ABBY
Monday morning, Uncle ignored Aunty’s advice and took Mr 16 to enrol in a local school instead of the prestigious boarding school his parents had paid tuition for.
Uncle’s reasoning?
“The local school will knock him into shape. The plush school will only empower him.”
That afternoon, the headteacher called.
Mr 16 had disappeared after the first lesson.
Uncle was visibly upset. His voice shook with rage as he dropped the phone.
“Abby, come here!” he roared.
I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“Did he tell you where he was going or what he was going to do?”
I widened my eyes in fake confusion. “Who?”
Uncle’s face darkened. “Your big-headed cousin!”
“Oh! Sorry, sir. No, he didn’t.”
Uncle shoved me aside and stormed out of the house.
Two hours later, he returned with Mr 16.
I overheard him telling Aunty where he had found him—sitting in an ice cream parlour, complaining that the classrooms were too hot and frying his brain.
Uncle was livid.
“Kneel down in the corner. Hands up.”
Mr 16 opened his mouth to protest but stopped. He must have remembered the hot slap from the previous day. Instead, he obeyed.
Minutes passed.
I could hear him muttering under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could imagine what he was saying.
Aunty, as expected, tried to intervene. “Let him go. He has learnt his lesson.”
Uncle silenced her with a glare. “He is my nephew. My responsibility. Stay out of it.”
Then, after two hours, Mr 16 collapsed.
At first, Uncle thought he was pretending. “Get up!” he barked.
But Aunty screamed and rushed to his side, shaking him. “Abby! Bring water!”
I ran to get it, and she splashed it on his face.
Nothing.
Now, even Uncle looked worried. He lifted Mr 16 onto his backseat and shouted, “Get in the car!”
I sat in the back, holding Mr 16’s head still as we sped to the hospital.
On arrival, he was rushed to emergency. A few minutes later, he woke up, groggy but conscious.
The doctor came to speak to us. Uncle wanted privacy, but Aunty refused. “If anything happens to him, I am the one who will take care of him.”
The doctor sighed. “He’s suffering from heat exhaustion. His body isn’t used to this climate. He needs to stay cool to prevent this from happening again.”
Uncle and Aunty thanked him.
Then, Aunty turned to Uncle. “Listen to me. I will not let you bring trouble to this house. This boy is not from here. If anything happens to him, your sister will not say you were ‘helping’ her son turn out right. Enrol him in the school his parents paid for.”
Uncle had no response.
Finally, he muttered, “Take him home in a taxi when he’s discharged. I’m going home.”
Hmmm…
CHRIS
Friday arrived.
Time for my Houdini move.
I got ready for school as usual, slung my bag over my shoulder, and hugged my siblings. “See you later,” I lied.
At the gate, Mr Sam was already waiting.
He led me to his quarters, where I changed out of my uniform, picked up the travel bag he had given me, and hopped onto the back of his motorbike.
As we rode to the bus station, I kept glancing over my shoulder.
Would my father suddenly appear and yank me off the bike?
Would my mother come running, begging me to stay?
My heart was a war zone—excitement on one side, guilt on the other.
I was about to start a new chapter.
But I was also leaving my family behind in limbo.
My thoughts were interrupted when we arrived at the bus park.
Mr Sam handed me a paper with a name and a picture. “This is my cousin. He will meet you in Ibadan.”
Then, as the bus prepared to leave, he hugged me tightly. “Go change your destiny. Make yourself proud.”
I nodded, my hands shaking. “Thank you.”
And then, I climbed aboard.
Through the dusty window, I watched him watch me as the bus pulled away from the untarred garage onto the winding road that led to the expressway to Lagos.
The journey took seven hours.
Seven of the longest hours of my life.
I arrived in the evening, just as the sun was setting.
Mr Sam had told me to look for his cousin near a tyre repair shop.
I spotted the tyre repairman and approached cautiously.
A young man who looked like Mr Sam stepped forward. “Are you Chris? My cousin sent me.”
Relief washed over me. “Yes.”
He smiled, hugged me, and led me to a taxi.
Through winding streets and chaotic traffic, we finally arrived at the towering gates of the University of Ibadan.
The words loomed above me in bold letters.
It hadn’t sunk in yet.
I was here.
We walked past students laughing, chatting, carrying books. I had never seen anything so beautiful.
I suddenly became aware of my worn-out trousers and faded shirt.
I looked tattered.
But just as my shame began to rise, a campus bus pulled up.
My guide smiled. “No local taxis beyond this point. This will take us inside.”
We got off near the Faculty of Science and walked past a row of bungalows.
“This is the staff quarters,” he explained. “I stay with my uncle here. You’ll stay in the boys’ quarters until school resumes. You have three months before registration.”
Three months.
Three months to prepare for the biggest change of my life.
Hmmm…
