NKOYO.

PICTURE CREDIT: META

DESIGNED BY: theunusual_writer.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the characters, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Hey there,💕

I’ve missed writing here and I’ve missed telling stories but guess what? I’m back like I never left and I’m anticipating your engagements and comments.

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It all started with the little bottle of Orobo (Pepsi), big chunks of chicken, and the salty pieces of fish in Mama’s stew. It didn’t stop

there; it continued with missing jars of palm wine, papa’s favourite drink, and the twix chocolates Aunty Ngo bought for Christmas that mama had kept in a big box under lock and key. Kolokuma was a thief, not just any kind of thief, an invisible thief with the calmest features.

And he was my brother and the first seed of my parents. Papa would always belt him to confession, and Mama would kneel beside her cherished son, taking all the kpai kpai at the same time, begging her husband to stop. And at night she will call me to the sitting room, place Aboniki and Ori in my palms, and tell me to apply it to the long red marks on her back.

“Kolokuma!!! Kolokuma!!!”. Our neighbour banged the door. He had stolen their generator and used the money to buy one pair of skinny jeans and an Android phone. I sat in my room cold and quiet because Papa was at home and his anger was hotter than a furnace heat seven times. Mama had gone to the market, and there was no one to save Kolokuma, and it was definitely not going to be me. Papa came out of his room and went for the door, and in a few minutes the sound of the kpai kpai kpai started again, and Kolokuma‘s loud crying of "Papa, please!!!” engulfed the compound. Mama returned shortly after and started wailing for her son, after which she promised him the biggest chunk of fish in his soup. 

One night he had gone for a stupid robbery heist in “Let me save you before Jesus does.” This was the biggest chemist shop in the area where we lived. It was rumoured that the owner was a herbalist because he always walked with his back, and he was seen in his store only during market days.

At that time, I was 12 and Kolokuma was 15. He went with two of his friends, Mbake and Ikungu, to steal Codeine. Nobody knows what happened to them there, but he returned to the house with a swollen eye and a torn blood-stained shirt at 3 a.m. I sat in the parlour waiting for him with a dimly lit lamp, and when I heard his whisper, I silently opened the door for him, cleaned the droplets of blood on the floor, and swept the sand from his dirty brown slippers. I proceeded to his room to help with the wounds so they wouldn’t look too bad by tomorrow, and then he covered my mouth with his palms and slipped his hands in between my legs.

“Shhhh…you’ll like it." He had whispered, and tears dripped down my eyes in horror, shock, pain, and something that was going to rule me for a long time—shame. I was already ashamed of myself. My mother had said I was a bad seed because I had grown too fast and I looked way bigger than my age. She said my mates were still growing up, and here I was all big and bulky like a bad truck. So I walked with my head to the ground, tripling my age when people asked me how old I was.

The next day his bruises looked so much better, and even when we had breakfast that morning, Papa didn’t ask about his black eye because he knew he was up to no good. Mama, on the other hand, had boiled hot water, mixed it with warm water from the tap, dipped a rag inside the water, and dabbed it against the sides of his face. She proceeded to make hot pap and fried dodo for him, crushing two pills of painkillers into the pap and mixing it with sugar and powdered milk.

Kaykay hated drugs, and he would do anything not to take them, but Mama always found a way.

I never talked about that night with Kolokuma. He never brought it up either, but I didn’t hate him for it, and inasmuch as I tried to, I just couldn’t. He just had a bad favour, but that didn’t make him less of a human. He cared for me, and he was always there to offer his shoulder whenever I needed to cry. He was a good listener, and he would always spoil me with treats and all that girly stuff whenever he stole money from Papa’s pocket. “The money belongs to us after all." He would say as he convinced me to accept the items. Kolokuma was a sweet talker, and it was so unfortunate that he was blessed with such a bad head.

And as he grew older, Papa had stopped flogging him. He was 19 when we stopped hearing that he was stealing or doing some kind of illegal activity. He was calmer and more reserved, and there was so much peace in the house. Papa and Mama had fewer quarells, but little did we know that Kolokuma was up to something more serious.

