Afara (Bridge)

“Bode, please wake up. Wake up, let’s talk.”

If there’s any gift my brother has, it’s the ability to sleep through a storm. And when I say this, you may be quick to think that he’s a sleepy head who finds a way to snooze at every given opportunity, but that’s not what I mean. You see, Bode and I were born into a storm, the type that sways you from side to side as if it’s rocking you to sleep then suddenly jolts you awake. So, we learnt to move with the rhythm; to fall asleep when it rocked and also endure the sudden jolts. From a very young age I understood the gravity of our poverty and disadvantage. It was a startling discovery that seeped in slowly, and I think it became really obvious to me when I turned five. About a week after my birthday, something startling happened.

First, my mother gave me a small tray of oranges, and a faded pink shirt long enough that I didn’t need a skirt. It was like a mini coronation— she tore a long strip from her wrapper that made it shorter than it originally was. Then, she bunched it up into a round cushion of some sorts and placed it on my head. The tray sat well and she asked me to support it with one hand as she held the second. Off we went, and so, a new life began for me. I couldn’t play in muddy puddles around the house anymore or fall asleep on the verandah waiting for everyone else to come home. I didn’t even get my ten Naira afternoon biscuit. I was in the working class now.

That evening when we got home, I was given another new assignment— to pluck ewedu for dinner. It seemed interesting to be in the kitchen at first, but soon enough, tears started to sting my eyes thanks to the smoke from our woody fire. When the food was done, I got another surprise. For the first three years of my life, I had not seen anyone else eat while I was eating. They’d feed me till I shook my head and pointed to the water jug. A few gulps after, I’d be in dreamland. Today was different. Everyone got a share and when I was done with my portion, I wasn’t satisfied, but I just knew there was no more. After a few days, I learnt to satisfy the rest of my hunger with water. There was always clean drinking water in the blue bucket. Bode made sure of that every morning. And my love for him became linked to my reliance on water to fully satisfy my rumbling tummy.

Like water, he was constant. His love, his presence, and affection. When I was old enough to understand the world, I realized that though we lacked money, we had something deep and special. We had so much love. I thought it was the norm until I saw the depravity in the world outside my home. How can I ever forget our big raffia mat placed on top of a slim pile of palm branches to offer some cushioning effect? Then, we had two big worn out bedsheets— one for the parents and one for the children.

Daddy would hold Mummy and Bode would hold me. So, even when the darkness was thick and the clothes in the corner formed eerie shapes, I was never afraid. My big brother was holding me. When we grew older, we somehow transitioned into just holding hands till sleep came calling. But there were some hard nights like this one where I would wrap my arms around his arm and rest my head there like I was holding on for dear life. Bode would rub my head or pull my nose till I was calm enough to sleep.

But it didn’t work this night. I was too troubled. And unlike my dear brother, I couldn’t sleep through storms. You see, Bode confronted situations this way— do all that can possibly be done, as best as you can possibly do it, then accept the outcome whatever it is, and make peace with it. As an apprentice mechanic, he was doing his very best and he brought home every dime he managed to get from tips. He was content with working hard and looking forward to his ‘freedom’ so he could start his own mechanic workshop in front of our house.

But I wanted more. My dad used to pull my nose playfully very often and say, “You always want more.” It was true. I would go into the bush to find more palm fronds for our ‘bed’. One time, I stacked tires together and placed a plank on them so they could serve as a makeshift table. Mum gave me a high-five and a tired smile. If we were like fish in a pond, then my mum, dad and brother were the calm fishes who were comfortable in the pond while I was the restless one always looking to latch on to boats so I could somehow make it into a bigger river. However, it was only fishermen who came by, and all they offered was a hook masked by their smelly bait. Ewwwww. I was too smart to fall for that. The boat plan was futile but I knew something else that could work— some sort of link.

