The truth I never told (Part two)

I waited patiently for Mum’s visitor to leave, but the conversation dragged on much longer than I expected. With nothing else to do, I returned to the window and watched the children outside again. By then, the weather had become much cooler as the sun began to set. The boys kept playing football on the dusty field until it grew too dark for them to see the ball. A few minutes later, Mum finally called my name, and I hurried to the sitting room. She told me that her friend was leaving and that she was going to see her off. “Bye-bye, Ma,” I said politely. Her friend smiled, took my hand, and folded a ₦10 note into my palm. I was so excited that I immediately hugged her. Mum and her friend burst into laughter before stepping outside. Just before leaving, Mum turned around and called my name again. <img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/24E3DF50-6330-41B9-A34C-125D137AAF1C.jpeg"/> “Don’t leave the house,” she reminded me. “When your daddy gets back from work, we’re all going to watch Maltina Dance Hall.” The show had started airing earlier that month, and I was excited. But, strangely, what occupied my mind the most wasn’t the free money or the television show. It was the thought of trying smoking for the very first time.As soon as I walked into my room, NEPA restored the electricity. Almost instantly, the entire neighborhood erupted with the familiar chorus of “Up NEPA!” echoing from different houses. Normally, I would have rushed to the sitting room to watch Nickelodeon while the power lasted, but I had already made up my mind. I opened one of my notebook, I held the two middle pages tightly and tugged. I rolled the papers to a cigarette shape and I made my way into Tomiwa’s room, which seemed like the perfect place to carry out what I knew was a bad idea. I stood facing the window, pushed the louvers glass open, and drew the net curtain slightly to one side. I placed the paper cigarette between my lips, flicked the lighter, and held the tiny flame against the tip of the rolled paper. I took a deep breath, trying to inhale the smoke the way I imagined adults did. The smoke hit the back of my throat almost immediately. I coughed so hard that tears filled my eyes. After catching my breath, I foolishly tried again, hoping the second attempt would somehow be easier. Instead, I coughed even harder and instinctively turned away from the window.That was the moment I gave up. I sat on the floor, embarrassed and disappointed in myself, wondering why I had wanted to try it in the first place. I turned back toward the window to close the louver panes and leave Tomiwa’s room before anyone caught me. That was when I froze. The curtain was on fire. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I rushed toward it and tried to put the flames out with my hands, but it was already too late. The fire had spread from the thin curtain to the plastic table beside the window. It kept growing, and I had no idea what to do. Panicking, I ran out of the house to call for help. But the street, which had been full of people only a short while earlier, was now almost empty. NEPA had restored electricity, and most families had gone back inside to watch television or enjoy the power while it lasted. The only people still outside were a few little children, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of play before going home. I didn’t know who to call or what to say. Instead, I crossed over to the house opposite ours and sank onto the ground in front of it. I wrapped my arms around my knees and stared in silence as thick smoke began to pour out of Tomiwa’s room. I couldn’t think straight. Maybe that was what it felt like to be traumatized. My mind had gone completely blank. I just sat there, watching. I couldn’t speak. The few children who were still outside noticed the smoke first. They began shouting and pointing at our house. Some of them ran into their homes to call their parents and older siblings. Within minutes, people started gathering in front of our house. The men rushed to a nearby tap, filling buckets and basins with water as they desperately tried to put out the fire. The women crowded around me, asking one question after another. “Where your mama?” “Wetin happen inside?” “Person dey inside?” I heard every word, but I couldn’t answer. It was as if my voice had disappeared. The crowd kept growing, and I remained where I was, staring silently at the flames. After a while, the questions turned into assumptions. “Huh… maybe the mother dey cook and she forget to off the stove.” Another woman claimed she had seen Mum not long before at the bus stop, standing and talking to someone. “She too like talk-talk.” One by one, people began drawing their own conclusions. Before anyone even knew what had happened, they had already decided who was to blame.

The Truth I Never Told

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