Threatened
.
Continues..
“Turning her back on everything we’ve been
taught is like spitting on father’s grave and
it worries me gravely.”
***
Cynthia and I dismounted the stairs to the
ground floor, our footsteps the only sound
within earshot. From the gleam in her eyes,
I could tell our meeting with Sir Amadi
would be unfavorable to me. The thought of
being in his office, queried about God-
knows-what clenched my stomach into a
fist.
I let curiosity take the best of me.
“Cynthia?”
Without turning to look at me, she said,
“Yes?”
“Why does Sir Amadi want to see me?” I
asked.
“Ask me again,” she said. Quite the reaction
I had expected. When it came to me, and by
extension Amarachi, she seethed for no
apparent cause.
A whiff of cold air hit me as she stepped
into the office. I made to follow, but an
abrupt slam of the door caused me to
flinch. I bumped into a junior, knocking a pile
of 2A exercise books out of her
unsuspecting hands. The books scattered
across the floor.
“poo,” I muttered. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” the girl said, her mice-like voice
perfect for her petite figure. Her name
skipped my mind. Diana? Dora? Doreen? I
could only remember it started with a D.
“Are you hurt? Did the door hit you?”
“No, I’m good.” I joined her as she knelt to
pick up the CRS assignments. My eyes
caught a name on one of the books. Doreen
Chukwu. “That’s yours?”
“Yeah.”
Done arranging the books, I handed them
over. A smile lit up her innocent face.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention,” I said, returning her smile.
A chilling air embraced me as we stepped
into the reception, making up for the sun
that had roasted me moments ago. Placing
the books on the receptionist’s desk, Doreen
waved at me and made her exit.
“The principal is with someone at the
moment,” the receptionist said, barely
looking at me. “Please have a seat.”
Gesturing to the chairs a distance away, she
returned her focus to some paperwork she
had been attending to.
Cynthia glared at me as I moved to sit. Her
eyes warned me to place a safe distance
between us. And I did. I sat across from
her, giving her the distance she needed. A
glassware center table stood between us,
solidifying our gap. It held a number of
magazines I could pass time with. I picked
up a sports magazine featuring Bayern
Munchen and Barcelona on the cover page.
My gaze darted to Cynthia. I ached to bridge
the gap between us. Not just here on this
chair, but also at home. I wanted us to go
back to being family. Was that too much to
ask?
Sat majestically with her legs crossed,
feigned innocence painted her as
approachable. I told myself I could speak to
her. She wouldn’t bite, after all. She would
only glower and bark, but she could never
bite.
The receptionist answered a phone call,
giving me the opportunity I needed to speak
to Cynthia without anyone eavesdropping.
“Cyn,” I called.
Cynthia dragged her gaze to meet mine. I
would do anything to soften the stony look
she always reserved for me. Once, she had
even given me a sound warning in class,
saying that only a selected few were worthy
to make a pet name out of her name. And
now, even without a word, I heard that
warning over and over again.
“Mh-hmm?” Her indignation pulled me out of
my thoughts.
“I’m sorry about what happened in class,” I
said. “It should never have happened.
Forgive me. And Amarachi.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t waste your time.
Your apology is worthless.”
“It won’t happen again,” I said.
“Save your apology for mother. Let’s see
what happens when she finds out you asked
that good for nothing friend of yours to
insult me.”
“No. You’ve got it all wrong. I—”
“Why am I even talking to you?”
“We are sisters?” I said. Had she forgotten
so easily?
Her gaze softened. But I knew better than to
be hopeful. Venom crept to her face.
Spreading like wildfire, it clouded her
features.
“I’m not your sister,” she said.
The coldness of her stare told me she
meant every word she had just said. It
stung. Her words, her action and inaction,
they all stung.
A woman walked out of Sir Amadi’s office.
Cynthia leapt to her feet and dashed into
the office, almost knocking into the woman.
Side-stepping, the woman turned to look at
Cynthia, her eyes cursing.
“Hey!” the woman said.