He had gotten a laptop, and he had started pressing. If you know, you know. He had told me there was one client that was about to pay him “80k dos." That’s 80 thousand dollars, and he was still expecting the money. He promised me a new phone and much other good stuff if only I made him happy, and I could only do that by keeping my mouth shut and parting my legs wide open.

He was a beast!

His fingers were not the only thing that passed through the hole between my legs, and whenever we were alone at home, he would come into my room, pin me to the bed, and do whatever he liked with me, and I would lie there like a helpless dog whilst watching my soul die slowly. I had cried so many times that there were no more tears left in my eyes. 

I didn’t know exactly what I felt at the time, but I knew I was always angry—angry at Papa, angry at Father Mba whenever he rubbed my shoulders after service, smiling sheepishly and displaying his wide gap teeth. I was angry at Uncle Fredrick, my math lesson teacher, and I was angry at the funny-looking gateman that stood at our school gate.

I was just angry!.

It was a few days to Christmas, and I had missed my period... At first I thought it was some kind of delay, but it wasn’t. I was outside with Mama one evening watching her peel a big tray of egusi with a paper and pen in my hand as I wrote down all the items we needed for Christmas when I suddenly felt the need to vomit. I dropped the paper and pen I was holding and went to the corner to throw up. Mama watched me with her side eyes as I resumed my sit, feeling sick and nauseous.

“I think it’s the Okpa I had for breakfast." I said to Mama, scratching the back of my neck, and all she did was nod her head. A few minutes later, I stood up again to vomit, and Mama gripped me firmly by the hand and took me inside the house.

“Who is responsible??”. She asked, her voice tiny and hoarse. It was almost as if she was trying to believe the question she was asking me.

“Mama responsible? Responsible for what?”. I asked in fake bewilderment. I was expecting a slap or some kind of screaming or wailing, but nothing like that came; instead, Mama went into her room and came out a few minutes later with a pregnancy test kit. She dragged me into the general bathroom we all share and instructed me to pee in a bowl, after which she placed the strip in it. My hands were sweaty and my heart was thumping heavily against my chest. My mind was wishing the results my instinct had confirmed away, and 3 minutes later the slap came, harsh and hot. 

“Alu! Abomination!”. Mama shouted as she spat into the toilet. And then she gripped me and led me to my father's room. She gave me the strip, locked me inside, and took the key. “Your father will come back and meet you there.”. 

A huge lump had formed in my throat, and I didn’t know how to cry or what to do. I was too shocked, and everything felt too surreal. I knew Kaykay was responsible, but how was I going to tell the world, papa, mama, that I am pregnant for my own brother? It will destroy the family; it will break everyone, everything. This pregnancy is anything more than the word "abomination.”. 

A few minutes later, I heard the rattling of the key against the door as I rubbed my eyes, trying to bring myself back to consciousness, to reality. Papa was back.

The door opened, and I was greeted with his tall, huge frame towering over me as I sat on the lush rug in his room. I sighted Mama just behind him, and I could tell by the way her fists were folded that her blood was boiling. Kaykay was just behind her, peering into the room. He had gone out before Mama had confirmed me pregnant, and I could see confusion written all over his face.

“What am I hearing about you, Nkoyo?" Papa said, smiling, and I knew I was cooked already, done like a well-boiled stew. “She’s pregnant, Nna!” Mama chipped in, tying her wrapper again.

“Woman! Allow her to speak for herself." Papa chided with the crease on his forehead deepening. Papa always liked to hear us say the atrocity we had committed. It felt like some kind of confession. With him being god and you telling him what you did, after which he will belt the mercy cry out of you. 

“Papa! I am pregnant." I said with my voice cracking in fear. My fingers trembled so much that the strip fell from my hand. And the next thing I was wailing, Papa belted me, but I wouldn’t confess who was responsible. Tears streamed down my face as I saw Kolokuma standing by the door; his eyes were begging me not to speak. 

I begged my chi to take me away. I wanted this to be a dream, a bad nightmare that my village people had caused. Blood oozed from the fat marks that the belt had left on my body. I felt like a rag used and dumped in the gutter, and I begged my spirit to fight, even if it was for a while.

