Chapter 2: The Arrival of Kamsi

That year, one girl transfer enter our class. Her name na Kamsi, she dey sit for the desk wey dey my front. I remember the first day she enter, na Tuesday morning, weather cold, she wear that her big cardigan, just waka go her seat, no even look anybody face. Her shoe dey make kpa-kpa for floor, everybody eye just dey follow am. All of us dey look her like say she be new animal for zoo.

The girl get one kind cold spirit—she no dey smile, she no dey talk, she just dey on her own like say nobody reach her side. Even when harmattan dey bite, she no dey shake, just dey bone like say she be Lagos street dog. If breeze blow, you go fit swear say she no even feel am.

She go just face front, never turn back. If she even turn and her face no get any features, e no go shock me—years later, I still dey dream this kind thing. Sometimes for dream, I go dey shout her name, she go just dey look front like carved wood.

In fact, I no even remember how Kamsi face be again. E must be say her face no get anything special, just plain. If dem ask me make I draw her now, I go just draw egg, add small dada for back—na so her face plain reach.

But I still remember some small things. Small details dey wey my eye no fit forget, even if my memory don fade.

Her hair dey black like charcoal, always tie well for back. Her neck dey thin and fair. If you look am well, e be like say breeze fit break am.

She dey always bend her head, so that part of her neck go show well, with two sharp bones wey be like say if you touch am, e go break. Sometimes, sun go shine for inside class, highlight the two bones like small sticks for chicken neck.

Her collar always straight, no sweat stain; her shirt dey always fresh, no fold except for the shoulder side. No be like some of us wey collar dey brown after break. E dey always look like her mama iron am with pressing iron wey dey fear mistake.

I no fit stop to dey look her. Even when I dey pretend to dey read, my eye go just dey drag go her side. Na so I dey thief look anyhow, dey imagine things.

For morning reading, when sun dey shine enter class, the small small hair for her neck go dey shine; her cloth dey smell like fresh soap. Sometimes I go sniff, dey wonder if na Dettol or Premier soap dey use for house.

I go dey peep her from my book, dey look her back like say I no dey this world. Sometimes, my mind go wander, dey imagine say I fit just tap her make she look back, but fear no gree me.

Why I dey always look her? I no sabi. Maybe na curiosity, maybe na something wey I never understand that time.

One day, I no fit hold myself. I throw pen for Kamsi leg, tap her shoulder, tell her make she help me pick am. She bend down slowly, return the pen with her head still down, she no even look my face. The thing dey somehow, like say I dey talk to ghost.

I dey always find excuse to waka go her desk—say I dey share or collect homework—just to see wetin she dey do. She dey always dey arrange her pencil case, like say na only that one dey her mind. Sometimes, she go open, arrange, close, open again, arrange. Sometimes, she go arrange her pencil, sharpener, eraser, dey use old Bournvita tin keep her biro. I go dey look, dey wonder if e get anything special inside.

Later, my wahala to know about her just dey increase. Sometimes I go tap her, try start gist—

"Wet you chop for dinner last night?"

"You fit solve this maths? I fit show you."

"You dey bone for house like this too? Your mama no dey shout for you?"

But Kamsi dey always turn back with that same blank face, head still down, just dey cold. I no even know if she dey hear me at all. Sometimes, I go feel like say na wall I dey talk to.