12 SHARDS OF GLASS

This is the story of Ahunna, a 30 year old woman who has sworn to be by herself and keep a straight face. She didn’t lose a loved one-no, although her heart had been shattered into shards of glass that broke on ice repeatedly. In order to pick up the pieces, she must gather them starting from the first shard. This is the tale of 12 men.

THE FIRST SHARD

His name was Tomiwa. He had a dark skin that blended perfectly with the white shirt of our school uniform. He was 16 with a scattering of a growing beard on his cheek, a little too built body for his age with his trousers fitting almost too well, and the sight of a perfect monochrome every day I saw him. His teeth were almost too white and I often thought he was one of those kids who rumour had it, were taken to a dentist at Broad Street every six months for teeth whitening. We never said a word to each other because he wasn’t in my circle of friends although, I saw him at almost every function I went to. By the end of Form 5, I decided that I had a crush on him when frequent glances became daydreams and soon enough, night dreams.

My guardian angel decided to deliver me true destiny on the day my mother dragged me to Isale Eko to buy lace material for Mama Falomo’s daughter’s wedding in two Saturdays. Mama Falomo was actually grand-aunt Tayo, my maternal grandmother’s sister. My mother’s people who were from the Yoruba sub-division of Awori, the original settlers of Lagos referred to their older family members either by the name of the street or the neighbourhood they lived in. Grand-aunt Tayo lived in Falomo as well as a few of her surviving siblings scattered around Lagos Island and Ikoyi.

I dragged my feet through Balogun market because I was angry that my mum interrupted my Saturday morning sleep and brought me to a market where a stampede could happen and I would die in the split of a second. Despite the coolness of the morning, the crowd at the December market was enough to dismiss the existence of the Harmattan. I was also angry because she said to me “Nkan ti maa se to ba de ile oko re” (This is what you’ll do when you get married). I was only sixteen but her marriage talks were starting to become frequent.

After about twenty minutes of combing the lace cluster of the market because my mother couldn’t find the shade of peach she wanted, we finally arrived at a shop where my mother spotted what she wanted from the lace materials displayed outside. We went into the shop and I immediately recognized him. He was seated behind a desk staring blankly into novel that looked like it hypnotized him. My gaze was interrupted by a woman who looked old enough to be his mother, offering us a warm welcome to her store. That was when he looked up and stared directly into my soul. He smiled. I returned his smile.

Our mothers noticed our exchange and in order not incur the wrath of a Yoruba mother, I explained that we were in the same form at school. It made our mothers comfortable and they got off in Yoruba; Tomiwa’s introducing herself as Mrs. Dupe Pedro, an odd last name which she later explained that she was one of the few Lagosians with Brazilian ancestries as a result of inter-marriage and the colonial era. She had a different last name from Tomiwa which meant she was either divorced or never got married. I quickly dismissed the thought when she asked my name. “Ahunna”, I replied, equally earning a perplexed look from her later directed towards my mother who explained: “Omo Ibo ni mo bi o” I gave birth to an Igbo child.

 My father was an Igbo man from Anambra State. He worked for the Federal Government as an ambassador so, he was never home. He met my mother in the UK and married her immediately she finished from Cambridge amidst strong rejections from his family about marrying from the Yoruba tribe. Even though the civil war had ended ten years prior to their marriage, the smell of ethnic and tribal differences was still much present across the country. He started working for the Federal government a few years after my older brother Nnamdi was born. His absence had limited my knowledge of my father land and even the language. Yoruba was the only thing I could claim.

After a few more conversations in rapid Yoruba, my mother finally paid for the lace material which included hers and surprisingly mine. On our way out of the store, he smiled at me again.

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 Tomiwa and I’s encounter at Balogun was an innocent excuse to ease into a friendship. Exchanged smiles and subtle greetings soon turned into small talk during lunch breaks, endless teasing when he walked by my desk and laughter in the Library whilst the librarian shot us daggers or sent us out of the room. The day he told me he liked me was the day he asked me to go to the National Theatre to see a play with him. My mother was so skeptical about allowing me leave Ikoyi all the way to Iganmu in the evening that she sent the driver with us. We were halfway into the play when he took my hands in his and leaned over to whisper that he liked me. I crumbled inside after saying a prayer, thanking my guardian angel for starting to be useful in my life.