Bode showed me tenacity. He worked so hard and I could tell how tired he was from how he flopped on the mat at night. Yet, he would always pick himself up in the morning and go again. Everyday. Except Sundays of course, when we went to church and spent the rest of the day resting. I learnt to rise when he rose and I’d pick a broom to sweep and set the whole house in order when he picked the fetcher to draw enough water to fill several buckets. He’d leave at dawn after downing a bowl of garri while I began my English and Maths lessons with my father. I didn’t step into the four walls of a school but I knew how to make calculations fast and I had read almost all the old books stacked in cartons in our home. By noon, it was time to go out to sell oranges with Mum while Dad went in search of whatever menial job would fetch money for that day.

Our house was clean and smelt pleasant despite the little we had. The lemon grass tea mum boiled every morning was the fragrance of our home, but you see, it couldn’t mask the sour stench of dead and decaying dreams that I could practically smell and feel floating in the air. I’m sure Ma and Pa could smell it too but they had determined to simply live one day after the other and give us all that they had. I think somehow, life had stifled and killed their dreams. Not all of them anyway, because if they ever dreamt of a love that defied hard circumstances and made a grown man and a woman break into full blown blushing so randomly, then that one had come true in 4K. It was too beautiful to see. But I didn’t think it was enough. My young heart was dreaming dreams and I was determined to bring them to life with everything I had. There was only one problem.

I had nothing.

Or, so I thought.

In bed with my brother by my side, thoughts ravaged my heart. In case you’re wondering, I say ‘bed’ because Dad came home with mattresses one night. Really slim ones gotten from a thrift store but they were such a great improvement.

Sigh. I looked at my aging parents and my tired brother. There had to be a way out. There just had to be a way out, and this night, that was all I could think about— a way out.

“What’s going on Kike?”

Bode was finally awake staring at me with eyes that couldn’t seem to decide between the North and South.

I faced him with tears in my eyes.

“Are we going to continue like this? We need to find a way out of this deep poverty.”

“Hmnnnn. You know we’re doing our best. Okay… what more can we do?”

“We need a bridge to get us from where we are to where we want to be.”

“A Bridge?”

“Yes, a bridge.”

And that, my friends, was the beginning of how we began a journey from where we were to where we wanted to be.

No.

That’s not it.

It was simply a journey from where we were to somewhere better, because, if I’m being honest, we didn’t have a clear picture of where we wanted to be or where we were going. We just knew there was more and began to find a way. One step at a time.

You see, chasing a dream may be one of the hardest things to do in this world. Because it’s easy to draw out a strategy before you get to the war field but in the middle of the battle, you need more than a fancy dream. You need willpower. Drive. Discipline. Sacrifice. Dedication. But when you’ve slaved at a mechanic workshop from dawn to dusk or hawked oranges in the hot sun day after day for years, these things are not strange to you anymore.

“Kike. I thought about what you said last night.”

Bode lowered his head like he was searching for the right words. I looked at him with wide eyes. If he decided not to dream with me, I’d be lost. I watched him look at me but it was more like he was looking into me. I think he could see the fire in my heart still glowing but flickering and needing some more fuel. If my dreams died, would they leave me behind?

“But I must be honest with you my dear. I’m not sure we can find a bridge.”

“Please don’t say that. We can if we look for—“

“Listen.”

“Noooooo—“

“Listen to me Kike!”

I covered my face and buried my head between my knees.

“There’s no bridge. Remember when dad tried to put me on a bridge and sent me to live with his friend so I could attend secondary school and have a chance at university? Have you forgotten how I was maltreated and dad said he kept feeling a restlessness in his heart until he showed up in Abuja at 12am and met me sleeping behind the shrubs outside the gate. I was locked out because I dared to take two portions of garri. Have you forgotten how dad took me back home without a word to his friend. I saw his tears as we rode back home in the back of that lorry. He tried so many times to put me on a bridge. But people can only be bridges if they choose to be.”

