Love and hate - by Richard Asobiri Uzodinma

*Love and Hate in One House* Two brothers, Samuel and Joseph, inherited one compound in Ibadan from their father. One land. Two flats. One mango tree in the middle. Samuel loved the land. He swept it every morning. He fixed the fence. He planted flowers. He wanted to build a small shop in front for his wife to sell provisions. Joseph hated the land. To him, it was a reminder of their father who always praised Samuel — "Samuel is calm, Samuel is hardworking." Joseph felt he was never enough. So every time he looked at the mango tree, he didn't see fruit. He saw his father's voice. Love makes you stay. Hate makes you stay too, but for a different reason. One year, the mango tree started to die. Leaves falling. No fruit. Samuel watered it. Joseph said, "Let it die." Samuel said, "Baba planted it." Joseph snapped: "Exactly." They argued. Not about the tree anymore. About everything. Who took whose school uniform in 2008. Who their father loved more. Who sent more money for his burial. One night, NEPA took light. Samuel was on his veranda. Joseph was on his. The compound was dark. A thief jumped the fence. Samuel shouted, "THIEF!" The thief ran towards Joseph's flat — where Joseph's 3-year-old daughter was sleeping alone. Without thinking, Joseph shouted too, and both brothers ran. Not as brothers. As fathers, as men protecting one house. They caught the thief together. They held him until the vigilante came. After, they sat under the dying mango tree, sweating, breathing hard. Joseph said quietly, "If you had not shouted, he would have entered my side." Samuel said, "If you had not blocked him, he would have entered my side." And for the first time in 5 years, they both laughed. The next morning, Joseph brought water. Samuel brought fertilizer. Together they pruned the mango tree. They learned something their father never told them: *Love and hate can live in the same compound.**Love says, "This is mine to protect."**Hate says, "This is mine to control."*But when a real storm comes, you realize — it's still _ours_. Six months later, the mango tree flowered again. This time it gave more mangoes than ever before. The whole street came to pluck. Samuel's wife sold provisions. Joseph's daughter sold mango juice in front of the shop. Love finally won. Not because hate disappeared. But because love was the one that kept watering.

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