We became attached to each other’s hips since that evening and the whole class and even my mother suspected something was going on. I described him in letters I sent to Nnamdi who had started university in the UK, pouring out my soul that he was the one I had been waiting for like the songs I heard on radio. I spent Saturdays at his home at Lugard avenue or at his mother’s store in Balogun, utterly shocked at how I’d come to love a market I swore never to visit again. I soon found out he was an only child, his father leaving his mum and everything he owned to live with an Igbo woman in Enugu. He told me that was how they got to keep the house at Ikoyi and how his mother made more than enough from her expensive lace materials to keep them going. He also teased me mercilessly about how Igbo girls had enough charm to make men abandon their assets for them. 

Applications for university started in March that year; I applying to Cambridge and he applying to UNILAG. I persuaded my father who was hell bent on a foreign education to let me apply to UNILAG too, my excuse being that Cambridge might not offer me a spot. Tomiwa was elated that I had applied and we started studying together for our university and school leaving certificate exams that were due in May. My mother let us study together for an hour after school or for an hour at my house or his. I was the smarter one so I did most of the explaining and re-explaining. I applied for Communications and culture at Cambridge, likewise Mass Communication at UNILAG. He applied to study Engineering, one of the stereotypical choices of career for first or only sons in Nigeria.

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The day the glass broke was the day Tomiwa told me he was too tired to study after school for the first time. I understood because the stress of our final exams drew wavy lines across his forehead, his skin looking even darker than before. Our final exam was in two days and that was supposed to be our final study session. I let him go and soon regretted not going with him.

June was the peak of the rainy season in Lagos and the rains had started pouring just after he left, leaving me stranded in the school building for a while. I knew my driver wasn’t coming because my mother wouldn’t dare let him drive in the rain with me in the car so, I wandered round the school building shocked at how empty it was barely an hour after closing time. It seemed like everyone but me saw the dark clouds. My wandering stopped when I felt the urge to pee and I turned directions to the ladies room. For some reason, I felt a chill run down my spine as I opened the door, whose creaking noise was drowned by the sound of the rains. A few steps inside I heard it and I saw him.

There he was by the sinks, his trousers gone, oblivious to my presence and plunging deep into Nike, a girl in my class whose legs were currently in the air and her eyes rolling backwards. I felt a daze wash over me as the goose bumps on my arms threatened to shed the hairs on my skin. Then I felt it and I heard it. The glass flower vase fell from their animal activities at the same time my heart broke. That stopped them to examine the damage and that was when our eyes met. Hot tears followed and I ran out of the bathroom quickly to get my bags from the library and get out of the suffocation.

He followed me. He begged me and I could’ve sworn that I heard nothing.

 I retrieved my bag and dashed for the gates. He still followed me but I ran all the way to the taxi park at the end of the street. I got a Taxi whilst he knelt down in the rain, begging me not to leave. A few taxi drivers seated in a shade watched in amusement as the drama unfolded. They started to yell at him to leave me alone when he prevented me from getting into the car. He let go of me and I left.

I met my mother in the kitchen picking beans for dinner when I got home. Her mouth dropped when she noticed I was drenched. I explained to her that my period had started and there was no nurse around to give me a pad. She couldn’t see any proof because my skirt was black and let me be because she knew my periods were irregular.

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 I never spoke to him again. He came around and begged and I still couldn’t hear him. I felt stupid and berated myself for not offering him my body or even a kiss. We never even talked about that because our relationship was so platonic that my mind hadn't even gone that far. Although, i expected at the back of my mind that a kiss would happen later but that was not enough for the monkey in the zoo to do what he did. Nike on the other hand apologized to me and told me that she asked if there was anything going on between I and Tomiwa and he lied. I didn't believe her because I knew Tomiwa was an eye candy but i let her go- after all I was with Tomiwa and not her.I stopped visiting and my mother soon started to question me. I told her he was mostly busy these days and I didn’t want to interrupt. She knew something was up but she decided to be quiet about it. My mother still went to visit his at Balogun but I managed to get out of it every time before I decided to change something that would keep me away from Lagos for a while.

The last time I saw him was in August when he came by my house to tell me that he saw my name on the merit admission list at the University of Lagos.

 I told him not to bother and that I was going to Cambridge in September.