Later that night, Mama had come into my room with tears in her eyes and catarrh rolling down her nostrils. She had come to apply aboniki balm to my skin and dress the open wounds.

After which she went on her knees and begged me to tell her who was responsible and what had happened. Was I raped? Did I have a boyfriend? But I remained silent, nodding my head to every “sorry”and shaking my head to every question asked.

There are secrets that have to follow you to the grave, and this was one of them.

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Christmas was as sour as lime, as Papa avoided me like a plague, and Mama only spoke to me when food was ready. Kaykay on the other hand was too guilty to face me, and he would always avoid my gaze. We didn’t go to Nnewi that year, and it was because Papa didn’t want anyone to know I was pregnant, and my heart bled knowing that Mama had missed Uncle Okpala’s chieftaincy party; she had already bought two expensive lace materials and two hollandis in preparation, and I imagined her running her hands through it during her quiet time. Papa had missed his regular evening palm wine hangout with the elderly men of our village, discussing politics and the way forward. Kolokuma had missed playing video games with Ubochi and Mmanta—short for Ugbomanta—and I had missed playing ten, ten with Lucy and Luna, our white cousins. Uncle Okpala, my father's elder brother, had married a British woman, and even if it was quite unsettling, like bad food in one’s stomach, everyone had come around and had seen what a good blend it was having them in the family. I had taught them to play ten, ten and they loved to do that every time. I missed the sweet yellow paw-paw we ate with a sprinkle of salt, the harsh Udala fruit that spanked the sides of your mouth without permission, and the luscious mangoes that made you feel like life was pure ecstasy. I missed seeing my crush Eze and allowing butterflies to swim free in my belly.

This time around Christmas was cold and silent in between fried rice, chicken, and a bottle of Coke. The neighbourhood was quiet because everyone had travelled for Christmas, and the only sound we heard was from the television. Nepa had been favourable that day. We didn’t have many visitors because all our family members were in the village, and the ones that came in were from Papa’s office.

I didn’t think of terminating the pregnancy, but I also didn’t know what to do with it. In a few weeks after the new year, school will be resuming, and it dawned on me that I won’t be going back to school. I was just about to write my WAEC and JAMB, and I doubt I’ll still be able to do that.

Papa had warned me not to step my feet outside until I put to bed, and I was just as fat and bored as you can imagine. No one spoke to me, and I spoke to no one. The few times Kolokuma tried talking to me at lunch or dinner, I always ignored him and went straight to my room. In my defence, he had absolutely nothing to say, than “I’m sorry” and so I nursed my wounds silently and willed that life would take a different turn.

Papa stopped calling us for family time, and I stopped looking at the clock at four o’clock on Sundays. Family time was something we all looked forward to because that’s the only time of the week we get to see Papa’s teeth in full display. Papa would read the news to us; we would play suwe and ludo, and sometimes chess. Papa liked to play chess with me, and we would often boast about each other’s feats. 

Not forgetting that Saturday was for barbecue and hot spicy suya. Papa had one mallam that always brought it for him in the evenings, and we would wash everything down with two cans of cold Amstel malta.

“Yaya kake Aboki!”. Papa would greet him laughing. “I hope you put Jara for me today." And they would laugh as he brought the nylon bags into the sitting room, and I would join Mama to unwrap the foil papers and put the delicacies onto trays. One to two people: papa and mama, Kaykay and I, and we would eat, laughing as papa used that opportunity to tell us how mama had a huge crush on him back then in Awka, and she would cook bowls of soup and stew every Saturday and tuck it into his fridge to ward off the other girls that might come over. She would clean his apartment and wash his clothes with joy.

“It was then I fell in love with her." Papa would say using his hands to bring out the fish bone stuck in between his teeth. 

Those were special times.

And even though we still ate barbecue and suya on Saturday’s, Mama would share it, dishing mine on a separate plate like I had a disease her beloved son could contaminate if he ate from the same plate with me.

***

It was a hot afternoon after a lunch of Nsala soup and pounded yam. Papa had called for a brief family meeting and he said that when I put to bed we should all say that the child is adopted, and my heart bled knowing my child would grow up in such a tense environment, his life would be a lie. I feared how he would end up, and I prayed he would be nothing like his father. 

