Chapter 8: Shola Yusuf and a Second Chance

As I dey nervous,

My leg dey tap for ground, my heart dey fly. I no know if I go stay or waka commot.

The teacher dey come near.

E dey talk to another girl, then e turn, e look my face well.

I lower my eyes, na im he laugh, “Ifunanya, you no recognize me?”

E voice familiar, e carry warmth. I look up, my eye dey search memory.

I look up, confuse.

E face don change small, but the eyes na the same.

I meet teacher’s eyes, take me some seconds, “Shola... Shola Yusuf?”

I call am, my voice shake with surprise. He laugh, clap hand, e hug me small.

I no expect to see Shola Yusuf for Ogbomosho.

Last time I see am, na university days. E don add weight, but e still get that shine for face.

After the shock, I remember say na here him from.

He always talk about Ogbomosho, the mango trees, the old palace. Now I dey see the beauty.

“I bring students come sketch.”

He point the children. "See as dem happy? You fit join dem, you sabi pass teacher."

“You nko? Wetin carry you come Ogbomosho?”

He look me, e eyebrow raise. E dey search my face for answer.

Shola Yusuf sit beside me, look my drawing paper wey I don erase and change plenty times.

He pick my pencil, spin am for finger. E dey gentle, no pressure.

He answer casually, ask me the same way.

His smile dey sweet, e try lighten the mood. My heart dey soft small.

But I no know wetin to talk.

My mouth heavy, but e no force me. The comfort wey e give na like old blanket.

“No wahala. If you no wan talk, forget am,” Shola Yusuf still gentle as before.

E always sabi give space, no dey push. I relax small, my shoulders drop.

Me, Nnenna and Shola Yusuf be classmates for only one semester.

I remember the gist, the laughter, the small small secret crush wey dey fly for class.

He always dey last to come, first to comot for class.

E dey waka his own waka. Teacher dey vex, but e no send.

Teacher talk say he dey waste talent.

People dey talk, but Shola dey smile. E go dey hum old Fela song as e dey draw.

He just dey smile, no send.

E dey use smile chase away trouble. Sometimes e go buy puff-puff for everybody.

Later, I hear say he don get admission go abroad.

He come back with more confidence, but e still humble. E still dey call me 'Ifunanya the great.'

For class, he always like sit near me.

E say e like my calm. When I dey nervous, e go crack joke, my fear go melt.

If he see me dey stare my paper, he go ask, “Wetin dey worry you?”

Sometimes, I go just sigh. He go draw smiley face for my margin.

If I no answer, he go find excuse for himself: “If you no wan talk, no wahala.”

That na e signature line. Na so e dey free person, no dey force wahala.

Just like now.

The same comfort, the same space.

“How long you go stay for Ogbomosho?”

E dey ask, e dey hope say I go stay longer.

“Plenty places dey to sketch here. Next time I carry students go out, follow us.”

He point the river, the market, the old town. My heart dey soft, I dey want try.

Shola Yusuf wave him phone for me.

E unlock am, the screen crack small, but e no send.

As we add each other for WhatsApp, he send me location.

Na so I see small hope. I dey smile, my heart dey dance.

“We dey go old town next two days.”

He talk am like promise. I dey look forward to am, small as e be.

“Where you dey stay? I go come pick you.”

Na so kindness dey sweet for person wey dey heal.

To meet person wey no too dey close for strange city. And

My spirit dey shake, but small small, I dey believe say healing fit true true start for me. As the Ogbomosho sun set for river, I tell myself: Ifunanya, you fit start again—even if na with one pencil line, one small smile, or the gentle voice of old friend.