Nwaneri

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I was eight the first time I heard the name. The shy little boy who told me about the bearer was so scared he kept glancing over his shoulder. He wouldn't let anyone overhear. The boy was about my age. We were studying in the same school and were also in the same class. He was my best friend.

I lived in fear of Nwaneri. He was a church warden in a small Catholic Church, the same church I attended with my mother. Rumours had it that he used to be a rainmaker who lived and breathed juju. The new parish priest had converted him and made him one of the workers. That way, he stayed in church all day. The first time I saw him, I wanted to laugh. He was a small man, ugly and old to my young eyes, but the laughter got stuck in my throat. His unsmiling face stopped me. I took in its mean contours, his formidable stance, the small cane in his left hand and quickly concluded that he would be a hard nut to crack. I was right. You dare not sleep during Mass or you'd get a resetting knock at the back of your head.

One of the first things I noticed about him was how different he was from Brother Innocent, the coordinator of our catechism classes. Brother Innocent was mean and brutal but you would see him coming, ready to pounce. I knew him like my palm. I knew just the right way to recite those words that always brought a smile to his thin dry lips. I knew how to manipulate him. That was why I didn't sit for the first Holy Communion examination twice like everyone else. I gave him what he wanted.

Nwaneri and Brother Innocent however, had something in common - they both liked women. Nwaneri, a little too much. My young mind couldn't process it at first. I was preoccupied with trying to get Nwaneri off my back. Since the day Brother Innocent pointed at me and whispered something to him, I became his favourite. He would send me on errands and even smiled whenever I came back to report. Since I didn't want to be a friend to such a mean looking man, I began to hatch a plan. I already knew my bait.

I had chosen her the day she made that mistake of sending me to deliver a message to Nwaneri for her. I asked my friend to wait for me so we could go home together and ran from under the mango tree where we had our catechism class for the day, through the large field of St. Patrick's Catholic Church, to the far end of the long pavilion built by the church women, the piece of paper containing the message clasped tightly in my palm. I was halfway through the field when a voice whispered something to me. I slowed down to a jog and pried open the paper. Three words stared back at me. I mouthed them slowly, nodded then closed the paper and continued my race. I already knew what to do.

Two weeks later, I hid behind my mother's flowers and watched Nwaneri walk to our front door. My mother opened the door and looked around before letting him in. I frowned. She didn't look surprised. I shrugged and waited. I had delivered a message to him earlier. The only difference was, this time, I did it on my own. After reading the first message, it wasn't so difficult. All I had to do was change the time. The previous messages read 'This afternoon. 1PM,' or 'As usual. 1PM.' I was always at school at that time so I changed it to 5PM.

I heard the click as my mother locked the door. I tiptoed to the window and began to part the curtain. My right arm was in when the door opened.

"Game over, young lady. Get in the house," my mother said.

I froze.

"In," she said sternly.

I walked quietly into the house. Nwaneri sat in one of the chairs in the sitting room. My plan could still work, I thought. What I wanted was to catch him sneaking in our house. That way, he wouldn't know how to send me on errands ever again. I would be free of him.

"What were you thinking?" my mother was asking.

"It's simple. She's curious," Nwaneri said. "And she has a right to know."

"Not yet. She's eight. She won't understand any of it."

"If she could pull off a mischief like this, she sure will understand."

"Understand what?" I queried.

They both stopped and stared at me.

"I'm your daddy," Nwaneri said slowly.

I turned to my mother. She nodded.

"If you're my daddy, why aren't you living with us?"

He glanced at my mother. She sighed and sat.

"Your mother and I are separated. Were separated," he corrected. "It happened shortly after you were born. I'll explain better when you get older."

At that moment, I was neither thinking about his mean face nor how to get rid of him. In fact, all I could think of was his smiling eyes and the way his lips moved when he said he was my daddy. I had a daddy. I couldn't believe it.

"Can you sleep here tonight?"

He glanced at my mother again.

"Okay. If that makes you happy."

"Can I go and play now?"

They laughed.

"Go on," my mother said. "Just not too far."

I nodded and ran out. I had a story to tell my best friend. Sometimes life takes a surprising twist and it is not all that bad, was my last thought as I went to bed that night.

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