On one sunny afternoon when we were in Yoruba class, our teacher, Mrs Sijuade, mentioned something about people's names being written on their tummies with sharp objects. Like people got tribal marks to tell what family they belonged to and where they came from, children got their names written on their tummies so someone would be able to tell who they were if they got lost.
I had that.
Not on my tummy, but on my left lap. I assumed it had been done with a blade, because Mrs Sijuade said they were usually done with blades.
Everyone knew me as Yewande, and I hated it. I hated the name with every fibre of my being. My mates had modern and cool Yoruba names like Ibidun and Ademidun, and I had Yewande, a local name.
I had four other names: Oluwayemisi, meaning God honours me, Oluwatoni, meaning God is enough to have, Adunni, meaning someone who is sweet to have and Adetoun, which Mrs Sijuade said basically meant princess, when I asked her in her staff room after class.
Those names were beautiful and I loved them. I wished I had Yemisi as my first name and Yewande as a name nobody knew I had.
When one heard my names, they would think I had parents that really loved and cared for me. You didn't name a child you didn't like Adunni, after all. And that made me more curious to know who and where my parents were.
In second term when we had done our data capturing for our external exams, I had heard my classmates' other names. Joju had told me his other names without asking for mine. He told me Sydney was on his passport, but he also had Oluwatosin, meaning God is worthy of being served, Mayowa, meaning bring joy, Olakunle, meaning the house is full of wealth and Toluwanimi, meaning I am God's own. He told me about his siblings, Olajuwon and Olajumoke.
I'd mused on how his name was Oluwatosin and mine was Oluwatoni. I'd teased him about being a typical Yoruba child with more names than necessary. And I admitted to liking his first name, Oluwajomiloju, which basically meant God did something that impressed me.
Munachi had Abigail, Cynthia and Olaedo, meaning gold.
Ibidun had Tiwatope, meaning our situation is worthy of thanks, Eniola, meaning a wealthy person, Omobolanle, meaning the child met wealth at home and Omowonuola, meaning the child entered wealth.
Kari had Chantel, Leonie and Tamarapreye, meaning God's gift.
Safia had Zainab and Hauwa.
That time we spent talking about our names made me realize that names were very important, and parents should give their children names they would be proud of. Yewande, meaning mother has returned, a name that was given to females who were born shortly after the death of their grandmothers, certainly wasn't one of them.
But I had to give them credit for the other ones, I loved them.
☆☆☆☆☆
The final year students were slowly becoming scarce. Even Shalewa had become a boarder.
It was Thursday, around six o'clock, and I was in the garden with my friends, watching the sunset. The horizon was a mixture of red and yellow. The birds flew about, and the trees danced. It was a beautiful evening.
After the sun had set, we continued talking. Kari and Munachi were currently telling the rest of us how they had seen TK and Ebun kissing after dinner the day before.
"I swear I was shocked!" Kari remarked. "I used to think Ebun was holy, I even used to call her Mummy G.O."
"I was really surprised." Munachi shook her head, registering her disappointment. "I thought she was different, levelheaded. Baby girl was just producing different soundtracks!"
"Wait a second," Ibidun snapped her fingers repeatedly, trying to remember something. "I got it! That May D song, soundtrack. Bad girl give me the soundtrack, the soundtrack..." she, Kari and Munachi sang together. They burst into laughter when they finished and rolled on the grass.
Safia looked uninterested. She didn't like those types of discussions, neither did she like the seniors. A few of them had tried to hit on her, but she wasn't exactly approachable. Being under her gaze was difficult if you weren't her good friend.
Safia aside, the news shocked me. I hadn't known TK and Ebun were together. I knew they were close, yes, but how come Tekena always asked about Teni? Why had he stared so longingly at her on the day of the debate?
Oh well.
"I think he's just using her to catch cruise." Munachi surmised.
"Ehn? Tekena, use Ebun to catch cruise ke? I don't think so." Ibidun defended.
"Ta!" Kari rebuked. "All these RPSS boys and their evil ways."
I knew I was supposed to defend him because he was my friend, but I had bigger problems than him playing Ebun.
Ibidun changed the topic. She expressed her sadness over the fact that some people would leave RPSS after exams. I gulped, nervously played with my fingers and bit my lips, everything I did when I was nervous.
I didn't want them to know. But time was running out. Exams were starting on Monday. The term would end and I would never see them again. I couldn't just disappear like that. I had to tell them as soon as possible, and although I wasn't ready, I had to do it in that moment.
"You guys," I cut Ibidun off, "I have something to say." I gulped, moving closer to them. We formed a circle, sitting yoga style. We joined hands, and they looked at me expectantly.
I bit my lower lip, holding an inner battle with myself on if I should go ahead or change topic.