I didn’t know why I didn’t feel like the pregnancy was an abomination. I wanted to feel it so bad; I wanted to hate it; I wanted to blame it, but those emotions were locked up in the bottom of my heart, unable to find expression. The sound of the abomination that had taken place was like bad music, but my ears were lost in between.

A few days later, I had a heated argument with Kaykay in my room. Papa and Mama had left the house for a friend's burial at Uyo, and I was left in the house with Kolokuma. Shortly after they left, he came to my room and demanded that we talk. He came with gifts as usual and sat on my bed. Only then did I notice his full beards and how much he was maturing. But dear God, I was scared for his future, and I wondered where his unseriousness would land him. Having been expelled from his secondary school for God knows what, he had refused to attend another school but preferred being on his laptop and having stupid conversations with his friends about “dem babes.”. 

“Nk! We need to talk." He said, almost trying to convince himself that I was still the baby sister he had always known.

“There’s nothing to talk about Kolokuma." I said I was calling him that name for the first time in years. I usually called him Kaykay, but things were now different.

Very different. 

“We need to talk about how to get rid of this pregnancy before it becomes too obvious and life-threatening.”. He said it in a haste, as if he were running out of time.

“Why? Why would I do that? I am not getting rid of this child, not now, not  ever." I said firmly.

“You know that one day Papa will find out the truth; that man is always up to something." He said. “Let him find out the truth, Kolokuma, or is there something you are scared of?”. I asked with audacity, and I could tell I had stumped my feet on that injury in him that had refused to heal, and he started shouting at me. From how dare you to a slap, and then I was screaming and telling him about the emotional damage he had caused me and the pain I had gone through all because of him, and the next thing we were attacking ourselves, hitting and slapping as he aimed for my belly. I was about to shove him off when we heard a knock on the door. He hastily let go of me and stood for a few seconds trying to adjust his shirt and get a good hold of his breath before he went to get the door. He was the only one allowed to open the door when Papa and Mama were not around. His breath was filled with rage, and God knows what else, but I could see fear painted all over his face, like a good art piece.

“I will come for it." He said, pointing to my belly just before he left my room. I heard Papa and Mama’s voice as they chatted, and I knew they couldn’t make it to the burial because Papa had a runny stomach and couldn’t drive. 

Kolokuma was a man of his words. If he wanted something, he would do anything within his power to get it, and I know he meant those words, "I will come for it,” when I sat in a pool of my own blood days later, screaming and hitting the ground.

I had lost the child.

Mama sat close to me, rocking me left and right, crying when I cried and eating only when I wanted to eat. Papa only came to my room twice to say "Ndo,” and Kolokuma never showed his face. Truth be told, I was a bit relieved that I had lost the child, but my heart was bleeding. I didn’t know which way to patch up, blood was oozing from every corner.

A few days after I lost my child, I wore a black bubu gown and a scarf as I walked down to our church—St. Joseph’s. I needed to confess because my heart was heavy and suicidal thoughts had started to creep into my mind slowly.

“Nkoyo! Nk!”. Ifeoma, my friend and seatmate at school, hailed me from afar as she ran to where I stood. “I have missed you." She said, hugging me, “You have added weight o”. 

“Ifeoma I’m fine!”. I said dismissively, managing a weak smile. “I came to look for you, but your father said you went to Onitsha to complete your education. Everyone has missed you, from teacher Ferdinand to Uju, to your lover boy Obinna, Nkoyo, a lot has been happening o ...”. She kept on talking and talking when I burst into hot tears; my shoulders were trembling, and I could feel her wrap her lanky arms around me. I held her as I sobbed uncontrollably on her shoulders. 

“You know you can talk to me." She said. “Did they maltreat you in Onitsha?”. I wish I could talk but all I did was cry and cry. When my eye’s bucket was dry and empty, I hugged her tighter and whispered, “I’m fine.”. 

“Oya nau! My mother sent me on an errand; let me quickly go, eh! I’ll come and see you  later." She said.