“Sorry,” I said, waving. I lazied into the
office to find Sir Amadi in his seat, leaning
leisurely against the backrest. Cynthia sat
across from him, calm and composed as
though the office belonged to her.
I s—-d in a shaky breath and advanced to
Sir Amadi’s desk, my nerviness highlighted
with each clumsy step I took. Standing
behind an empty seat beside Cynthia, I held
my hands behind my back. I would not sit
until Sir Amadi asked me to.
Sir Amadi closed his eyes as though
forgetting we had come to see him.
Moments passed and he remained in
position. I feared he had fallen asleep.
And he had. But I trusted Cynthia would do
something to get the sleeping man’s
attention. Cupping her palms over her lips,
she let out a loud, throaty cough. And it
served its purpose.
Sir Amadi’s eyes lazied open and he
adjusted his round, geeky spectacles.
Acknowledging my presence, he said, “Sit
down.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, sitting down.
“Your day is good so far, classes are fine?”
he asked, to no one in particular.
“Yes,” Cynthia said.
“And you, Victoria?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Perfect.” He seemed satisfied. He made to
speak again, but the telephone on his desk
rang, cutting him off.
Raising his pointer in a ‘one minute’ gesture,
he answered the call. “Yes.”
His eyebrows twitched as he listened to the
person on the other end. Sighing, he rubbed
his temple and muttered something
incoherent. “I can’t believe I forgot about
this meeting. Once they come, usher them
in. I’m not exactly busy at the moment.”
He ended the call and regarded us with a
rather sorry look. I knew the message all
too well. He would ask us to return to that
boring hellhole of a reception and wait till he
concluded his meeting with his highly
esteemed guests.
“Wait in the reception,” he ordered. “I’ll get
back to you when I’m done.”
“But sir!” Cynthia whined.
“Or you could just return to class and come
back some other time.”
Without a choice, we returned to the
reception. I trained my eyes on the door,
wanting to see whoever had caused Sir
Amadi to disregard us. Moments passed and
the guests hadn’t arrived. Sir Amadi could
have just attended to us while he waited for
them. His meeting with us couldn’t have
taken more than ten minutes. But here we
were, waiting for heaven knows how long. I
picked up another magazine from the table
and flipped through, letting my eyes feed on
the high definition images.
The door creaked open and I lifted my eyes
from the magazine. A woman stepped in.
She seemed to be in her mid forties. High-
heeled boots clicked on the floor, perforating
the silence. A figure loomed behind her.
Recognition hit me, tightening my face into
a scowl. And I’d thought he wouldn’t return
to this school. What did he want?
My mind traveled back to our first
encounter. I looked away, hiding my face. I
would not give him the satisfaction of
mistaking me for one of his many fan girls.
It would destroy the remnant of my badly
burned ego.
“Welcome, Mrs. Kadir,” the receptionist
squealed like a teenage girl. She sprang to
her feet, stretching her pepper-red lips with
an overdone smile. Her eagerness to speak
to the woman and her son irritated me
beyond imagining.
“Oh, hello,” the woman said. “Is the principal
in?” She gestured to the main office. Her
accent told me she had lived away from
Nigeria for way too long.
“Yes,” the receptionist said. “He’s been
expecting you.” She moved away from her
desk and toward the principal’s office to
usher in his guests.
Cynthia bolted to her feet, her excitement
alarming me. Wearing a smile, she reached
out to shake the woman’s hand. “Good
afternoon.”
The woman took Cynthia’s hand. “How are
you, darling?”
“I’m—”
“This way, Mrs. Kadir,” the receptionist said,
holding open the door.
Mirroring his mother’s steps, Mr. White
advanced toward the office, but Cynthia
outstretched her hand for a shake.
“Hi,” she said.
Her eagerness killed me inside. It hurt that
she let strangers see the beautiful side of
her, but left me to her dark side. Why would
she give her smile to someone who didn’t
deserve it? He would sure toss it into the
gutter. I, on the other hand, would cherish
it.
“Uhm…hello?” The white boy stared at
Cynthia’s outstretched hand. He let it hover
in the air for a few seconds. Reaching an
obvious decision, he moved his hand.