"You're scaring me. Talk!" Kari snapped, her hand trembling in mine.
Shit.
I shut my eyes tightly.
"I'm leaving after the term ends."
I opened my eyes when Kari's hand fell out of mine, and Munachi dropped my other hand. Safia's jaw dropped, and Ibidun looked at me incredulously.
My hands went cold. Time seemed to stop, the earth seemed to have stopped rotating too. Everything came to a standstill. Nobody spoke. Even the birds that had been flying about settled on tree branches. I gladly welcomed the silence.
Ibidun reacted first, with her rich laughter that was always contagious, but not that time around. "Girl, you're lying." she accused. She looked at the others, her facial skin creased. "You guys shouldn't tell me you actually believe her. She's lying!" she maintained, hitting her thighs.
"Yewande, this isn't the first of April. Don't tell such expensive jokes." Kari scolded.
My vision became blurry. Soon, I could feel salty liquid on my lips. "I'm not lying." I whispered.
Silence befell us again. Safia opened her water bottle and drank from it. She rested her gaze on the mango tree a few feet away and continuously tapped the bottom of her bottle on the grass.
Kari opened her bag, brought her books out and started arranging them. She emptied her pencil case and started counting her numerous pens and pencils.
Ibidun kept her eyes on me. She didn't look away, not even for one second.
Munachi brought her bunch of keys out of her pocket and started counting them. She recounted them and started playing with the keys.
Silent treatment.
I expected it, but only after they registered their displeasure in me just telling them and renounced their friendship with me.
It was getting late. The boarders were only allowed to stay in school for an hour after extra classes ended. I had to go home too, because it was almost seven.
"So you're not lying?" Ibidun asked coldly.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I'm not. Believe me, I wanted to—"
"We're your friends, right?" Munachi cut me off.
I looked at her in disbelief, wondering why she would ask such a question. We were friends before I befriended the others and formed our clique. I'd never thought she would say such, but it was justified. "Of course."
"Then," she stood up, "why are you just telling us? The term is ending soon for God's sake! We've done nothing but study this term. We haven't chatted in weeks. Everyone is busy reading! The SS1s raised the bar last year. So much is expected of us, and we can't disappoint! But you didn't think to tell us earlier so we could talk more, spend more time together, did you? If we were indeed your friends, you wouldn't do something like that." her voice rose several octaves, and I shivered at her harshness. "This is not what friendship is about!" she eyed me despicably and stormed off.
Her outburst was the key that opened the floodgates. I sniffed and wiped my tears with my palm. I knew more was coming. Kari's would be worst. She would either say something worse than Muna or just get up and leave.
But she still sat there, beside me. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and squeezed my hand, showing support and understanding.
Ibidun got up. "If I didn't bring this topic up today, you would have never told us, right?" she asked rhetorically. "We deserved a heads-up, and if you think you gave us one by just informing us about you leaving now, you're greatly mistaken. You know, I was actually happy when we became friends. If you ever noticed, I was never too close to anyone. But I liked you, I liked your intelligence, the way you spoke and carried yourself. You brought all of us together, only to do this!" she shook her head. "Some friend you are." after saying those words that pierced my heart like a newly sharpened sword, she walked away.
Safia stood up and looked at me. "See you tomorrow." then she left.
Kari held my chin. "I know there's another side to this whole thing. I'm sorry the others reacted like that, but you really can't blame them. Ibidun is right, you know. If she hadn't brought it up today, would you have ever told us?"
I looked away guiltily. "It's harder than you think, Kari."
"I won't judge you for your decisions, because I don't know what's going on in your life. You never let anyone in. Nobody knows anything about you, not even us. You're so reserved, so secretive. Live, Yewande, live."
"I'm trying, I seriously am. But it's difficult. Thank you," I took her other hand, "thank you for staying and not just storming off like the rest." I smiled gratefully.
She smiled too. "It's totally fine. That's what friends are for. At least you're told us you're leaving, and we're supposed to make your last days here memorable and fun, not leave like the early days of our friendship weren't good. I'll teach those three about friendship for you, don't worry. Wipe your tears." she wiped them off for me and stretched my lips into a smile.
"Thank you, Kari. You don't know how much this means to me." I hugged her. "I'll tell you something tomorrow. And please, try to talk to the rest for me. I hate fights and disagreements. I don't want us to keep malice."
"I will, I promise. I've got to go now. Take care." she pinched my nose and ran away before I decided to come after her.
I sighed, picking my bag up.
☆☆☆☆☆
Kari kept to her promise.
I had expected them to ignore me in school and not even spare me a glace. I prepared myself for the worst—them never speaking to me again.
