The romantic lives of three teenagers are intertwined in unimaginable ways the moment one of them returns from the States. And with all of the impediments that come with living in a conservative town, these set of queer youth struggle the most with drugs, trauma and crime, inadvertently testing deeply entrenched beliefs about life, friendships, love and sexuality. This book encompasses all their lives, and tells their heartwarming coming of age stories as they embark on a journey of finding their identity whilst navigating the tumultuous hallways of high school. It is anything but easy, especially when a tragic murder is uncovered, leading to a trail of both imminent danger and fear. The question isn't just whether or not they'd survive it all in the end, but also how much of themselves they'd lose in the process. And who would they even be?
Chapter 1 ONE
The night skies glimmered with a fistful of stars. The moon was barely out, it being just 7pm. But the thunder that rumbled in them seemed to gather just enough clouds to wrap the blissful sunset. A little while ago as they drove from the airport, the Lagos skies were on fire, all crimson and orange. It was a blissful sunset, as i said. But in an eventful second, it was all gone, like who this young boy was yesterday. The sun, was now hidden behind the dark, fat clouds rather than its horizon. It's home.
Ola looked up, with a drizzle of rain falling between his hazel eyes and his pair of oval brown glasses. The lightning that followed after lit his eyes, as if he were in a dark room with large cinematic screen. He wiped it off gently, and gripped the handle of his suitcase simultaneously. He didn't hate the rain per say, but it was just about enough to make him cuss under his breath. He didn't hate it meant it wasn't just his favorite type of weather. His life had dramatically altered in the course of hours, and whether or not it was for the better was the question that seemed to haunt him all this time. He hated alot of things, with himself topping the charts most times. I did say, most times because right now, more than anything- -he hated that he was here. 2001. LAGOS, NIGERIA. "Is that the last bag?" His father, Akin rushed through the door as if he was sure the rain would start in the next second. He closed the boot, without a response as he walked to the driver's seat. Ola took a moment to pause, to take in everything. The bustling sounds of the late Abule-Egba highway sparked in his ears. They lived by the roads where the high pitched okada horns was music to the maniacs that drove them. Lagos traffic could drive anyone mad, he could testify. He'd been on the road from the airport for at least the whole day. And his body ached. But there he still stood, taking it all in with a single breath. He couldn't believe he was here. After it all moved so fast. The lights shot on at that time, illuminating the little details on the side of the road. Like the woman tied in nothing but a wrapper and a little fan in her hands which she used to air the corn on fire. Half of it had turned black, or perhaps it was the light. But then, he'd heard her cuss as she battled with the flames and the produce. And the crying baby on her back. Away from that, the supermarket still boomed at this time of the night with people still trooping in. And even more hanging around. This was the beauty of living by the road. There was a bridge up ahead, and the traffic had eased from there. Everyone was in a hurry, trying to outrun the outpour. The rain, which some did see as a blessing. Some, but excluding Ola. His father peered from his rear view mirror as he reparked his car further into the driveway with his taillights first, ready to take off in the morning. It went off, as he alighted the car. The sound of the door slamming drifted Ola back to consciousness and he cleared his throat. "What are you doing?" Akin asked, gently hitting his son on his shoulders. He halted by his side, as if wanting to know what grasped his son's full attention. Was it Fela Kuti's song they played from the supermarket or the market seller beside? Anyways, he gave up after a second, pulling back his hands. "You need to get inside, so we can pray" He said, lowly as he walked ahead. Ola budged, trailing right behind towards the front porch. Their house wasn't alot, but it was theirs. They had the comfort of not owing anyone rent at the end of each year. And it was definitely a relief on his father's meagre income as a real estate consultant. Fancy, you'd think. Except where there weren't enough jobs to suit the influx of people like him. The infamous supply being more than the demand. Except the little shop, which he rented, Akin had nowhere else to spend his day. Thriving was one word to describe the Bankoles. And Ola was just about right, to fit in. He looked back one last time, as if finally coming to terms of where he really was. With the flashy billboard illuminating a pepsi advert. And the harmonious singing of the nearby pepper seller twins. This scenery struck a memory in his head. Him and Obi, his neighbor best friend, dancing in nothing but their pants and rolling tires by the side of the road. It was so fun then, that they'd be quick to throw off their uniforms and head out, playing in the sands but not too much, they were continually reminded that they were just inches apart from the road. And the manic vehicle owners. Those were the prime days to him, and the only good from this place which he took to Houston. But now, he was back. He shut his eyes, looking forward. And then opened it to his father by the door. "Come on, Olamide. You're home now" He grinned wide enough to reveal his set of teeth. And he nodded, a bit of his anxiety revealed as he walked through the doors to his mother with wide arms. She stopped, also with a smile. "Olamide" She walked to him, unable to contain her excitement from her airport. She had on a ridiculous style of gele, a headwear which she tied. She threw it off capriciously to the dinner table and ran to Ola. Literally. His bags fell as her hands went into his hair. His thick brown hair. "You need to get a haircut, first thing tomorrow. Clean, and smart. Before i show you off the neighbors" She squealed and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "And the photo" She said. "Mum" Was the first word he said. "What? Can't a mother be happy?" She threw questions at him as she looked to Ola. "The prodigal son has indeed returned" Mary smiled with her arms gestured out. "Welcome to Nigeria" "Welcome home" She didn't fail to add as her eyes shimmered in tears. Happy tears, behind which she already planned the next day's outing. And everything they were to do. How could Ola tell her that this wasn't a holiday, like he had been lied to? This was indeed his home, now. That was scary as fuck to this slim sized teenager, with frisky hair he dreaded out. And a glasses perched atop his nose. "I guess" He was willing to spare a benefit of doubt as he walked in and dropped his bags aside to pray. "Welcome home, son" Came his father's words too. - The sound of the hard dried cereal hitting the bowl was noise to his under rested ears. He had pajama pants on a sweatshirt, through which he sweat through. He was having a hard time adjusting to the weather after a decade away. The sun was out as early as seven and even his father, earlier. It was him and his mother, who was probably caking her face with as much makeup like she was making a grand entrance. Like she was the one back from Texas. Ola loved that about his mother. The extra, in Nigerian mothers. And he expected that but what he did not expect was for her to come out in iro and buba. A lavishly tied lace with diamonds on them, and she flashed a smile. One that came under her gele. She was only perfect to a fault, she couldn't tie it to save her life. But the confidence outmatched every flaw. "What are you wearing?" Ola asked, dipping his cutlery back into his milky choco. "And where are you going?" He added and she just walked past, an ostentatious scent that followed her if that made any sense. One that proved the famous statement right. That you didn't have to be rich, to dress rich. "Most normal sons would compliment their mothers first" She said, with her thick yoruba accent. It only made me realize how much i missed her voice. Her plain voice, away from the calls. Or voice recordings. Little things like these were the little luxuries Ola missed. "Are you calling me an abnormal son, Mary?" He called her and she walked closer to him. She had this habit of ruffling his hair which she did again. She exhaled this time. "Ah, i've missed you, Olamide" She whispered as she looked into his hazel eyes. And she backed away, like they hadn't a moment of connection just there. "Now, eat like a human and go get dressed" "Time is of the essence" She quoted, and he hummed a famous song in his head as he poured his water into his cereal like a psychopath. "I already have the whole day planned" She looked to her nails with a sly smile as she adjusted her head tie.
To be continued...
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