At this point I had broken down in tears. Partially because I remembered when the man who offered my mother a good sum to wash his clothes weekly, touched me while she washed outside in the hot sun. It was a good job because we finally had enough money to feed well and get some goodies like a full pineapple and apples once in a while but he was not a good man. The first time he put me on his leg and rubbed his palm on my chest, it was so weird and I didn’t understand what was going on. But why was his other hand inside his trousers? After the second time, I stuck to my mother’s side even though the sun was scorching. He tried to cajole me to rest inside like he was doing my mum a favour, and she tried to convince me too but when I pinched her arm, she looked me in the eye and told him to let me stay outside with her. She removed her scarf and gave it to me to cover myself. But that day she washed the clothes so fast and put us on a bike straight home instead of walking to the bus stop to catch a bus.

“Kike. What happened?”

I told her and she broke. Still, I didn’t really understand the gravity of what was going on. Bode was so angry and I didn’t know why. Nurse came and checked every inch of me, including inside my legs. For several weeks after that, Mum would hold me every night and we would talk about everything as she played with my hair and touched my face. Dad would carry me every time and remind me I was a princess and would grow into a Queen. That was their therapy for me and it was perfect. But we never washed clothes again. And we went back to our small meals.

“Kike. This is what we can do— we can build our own bridge.”

“How?”

“Let’s start with what we have.”

“We don’t have anything.”

“We do. First, I’m going to quit the mechanic shop— I see no future there. It’s been three years and asides changing oils and fixing tires, I’m just an errand boy.”

“I support your decision. We’ll explain to mum and dad.”

“Yes. So, I have an idea. You know I’m very good with Mathematics, yeah?”

“Yesss.”

“I will ask Mrs. Badmus to pay me a fee to tutor her children in Maths so she doesn’t have to shout every evening and use a bundle of canes.”

We broke into laughter. Just yesterday, we were having dinner when we heard her shout, “Two times three is six! Two times three is six! Two times three is six! Now, what is three times two?”

“Two!” “Three!” “Thirty-two!”

“Jeeeesussss! Daddy Sade, come and carry your children before I kill them!!!”

We almost choked on our food due to the hysterical bouts of laughter.

Sigh. The irony of life. A well-to-do family who could send their children to the best schools but those kids were far from being geniuses. So far.

“That’s a great plan! Why didn’t we think of that before!”

Mrs. Badmus loved the idea and two months down the line, not only was two times three, six; twelve times twelve was also 144. Bode paid tithe, put half of the money on the table and stashed the rest inside our mattress. Food was now a constant and the journey to ‘more’ had begun. I was still hawking oranges with Mum until something happened. The popular puff-puff seller at our junction was whisked away to a better life by her children. I noticed the empty spot one morning and made enquiries. Suddenly, I had an idea and ran back home to tell Bode.

“Puff puff!”

“That’s exactly what you look like right now with the the way you’re sweating and panting.”

“You’re not nice.”

“Oya sorry. Take N50 and buy 3.”

“No joor. Iya has relocated with her children.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And I have an idea.”

“Is it what I’m thinking?”

“Yessss!”

He sighed and thought about it for a while then he smiled and sprung into action.

“Let’s make a list of things to buy. Umbrella. Wooden chair. Pots, pans.”

“Nooo, Bode. Let’s start small. We’ll use Mummy’s frypan, sieve…”

So, we bought only the things we really needed and used wide raffia hats to fight the sun but we couldn’t fight the rain and it came for us occasionally until we bought a wide umbrella. Our mattress stash was growing so Dad and Bode took it to the bank one day. Bode was 18 already so he could get papers and bank accounts and things like that. Every month he took our stash to the bank. Eight months into our hustle and we had fifty thousand Naira!

One day, Dad and Mum showed up at the puff puff stand and joined us. They damned the shame. See, if there was a glow in our hearts— Bode’s and mine— it became a full flame. Mummy fine-tuned our recipe and Dad just knew his way around regulating the fire.