But when I got to school the next morning, they were gathered at my desk, awaiting my arrival. I was taken by surprise, because they had been so cold to me the previous day. Their reactions had made me cry myself to sleep. And even in my sleep, I couldn't rest peacefully. I tossed and turned until the day broke.
Kari said it would be better for us to talk in the garden so we didn't draw attention to ourselves or get distracted. When we got there, we sat on the grass. For the first few minutes, no-one said anything. We just looked around, not doing anything to combat the awkward silence.
Then I spoke. I decided to stop being so uptight. I dammed the consequences and told them things no RPSS student knew about me. I told them everything, from Aunty Oma to Uncle Blessing's mum. I told them about Shalewa and my names on my lap. When I told them I was suicidal, Safia gasped and Ibidun looked at me apologetically. It was a major risk, but as long as it redeemed our friendship and their trust me in, I was willing to take it.
They apologized for being mean and failing me as a friend. Of course, I accepted their apologies. Kari gave us the friendship bracelets she had brought from home at the beginning of the term. We hugged, and that hug marked the birth of a new beginning in our friendship.
Everyone opened up about their fears and insecurities.
Ibidun was insecure about her weight. She didn't speak further.
Safia had a phobia for darkness, death and large bodies of water. She told us how she had vomited when she went on a boat cruise for the first time.
Kari was insecure about her forehead. She told us she hated doing cornrows because they made her forehead look bigger. Funny enough, cornrows looked great on her.
Munachi had a phobia for darkness, but her biggest fear was death.
I was scared of failure and death, the most common fears people had.
I had been scared of losing my friends, too. But now, I was just glad we were okay again. We promised not to keep secrets, and they promised to make my last weeks with them as fun as possible.
After the exchange of secrets and promises, they started talking about what I could do to make sure I stayed in RPSS, since I told them my reason for leaving was financial.
They came up with two ideas, and I was looking forward to seeing which of them worked.
☆☆☆☆☆
Ibidun had pleaded with me to come with her to the admin block to credit her meal card. Her mum had sent money to her that morning, and she needed to do a few things to get it sent to her school account.
I did not understand a word of what she said. But because it was difficult to refuse IB, I went with her.
I stayed in the reception while she sorted things out with the accountant. I sat idly in the room, trying not to meet the gazes of either of the receptionists. I felt greatly uncomfortable and wished Ibidun would be done quickly so we would leave.
I looked up at the television. As always, it was on CNN. A group of black students in Florida had staged a protest against racism in their school.
Then I looked at the table before me. It was funny how I hadn't looked at it since I sat. There was the most recent school yearbook, newspapers from different media houses and flyers. I moved closer to the table, picked one up and skimmed through it.
A writing competition. The winner got a scholarship for the rest of their secondary schooling. It was open to students from JSS2 to SS2. There were three rounds, with different topics. Registration was closing on Monday.
I jumped excitedly, hugging the paper to my chest as I grinned like a Cheshire cat.
"Keep it down! Mrs Adelana is in." One of the receptionists chided.
"Sorry ma." I apologized, still grinning.
That was what I needed.
It was what would prolong my stay at RPSS. Uncle Blessing wouldn't mind if I got a scholarship. He didn't want his money going to the school, but he didn't mind me going there.
Jackpot!
☆☆☆☆☆
Anyone who saw the flyer and knew my predicament would have asked me to register immediately before registration closed.
I had thought I would register at once too. But I was skeptical.
What were the possibilities of me being picked?
What were the possibilities of me winning?
It would be a difficult competition, with what the winning prize was. Who didn't want a scholarship in the Nigeria of today?
I told Tekena my doubts and fears. He was intelligent, and I trusted him to give me good advice. The girls had told me what a great opportunity it was, and that it was the miracle I had been waiting for. But I told them not to pressure me into registering just yet, that I needed some time to think about it. But time was something I didn't have a lot of.
"You should do it." he advised, returning the flyer to me.
I sighed and removed my hands from the railing. We stood at the stairway closest to his class, talking. It was 6:10pm, and extra classes had just ended.
"Are you sure?"
"Definitely. You wrote your points for the debate last term, and they were amazing. So what's stopping you from taking this opportunity?"
I sighed again. "But the winning prize, do I deserve it?" I asked foolishly. "What if there is someone out there who really needs it?"
"Argh!" He slammed the railing. "Come on, don't you really need it? Don't you think it's worth the shot?" He gave his words time to sink in. "Registration is closing on Monday o." He reminded.
I pondered over his words. "TK," I smiled, "thank you."
I raced down the stairs, flyer in hand, all the way to Mr Muiz's office. He was the teacher in charge of competitions.
I stopped at his desk, panting heavily. "I want to register, sir." I declared my intention, dropping the flyer on his table.