Call Me Baby

Sam

The fridge door closed with a bang, narrowly missing my pinkie finger. I looked and saw my father standing there staring at me without remorse. Anger and the stench of old beer radiated off him.

“I told you I won’t take you eating like a horse, in my house!” He shouted, shaking his meaty fist at me. I did not cower, merely looked at him, and turned away. I could feel the anger course through my fifteen-year-old body and I tried my best to restrain myself. Every time he acted like that, I saw him as an animal that needed to be put down and I knew how dangerous such a thought was.

For the better part of my childhood, I watched my father plow his way through all the happiness in my family, too insignificant and powerless to stop him. It started with the yellings. He would yell at my mom all night, making me lose so much rest that I often slept in class.

I used to cry myself to sleep on those nights but as I grew older it got better. When my dad was diagnosed as an alcoholic I guess I just stopped caring and wishing he would change. There’s so much conflict a child can stomach before he withdraws into himself. As a little boy, I adored my father. He was a bubbly outdoorsy kind of person and always loved to take me along with him.

He even took me to work with him on days when I wasn’t going to school. At that time, I was too young to notice that he was using me as a weapon against my mother. I was three years old when he attempted to divorce my mother and take custody of me. My mother wouldn’t hear of it. No amount of beating cowed her into agreeing to his terms. He stayed and since then every day has been hell for my mother, and for me.

I went to my room to get dressed for school. No one needs food when there is so much hate and anger to fill you. On the way to school, I was thinking of growing up fast. Daydreaming about the day when I would no longer have to hear my father’s yells and my mother’s screams. Bang! I ran into someone. It was a short girl. I looked down at her as she watched me, her small beady eyes dancing in anger.

“You’re not going to apologize?” She asked in a mix of anger and surprise when I brushed past her. Then she grabbed my shirt and tried to drag me back. I was livid. With the shoulder of the hand she held, I whipped my arm from her hold so fast that she stumbled.

“Don’t touch me” I said dangerously. Then I brushed away the memory of her filthy hand from my arm and left her standing there with her mouth wide open and tears in her eyes. When I saw her later in my class, I realized she was a new student. No wonder, I thought.

Our English teacher walked in. Her dress was short and tight as usual. The back of her legs reminded me of those hairy tubers of yam my mother loves to buy when things are very hard for us. Disgusting.

“Hello dear,” she said. She indicated that she was speaking to the new girl, “What is your name?”

“Mary Aliu,” the new girl said, getting up. She looked calm and collected. Less than the crying baby I had encountered early that morning.

“Welcome to our school. I am sure you will enjoy it here” our teacher said.

I scoffed at all the mollycoddling and how it was making Mary smile. She would realize soon enough that the school was awful.

“Thank you ma”

“Have you found a chair?” Teacher asked. Mary shook her head. “Sit there”

I wasn’t paying attention, so seeing the new girl standing in front of me was surprising.

“What…” I began.

“Let her sit there with you,” my teacher said. Her voice was hard. For some reason, she had never liked me. Perhaps she sensed that I didn’t like her either.

Mary sat down and immediately brought out all the books she would need that day. I wanted to tell her not to bother but it was none of my business. The lesson began and I returned to dreaming.

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Mary

Do parents even call their children and rub minds with them before making big decisions that will affect the whole family? Well, mine did not. I got home from school to meet both of my parents sitting in the living room chatting.

“Good evening mom. Good evening daddy” I greeted them, I honestly had one leg inside the living room and the other inside the main house.

“Mary, come and sit down” my dad called. If it was my mom I would have told her I wanted to go eat change or something but I couldn’t tell my dad that. So I went and sat down opposite them.

“We are leaving this house in two days,” he said. He literally dropped it like a bomb! I was stunned. I wanted to ask questions but my dad being who he is, I couldn’t question him. I just said okay and left.

