I didn’t sleep.
Well…my body slept but my mind didn’t. There’s a difference.
I’m sitting alone in the sitting room, staring at the blank television. It’s off, has been off for hours, but I keep looking at my reflection in the black screen like somehow it has answers.
My roommate, Femi, finally convinced me not to drag my sister back home in the middle of the night.
“Sleep first,” he had said, “Everybody is angry, everybody is embarrassed and nobody will think straight.”
He was right, or maybe he wasn’t, I honestly don’t know. All I know is that my sister is sleeping in my room, the same sister I thought was hundreds of kilometers away in school. The same sister I have been proudly telling people would soon become a graduate. The same sister I saw standing under a streetlight waiting for strange men.
I rub my face, maybe I’m dreaming, maybe I’ll wake up and none of this happened. But the silence in this apartment is too real and too heavy.
I lean back on the sofa and begin doing calculations in my head. Every month…rent for my parents, school fees, allowance, food, transport…whenever she called and said she needed money for handouts or practicals, I sent it.
I even skipped meals some months so they wouldn’t have to. So why? Why would she still end up there? Was the money not enough?
If it wasn’t enough…couldn’t she manage? Couldn’t she endure? Couldn’t she struggle like the rest of us? Isn’t that what life is?
I shake my head…No. This can’t just be about money. There has to be something else, there has to be. I close my eyes and I remember my graduation. The promises I made to my father, “I’ll take care of them.”
I remember my sisters crying when I left for Abuja. I remember telling them, “Just focus on finishing school and coming out top, I’ll handle the rest.”
So what happened? Where did I lose her?
I don’t even realise I’ve fallen asleep until I hear plates clinking. I open my eyes…Morning. The apartment smells of fried eggs, bread and tea. For one strange second, everything feels normal, then I remember.
I slowly stand, my back aches from sleeping on the sofa. I walk towards the kitchen and there she is. She is standing there, hair wrapped in a scarf, no wig, no lashes, no heavy makeup, no tiny dress, just an oversized T-shirt and shorts. She looks…young, too young.
I suddenly stop, my little sister is standing in front of me again and not the girl from last night, just my little sister. My chest tightens. She turns and sees me. Immediately, the smile disappears from her face and she lowers her eyes.
“Good morning, Brother.”
I don’t answer, I can’t. Instead, I ask the only question that has been burning inside me all night.
“Why?”
She says nothing.
“Why?”
Still nothing and I step closer.
“I asked you a question.”
She sighs.
“It’s not what you think.”
I laugh, a bitter laugh.
“I saw you.”
Silence.
“I saw you walking towards that man’s car.”
Silence.
“I looked into your eyes.”
She looks away.
“So don’t insult me by saying it’s not what I think.”
She folds her arms.
“I didn’t say…”
“Then explain!”
She suddenly raises her voice.
“I don’t owe you an explanation!”
That catches me off guard.
“You don’t owe me?”
“No.”
I laugh again.
“So all these years…’’
I point at myself.
“Everything I’ve been doing…”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
The words hit me like a slap.
“You didn’t ask me?”
“I didn’t.”
I stare at her.
She continues.
“You chose to.”
At that moment, Femi rushes into the kitchen.
“What is happening?”
He looks from me to my sister and then back to me.
“Guy… calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m asking my sister simple questions.”
Femi sighs and then turns to her.
“Please… just tell us what’s going on.”
She shrugs.
“I like nice things.”
The kitchen becomes quiet.
“I want a better life.”
Neither of us speaks. She continues as though she’s discussing the weather.
“I don’t believe school is everything.”
I blink.
“What?”
She points at me.
“You went to school.”
“Yes.”
“Look at you.”
I frown.
“You’ve suffered since graduation.”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
“You’ve done everything right.”
She keeps talking.
“Yet you’re still struggling.”
Femi quietly sits down, he’s listening now too.
She folds her arms.
“I don’t want that life.”
I shake my head.
“So this is your solution?”
She nods without hesitation.
“Yes.”
I actually laugh, not because it’s funny but because I don’t know what else to do.
She continues confidently.
“I’ll make money.”
“How?”
“I already am.”
I feel my chest tighten.
“I’ll save.”
She counts on her fingers.
“I’ll travel to China, buy goods and I’ll become a big businesswoman.”
She smiles and looks at me.
“I’ll also help you with mama, papa and big sis.”
I stare at her.
“And if God is kind…”
She grins.
“I might even meet one rich senator.”
Femi coughs but she ignores him.
“Or one businessman.”
She shrugs.
“He might marry me.”
She smiles dreamily.
“Then everybody wins.”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing, she actually believes this. She isn’t joking, nor is she ashamed, she genuinely believes she’s figured life out.
I finally find my voice.
“You think this is success?”
“I think it’s smart.”
“Smart?”
“Yes.”
She walks closer.
“I’m tired of hearing people say ‘manage.’”
She uses her fingers to make quotation marks.
“‘Manage…Endure…Be patient.’”
She shakes her head.
“No. I want to enjoy my youth…I want designer bags…I want vacations…I want to live.”
Femi finally speaks.
“But there are other ways.”
She turns sharply.
“Like what?”
“School.”
She laughs.
“My brother went to school.”
She points at me again.
“Is he rich?”
Femi is quiet.
She continues, “I know girls on Instagram, on TikTok and they’re my age. They’re traveling, they’re buying houses, they’re opening businesses and are living.” She shrugs, “So why shouldn’t I?”
Femi sighs, “Social media isn’t real life.”
She rolls her eyes, “That’s what poor people always say.”
I flinch, Femi does too. She keeps going, “I’m an adult and I’m over eighteen. It’s my body, my life and my decision.” She points towards the door, “And nobody can stop me.”
The apartment falls silent, a long silence, the kind that makes your ears ring. I look at my sister, then at Femi and then back at my sister. I don’t even recognise the person standing in front of me anymore.
When did she stop being the little girl who used to hold my hand?
When did ambition become confused with shortcuts?
When did influence become louder than family?
I slowly sit down, my legs suddenly feel weak. I look at Femi and then at my sister again. A question escapes my mouth before I can stop it.
“Tell me the truth…”
My voice cracks.
“Is this my fault?”
Neither of them answers and somehow…their silence hurts me more than anything either of them has said.