The stash grew, food was constant, we bought thrift clothes once in a while. Life was better. Then, news of Mrs. Badmus’ children’s newly found intelligence spread and mothers were showing up at our doorstep to ask Bode to tutor their wards too. That’s how our front yard became a tutorial center manned by Daddy and Bode. Mummy and I stayed with the puff puff— we had a stall now and a gas stove.

Our Afara was taking shape.

But that’s the thing that’s confusing about dreams and journeys. How do you know when you’ve reached your destination? Especially when things are getting better. We now had a small room and parlour apartment with a kitchen! There was also sparse but good enough furnishing. Was this ‘it’?

“I don’t know Kike. But we’re young. So, what if we just keep building one step at a time.”

“What do we do with our stash?”

“We’ll keep growing it. One day we’ll find a good way to use it. Anyway, in the meantime, I’ve had something on my mind for a while.”

“Okay o, since you trust these bank people. What’s on your mind?”

“A smartphone.”

“Bode, stop that. Let’s not spend our money anyhow.”

“Calm down. It will give us access to the world. It’s a bridge!”

“Hmnnn… you have a point.”

“Let’s see what’s happening beyond this town. Let’s see if we can reach for more.”

So, we bought a phone. At first, we got carried away and Dad took it from us for a while. However, what we didn’t know was that he and mum had been looking through it so they could find a way to put us through.

“Bode, see this. There’s this thing people are doing now. They call it ‘Tech’, it’s the short form for Technology.”

“Ahhh. Daddy, all these boys with laptops! They are fraudsters! Yahoo Yahoo!”

“Ehn Ehn?”

“Yes Sir.”

“But check it first now. Microsoft is doing yahoo too?”

“Ah, I’ve not seen this before o. It looks like some complex mathematics. Soft—ware—engin—eering.”

“Okayyy… Software has to do with these computer systems. So, maybe they’re talking about building those kind of things. I think this may be a way for you to wear a suit even without university education.”

“Hmnnn.”

“Oya, let’s watch this video and see.”

Three months later, we bought a secondhand system and a small mifi for internet. Bode was there all day— smiling with fascination some times, as he worked his way through any free course he could find, and almost hitting his head on the wall in frustration other times. Daddy continued teaching.

“I want to do computer work too,” I blurted out at dinner one evening.

“But you know that you don’t like all these calculations and numbers.”

“Even though. I still want.”

“Daddy, I think she can do that one that deals with colours.”

“The designing one?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Okay then. Let her do it.”

Mummy decided one day that we would pass the puff puff business over to a woman in our neighborhood who was recently widowed.

In my head, voices whispered, “That will be her own bridge.”

I smiled and my heart was full when we did it.

So, I had more time to focus on my computer designing and mum joined daddy to teach the ever growing number of students in our front yard.

It’s been ten years since we started building our bridge. Dad and Mum run a school now when they’re not busy being lovebirds. Bode is a Chief Engineer and I’m a Senior Designer. It feels like it was just yesterday when I cried in the middle of the night that I needed a bridge.

In a decade, I’ve learnt a few things but I’ll tell you just a few because I believe each one of us has a unique journey.

Dreams are powerful.

The Destination is an illusion.

In the Journey lies the Big Picture and the goal should be to keep the fire aglow every step of the way.

Learn contentment so you can be at peace regardless of where you are.

Refuse mediocrity.

People can be bridges but only if they choose to be. Don’t be offended if they choose not to be.

You need a bridge.

You can build your bridge.

I’m not going to lie, life would have been easier if we found a bridge. There were times I desperately wanted someone to carry me through. Like when Bode and I were sharing a slow PC but we had to wait so long to save up enough for a better one. I used to wish someone would just give us a new one. Just one. We would have learnt faster and finished our courses faster. It was a hard and slow journey but when you’ve moved from sleeping on a mat to a good bed, you learn to trust the process and value immaterial things like your faith and love and family and friendships and laughter, as you go along.

What’s left for me on this journey?

Well, I swore to be a bridge.

Afara launches tomorrow and I’m looking at the laptops and work chairs in my sitting room.

“Let’s give a few people bridges, shall we?”