Talking About Obi
I find my way out of that dingy room where we call out things to other people at people’s whims. I see you and say, shall I walk you down to your hostel? I didn’t need to say a word of introduction — we done did that at that place where about thirteen or so people are members, like us. Under the starry night, we talk; about school; about good alumni bodies; about the stars from your school and Brymo. And when it nears the time those men in boots blew their whistle, we part away from each other.
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It would take fourteen or more days before we talk any talk other than hello, good morning. This time, you'd tell me to go and rest, I look really weathered, with parched lips and all. I say to you, see, I'm fine. I just need to finish this one last set and it's over. You say no. I stop and rest anyways. On my way to the hostel, where there's most likely going to be more than twenty-five boys chanting and doing stuffs, I thought of how energy sapping that dingy room could be and how I truly needed to rest.
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At the vaccination centre, I watch as you chatter away with one of your associates, making faces and all. Then you amble towards the nurse. She picks a syringe, taps it with her finger, then she sticks it into your left shoulder and let the fluid flow into your body. You show no sign of pain. I tell myself, if you could take that without anything as much as a grimace then I could too. I take mine, but I'm not sure if I did a good job not betraying the pain.
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The remaining days, it's to leave that we wanted. All of us. One of us says, this place is oozing too much toxic energy.
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I say to you over the phone one day, Obi, I feel like my skills are wasting away. You listen while I say all the things that bother me — more than 10 minutes of one-way talk. We’re 1,045km away. But it feels like you’re just here, like the jugular inna me neck. When I round off, I feel so light, so unburdened and poised for flight. Then you say to me, that you’re sure that I’d make things work last last.
And then I listen to you too.
Many nights, we'd take turns, listening to one another. And after every night, the burdens of life would lift, at least until the next day when we rinse and repeat.
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Hey Obi.❤️ I hope this new time do you well. And that your big big ambitions become so subservient to you so that you ride on the back and up up you go. Happy birthday, Beloved.