“Mummy, what is daddy talking about?” I asked my mother as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“We are parking. Your father had a quarrel with the landlord again. Then she gave me the ‘you know I have no say in the matter’ look.

“I need to finish the term,” I said to my mother. I had a point. I was in a graduating class.

“Your father would hear none of that. You can always continue at a new school” she replied. I wept that night and the night after. Somehow I believed my feelings were important too. I guess not. Two days later we left, and one month later I was enrolled in this new school.

“Don’t touch me!” That’s what a boy told me literally two days after I resumed. I was still raw and hating my new environment and he just made it worse.

“You’re so rude,” I said to the dust he left behind. Then I walked quickly to the canteen, it was the perfect time to stress eat.

Sam

She was so quiet beside me. I could feel that she was ignoring me but I had expected back talk and not getting any, surprised me. For days we sat together, not saying a word until a quiz broke the ice.

“We are partners, we have to work together,” she said. It was my turn to pretend like she didn’t exist. She seemed stunned that I was dismissing something as important as a quiz and her surprise quickly turned to anger.

“Aunty!” she called, standing up to report my attitude to our teacher. I yanked her back to her seat quickly. There would be a whole lot of trouble if I got “caught” for being unserious again. My father would be all too eager to hit me and I did not want to spend a week unable to sit properly.

“Let’s start” I snapped. She looked me up and down and hissed. We put our heads together and began to solve the questions. Later after class, Eva came to me.

“I don’t know why English Aunty put that new girl in your seat,” she said. Eva was the prettiest girl in our class with glowing ebony skin all the other girls coveted. She also claimed to have a crush on me, mainly because half the number of girls in the class did and she couldn’t bear to be left out.

“You wanted her to sit with you?” I asked, baiting her. She took it in stride.

“I wanted to sit with you,” she said. Then she smiled at me and walked away. I kept looking after her, not because there was anything to see but because, of all people, Mary was staring at me.

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Mary

Other girls love moody passive-aggressive boys but I have never been in that category. Never saw the appeal in a Male with a bad attitude and terrible behavior. After my successful psychoanalysis, I was not surprised to see lots of girls flirting around the bad-mannered boy I had as a seatmate.

He gave them little attention and they sought after him even more. It reminded me of what my mom said about children. Tell a child you don’t want him somewhere and that place becomes Treasure Island. I concluded those girls were childish and despite the noise, went back to my books. That was what saved me.

“If you are standing, remain standing,” someone said calmly. It was our proprietress. “Nobody moves.”

I froze with my hand turning a new leaf. Sam was still standing near the window. Eva had been sitting on her table, one leg was thrown out so her black tights were in full display. Proprietress flogged them all to her heart’s content before she left. The class remained quiet for a long time after.

Walking back home was a rowdy experience, unlike in my previous school where everyone went their separate ways after the bell. We would all walk en masse to the junction before splitting towards our respective locations. Our new house was in a better neighborhood that was for sure. This neighborhood was less noisy and a girl like me who was used to touts greeting me with creepy catcalls and whistles was happy enough.

Sam would follow us to the junction in complete silence, his hands shoved into his pocket and his earphones firmly in his ear. I always wondered what he was listening to and why it was more important than his classmate’s company.

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“What did you bring for lunch?” Sam asked me one day as soon as the bell rang for break time. I was shocked that he had asked me a direct question but I couldn’t show it without breaking the ice I was striving so hard to keep solid.

“Rice and stew,” I replied. He was facing me and I could feel his breath on my neck.

“Good,” he said. Boring conversation but Sam seemed to think it was enough. After that day he would come to school early. I began to notice that his stony face could stretch into a smile.

“Take,” he said one morning, passing me a small parcel. I was wary of it.

“What is inside?” I asked. He looked slightly hurt.

“Why are you asking that kind of question?” He asked. His hands were still offering it to me.

