to be an old parent in the school who was dissatisfied with her child’s fees and she kept shouting that she must see the principal pertaining to the sudden increment in the bills. Some teachers and security personnel tried to reason with her to no avail. Eventually, the principal was available and she was ushered in. This scene could not have sufficed in my previous school but no biggie. Payment of the bills was a sensitive part. They kept checking and checking to ensure all the numbers were added up in the right places. Dad did the transfers from work while I kept moving back and forth from the school to the bank. It was hectic and tiresome till the very end.
It was just another Thursday beside the market task. I got dark blue long socks to go with the black shoes( both leather and rubber) I purchased and some other things. If I ignore the brawls between bus drivers and other vehicle owners, the constant traffic jam, the hooting of horns, push and pull by several vendors to get my attention and my weak bargaining skills, the markets can be seen as interesting. As usual, I made supper and gave a comprehensive analysis of my expenditure at the market both in words and figures, by word of mouth and in writing before my dad let me retire to rest.
Substantial rainfall greeted me on Friday. Dressed in blue baggy pants and a black-sleeved shirt along with my black crocs, I headed to the school. There were no tricycles available for about thirty minutes. I stood at the junction with my purple umbrella while it poured, drizzled then poured again. As I waited a black SUV pulled up in front of me. It was the hysterical woman from Wednesday. Turns out she lived close by; we were technically neighbours. She recognised me and offered me a ride to the school if that was the direction I was heading to. Despite my fears due to the demeanour she previously portrayed and her thick skin face void of emotion clothed with a cool voice and small eyes, I got in the front seat with her.
The drive was eerily quiet besides the deep igbo accented speaker commenting on the situation of the aftermath of the virus in the country. As soon as I alighted I thanked her for the ride and strolled to the school’s bookshop. The rain had stopped and I mentally danced when I noticed there were few people present. This day would have ended well if I got my uniform. My size was unavailable so I got just Wednesday wear, a cardigan, notebooks and the Friday t-shirt. The lady there kept saying on Monday the seamstress would take my measurement then in two to four weeks I’ll get my uniform. According to her, I could wear multi until I got the uniform. There goes my plan to blend in and maintain a low profile completely thrown out of the window. I was just 65kg I mean it’s not that much, then a 5′5 ft, did they expect all the girls to be slender? I managed to hide my irritation, muttered “thank you ma” and went home.
Surprisingly, Howard’s Girls high school and this school were both resuming on Monday. I still hadn’t told my friends I would be transferring. They were all going to be in boarding school to ensure maximum grooming and focus on the external exams by tomorrow as per the school rules. They were all updating their WhatsApp status with “Till whenever”, “school tomorrow”, “mini prison”, “Goodbye freedom and life”, lots of teary-eyed emojis and many other long speeches and such. I always imagined how hostel life would be. We heard quite a handful of stories from our past seniors, from night duties and punishment to food fights, lazy baths known as “rub and shine”, long preps, early lights on, lots and lots of morning exercise along with chores and many more. A tear slipped from my eyes. I would miss all these, the girls, my friends, our set, and my opportunity to be valedictorian. I fell asleep to these thoughts.
I caught a slight cold from the previous day. Dad let me have a lazy Saturday. Thank you cold! No scrubbing the bathroom, toilet, sinks, floors and rooms, no cleaning the fridge and tables, no chores till another Saturday. Everywhere would be a tad bit more difficult to scrub off the stains next week but I will just enjoy this moment of rest. My dad, Mr Obi made porridge for me. Being sick has its perks. As he presented it to me in bed, he began one of his rare heart-to-heart discussions. He rarely apologised but this moment was beautiful. He explained how apologetic he feels towards me. I got caught up in their issues, the changing school in the final class after five years, the heavy chores I have to do, and house upkeep, he simply apologized for everything. I almost saw a tear slip from his eye.
That Saturday was solemn, we were both lost in our thoughts. By evening, I had fully recovered. I made pasta and egg. As I chewed a fork full of spaghetti, I took pride in my work; learning cooking recipes for various dishes and their preparation with my mom and elder sister really paid off.
Today’s mass wore a weary face. The pastor preached intensely but half of the congregation was asleep. The being my first time at this church, I simply sat next to my father while my eyes roamed freely. It travelled from the marble floor to the statures of some saints mounted by the altar, the brown long benches, different people dressed in silk; cotton; linen each with a nose mask, the distancing and white flowers at the altar. I pondered if they were natural or not. The mass ended with the final blessings and I watched as people exchanged pleasantries with hands by their sides, some in their pockets. Dad seemed in a hurry to get to his Red Toyota Corolla. My eyes met with several other pairs of troubled, wondering, intrigued, wearisome or unbothered ones. Some eyes lingered like they were asking a question, while others maintained the five seconds eye contact rule. This church looked promising.
That night, my elder sister called. It seemed like a decade since we last spoke. She kept advising me, stuff like, you will be starting in a co-educational school, beware of boys, don’t linger on leaving Howard, she understands me. To be frank she lost me at the “understanding me” part. Mom and dad were fine all through her secondary school, she graduated as a perfect; also quite an honours student, she didn’t have to do all the chores or live in a smaller house or have a birthday ruined or--- the tears began to pour. I was doing it again. As soon as the advice was over, I heaved a sigh and ended the call.
One thing was certain, complaining takes me nowhere, self-pity was equivalent to acceptance of mediocrity and I refuse to be mediocre. Maybe ” new” is not my favourite word but I have a lot of new going on, a new school a, new church, and a new place; I decided to add a new me to that list.
This was my chance for new experiences, the me who always had to live up to my sister's legacy would not be necessary, I could find a new me and who knows I may just like it. I could still be valedictorian, experience real high school drama, maybe get a boyfriend or I may just get a novel out of it. From now on I would be open to adventure. Exactly what I would call moving amidst the barrels.