Disappointment and a mix of rage danced
across Cynthia’s face as he stuffed his hand
into his pocket.
“I’m Cynthia.” Puppy-eyed, she looked down
at her hand for a few moments before
withdrawing it. Surely, a boy had never
refused her a handshake. Her lower lip stuck
out, unable to hide her broken spirit.
Fighting back the negative emotions that
fought to humiliate her, she kept her
wavering smile in place.
“Raheem,” Mr. White muttered. Being in a
conversation with Cynthia seemed to irritate
him. And regardless of this, Cynthia smiled
on. This side of her stunned me into
jealousy. I had thought she had zero
tolerance for bullshit.
I wished to be in Mr. White’s place. I wished
my sister spoke to me with that gleam in
her eyes. I buried my face in the magazine,
hiding the hurt in my eyes.
“Raheem,” she tested the name on her lips,
savoring it like she would a tasty dish.
“Raheem Kadir, I suppose?”
Raheem scowled at her like he would a
pestering kid he held back from screaming
at. Cynthia groped for words to fill in the
conversation gap.
“Welcome to Western High,” she said.
Raheem joined his mother in Sir Amadi’s
office. He hadn’t even taken a glance in my
direction. Relief washed over me. I hated
his arrogance. What serious student started
school six weeks into session?
Raheem Kadir? His name seemed Arab.
Iraqi perhaps? Afghanistan or Indian? His
accent didn’t strike me as Indian, so I
scratched it off the list.
I shook off these thoughts. I didn’t care
where he came from. Since when did I
become interested in getting to know him?
Cynthia could do this, considering how she
gushed over him. I would not share her
task.
My gaze followed her as she returned to her
seat. The dreamy look on her face made me
wonder what thoughts revolved around her
head. I didn’t have to wonder, though. I
knew just how sickening her thoughts were.
I knew she would try to date him. She would
dump Alex for Raheem, the guy who had
hurt her feelings just as he hurt mine.
Although she tried to hide her hurt, I knew
his coldness stung. My being around to
witness her shame made it sting twice as
much.
Now I hated him twice as much as I already
had. Hurting me had done nothing to satisfy
him, and so he had gone ahead to hurt my
sister as well. This all happened on his first
day at school. What would happen
tomorrow, and the day after it? Before the
week ran out, his reputation as a jerk would
sure precede him.
“Mum, can you believe this man?” Raheem’s
disembodied voice pierced through the
silence.
“Are you implying my son is not worthy to
be a student here, Mr. Amadi?” Mrs. Kadir
said.
“You best stop putting words in my mouth,
Mrs. Kadir,” Mr. Amadi said. “In this school,
we have standards, laws, principles and
codes that every student must adhere to.
Styles of dressing and grooming must
convey modesty and soundness of mind to
give us a reputable image in the society.”
Inwardly, I danced a victory dance. My
principal would not let them intimidate him.
“Mum, I can’t stand this,” Raheem said.
“Here now he says I am adorned with all
immodesty. C’mon, let’s go. It isn’t worth
it.”
“You shame me, Mr. Amadi,” Mrs. Kadir
said. In my mind’s eye, I could see her
shaking her head, disappointment flitting
across her face. “And I thought by coming
here my son and I were making the very
best decision. And here now, not even one
consideration is made for a person who has
crossed several seas to be here.”
“We have principles,” Sir Amadi said. “I will
not compromise. Students are just not
allowed to wear such stylish hair or keep
facial hair. We aren’t running a fashion
show.”
“Mum, I can’t stand this,” Raheem said. “I
told you from the start that I don’t want to
be involved with any Nigerian school.”
Nigerian school. Obviously, he saw our
schools—and by extension our country as a
whole—as inferior. That stung. I would be
right to tag him as racist. One more reason
to hate him.
“But you insisted Western High or whatever
was up to code,” he went on. “Seriously it
doesn’t even compare to the school I came
from, and here we are, making this man feel
like a boss when he’s nothing. Do you have
any idea how humiliated your son is right
now? Obviously you don’t.”