“If only Ken Saro Wiwa had thought to ask,” I said. We were reading Purple hibiscus that term and I found it so fascinating that I imported pieces of it into my real life. His face scrunched up like someone trying very hard not to laugh. I felt unusually warm knowing he found me funny. If I perish I perish was what I told myself when I opened the parcel. Inside was a bar of chocolate and a folded handkerchief.

“Where did you get these?” I asked. I knew boys in my old school who stole money from their parents to buy stuff for their Crush.

“Just found them lying on the ground somewhere,” Sam said over my shoulder.

It was a rude reply but I couldn’t possibly say anything more than “Thank you”. I said a quick prayer and put the parcel in my bag.

Sam

The air that morning was cold and because of the rain, there were little puddles on the dirt road but I navigated it easily without getting a stain on my white stockings. 6:45 was what my wristwatch said. It used to be 7:45 in the days before Mary I was a perpetual latecomer. Mary always came early to school, and to be with her for a few minutes before the general assembly, I had to be early too.

Jeremy was talking with her when I got in. They were seated on my seat. The rage was unhealthy but I let it course through me anyway.

“Get off my seat!” I growled at him when I got within talking distance.

“We are almost done talking. Could you just wait over there for a bit?” Mary asked. I ignored her, I couldn’t even look at her so she wouldn’t see how angry I was. I just stood there waiting for the sissy to get his butt off my chair and his mouth off the girl I loved.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He told her, his voice was gentle and although he succeeded in making me look bad, I didn’t care so long as he was off my seat.

I knew when Mary began to like me. It was subtle but it was there. She smiled more, staring at me with those bright eyes of hers. She was fond of making jokes and I loved it. School was fun when I sat beside her. School was wonderful all those times when she captured my hand under the table and whispered “later”.

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One of those days, I walked towards the popular “lovers spot”. It was behind the uncompleted building in our school. I knew Mary would be waiting there because she had gone ahead of me. She was leaning against the wall and staring at the pawpaw tree as though it was of interest to her. It was a tactic, if a teacher was walking by, she could easily say she was here to pluck pawpaw fruits.

I walked up to her and held her hand, then her elbow and then her waist. We were young and it was alright to take things slow, even the kisses. The texture of her lips was like that of ripe fruit and I munched on it. When I kissed her I got breathless, I felt that I loved her so much more than I was able to show as a macho guy. I craved to fall into her arms and weep but I couldn’t. I could feel that barrier between us even as we kissed so I tried to use my hands to cover the distance. I cupped her breasts and squeezed.

“What are you doing?” She asked, pushing my hands off her body and ending the kiss. Shame washed over me as I stood there, suspended over her now rigid body.

“What am I doing?” I echoed.

“Bye Sam,” she said as we reached the intersection. It was weeks after the kissing incident and we had fallen back into our routine. She had asked me to apologize and I did, then I told her I wasn’t really sorry because she had really soft breasts and it was normal for a boy to move his hands like that. She just looked at me and said nothing.

I watched as she crossed the road over to the street that led to the lane she had told me her house was on. I followed her, but at a safe distance so she couldn’t turn around and see me. I wanted to know where she lived. Stalking her like that made me feel like a worse man than my father but I really needed to know where she lived so I slithered along.

We kept walking, and it took me a moment to notice that we had been walking for too long. I looked around me, we were walking into Idahosa street. It suddenly hit me that she wasn’t going home. I was intrigued. Where would Mary be going at this time? Idahosa street was busier sometimes than normal, so I was able to follow at a closer distance.

She passed the church and the Palm wine spot and stepped into a steep rise that led to another lane. Houses on this lane were large and beautiful and some had dogs prowling inside them. I followed her to the third house and hid behind the wall. She walked inside and went behind the gate man’s building.

There was someone there waiting for her. I shifted positions so I could see properly. It was Jeremy, they were smiling at each other. “I missed you, baby,” she said. Baby? I thought as my eyes watered. I could tell she had never called anyone that before.