“Okay!”. I muttered. “Don’t cry too much, oh." Ifeoma shouted as she went on her way. I stood transfixed with confusion brewing hot in me like coffee. I didn’t know if to go back home or to go to church to see Father Mba. I chose the former.

The activities in the house had resumed status quo. Family time was taking its former shape with Papa reading the news to us whilst we sipped freshly squeezed orange juice and ate fried goat meat. It was from one issue to the next, and the troublesome Nyesom Wike never ceased to have something to say. Papa liked him a lot, and he always said the man reminded him of himself. Mama began to smile more often; Papa laughed more and spoke more words than “How are you?” to me. It was almost like the child in my womb carried such bad luck like his father, and everything had suddenly come to a halt.

But I never went back to status quo. 

Papa had said I'd enrol in Uncle John’s lesson so I could take my JAMB and WAEC exams, something Kolokuma hadn’t been able to do in 2 years. Ifeoma visited from time to time even if I never told her what the problem was, and I also visited her on Saturday mornings after house chores and morning devotion because I knew her mother would be frying akara and we would gist and laugh with her four sisters, after which Obinna would come to her house with treats for me. 

“If you don’t want, give me o." She would say whenever I attempted to reject the gift items. “Bad behaviour!”. She would exclaim, and we would laugh together. 

Such good times.

A few months later, Kolokuma started again. This time he would tie my mouth with a thick cloth and continue his business. The few times I had put up a fight, he would clamp my hands down and hit me. He was just as big as my father. Although I was equally big but not as big as he was. 

It continued until I took it again after I wrote my JAMB and WAEC exams. Kolokuma was the weapon fashioned against me. I didn’t know what to do, but what I knew was that I needed to tell someone about it, and so I went to Ifeoma’s house, my hands trembling and my breathing fast and shaky. "Ifeoma, I am in trouble." I said to her immediately, and we sat down together. I told her everything that had happened from the beginning to the end, and I watched as she cried in anger.

“You mean you let all these happen? Are you a coward, Nkoyo? I didn’t know you to be this weak.”. She said, stamping her foot against the ground in anger. “So what do you want to do now?”. She asked me. 

“Ifeoma, I don’t know... I don’t know what to do, and that’s why I’m here. I just finished my exams now, and I won’t be going to the university if I keep this pregnancy." I said in between sobs.

“Nkoyo! Your life and education are more important. We have to do something fast about it.”. She said, snapping her fingers. 

And later that evening, Ifeoma took me to one nurse around where she lived, and after she explained everything to her, she gave me abortion pills and contraceptives, and she told me to make sure I take the contraceptives after Kolokuma was done with me, but it should commence a week after I take the abortion pills. I went home that day, ate, and swallowed the abortion pills. The nurse also instructed me to wear a sanitary pad as there would be blood for 3-4 days. 

And that was how I saved my life and education. 

No one knew about it, and Ifeoma promised to keep it between us.

“To the grave." We both said as she hugged me tightly.

***

The day my JAMB results came out was one of the best days of my life. Papa hugged me so tightly, and Mama pressed kisses on my robust cheeks. I looked at Kolokuma as he stood at a distance with a light smile plastered on his face. I had scored 269, and Papa was so boastful the whole week. Mama had rushed to the market that day and bought the biggest parent cock. My father’s friends came around to celebrate, and Uncle Okpala sent me a hundred thousand naira. Mama said I was going to use the money to buy a big phone and some clothes. 

Papa made sure I sat close to him at the dining table every time we ate "Ada'm." He would say, smiling, “I am so proud of you... my barrister." He had filled Law as my course of study at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, and I didn’t care so much about it because I was one of those people in art class with no ambition. I just knew sciences wasn’t for me, so I took the other route.

Going to the university, as scared as I was , was going to be the best thing that will happen to me in a short time. I would be free from Kolokuma’s grip, and I would be pregnancy-free. My WAEC result was released sooner, and in no time I had gotten admission into UNIZIK.

What next???

Would Kaykay get a taste of his own medicine? Would Nkoyo go to the university?

Join me next Sunday, same time(9PM, WAT) as I answer all your questions.

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