“Raheem!” Mrs. Kadir warned.
“I’m done, mum. Find me in the car.”
Cynthia rose to her feet. Holding her hands
behind her back, she waited for Raheem.
The door flew open, and Raheem stormed
out of the reception. He slammed the door
so hard, it shook in its hinges.
“Raheem!” Cynthia called, running after him
as he stepped toward the exit. “Wait!”
Raheem turned to look at her. “Your old
man boasts of having very modest students.
But look! They do not even know
eavesdropping is improper.”
“I’m sorry about listening in on your
conversation,” Cynthia said. “Your voice was
just…well, all over the place.” That seemed
to calm him down.
Cynthia pushed her luck. “You should give
our school a try.”
“Yeah?”
“Uhm…yeah.” Smiling sheepishly, she fiddled
with the hem of her waist coat.
Mrs. Kadir walked out of Sir. Amadi’s office,
her calmness telling me she had everything
under control. Unfortunately.
“Come, son,” she said.
“Do I get to see you tomorrow?” Cynthia
asked in a sugar-coated voice intended to
charm both mother and son.
With a shrug, Raheem shoved his hands into
his pocket and swaggered off, leaving
Cynthia at the mercy of embarrassment. If I
were her I would pray for the ground to
open and swallow me. I could never be in
this state, though. I could never throw
myself at a total stranger, or any other guy
for that matter.
Mrs. Kadir beamed at her, paying for her
son’s rudeness. “Raheem will be in school
tomorrow, dear.”
Slowly and hauntingly, those words
resounded in my head. Raheem will be in
school tomorrow, dear.
Unable to contain my disappointment, I
tossed the magazine on the table and
escaped into Sir Amadi’s office. It took a
moment for Cynthia to join me, her face
aglow as opposed to mine.
Sir Amadi gestured at the chairs across
from him. He stared at me, the look in his
eyes menacing. Intimidating. Unimpressed.
What had I done?
He waited till we sat down before he spoke,
“Victoria, you are one of our best students,
but there are some things we cannot
tolerate.”
“I…I…don’t understand,” I said. My eyes met
Cynthia’s and she looked away, a smug
smile on her face.
“I believe you heard every word I said to
that woman and her son. The same applies
to you. We have rules and standards that all
students must conform to. And no student is
bigger than them, not even the most brilliant
of them all. Do you understand?”
“I do, sir.” As much as I wanted to ask him
what I had done wrong, I could not. He
would find it offensive. I shifted my gaze to
the floor, waiting for him to spill.
“Why then do you not abide by our third
rule?” he asked.
Third rule. Third rule. ‘All students must be
in school no later than 8am.’
“Is there a special reason for this?” he
asked.
Of course. I could never make it to school
by 8am because my stepmother and her
daughter had sworn to make my life
miserable. But could I tell him this?
“No.” I shook my head, answering both his
question and mine. I would not spill the sins
of my stepmother and her daughter before
this man. Not while building up my family
remained my priority.
“Just as I told you, sir,” Cynthia said. “God
knows how hard I have tried to make her
change. I wake up before six everyday and
do all the chores, and then I wake her up
and ask her to get ready for school, but she
doesn’t. And if I insist, she gets all
aggressive. She always says that she is the
brightest bulb in class and even if she
misses all her classes she will still make
straight A grades. That’s why I brought this
matter to you. You’re the only one who can
help her change. If father were alive, she
wouldn’t do this. He didn’t bring us up like
this. Turning her back on everything we’ve
been taught is like spitting on father’s grave
and it worries me gravely, sir. I have tried to
explain to her a million times that her
coming late will not build a favorable image
of this school. But nothing matters to her.”
Receiving an imaginary microphone from
Cynthia, Sir Amadi said, “Whenever you are
dressed in this school uniform, people out
there see you as a representative of
Western High. Do you not know this?”
“I do, sir.” I wished I knew the direction of
this conversation. Had this been a movie I’d
fast-forward to the end. But reality offered
no such services. Sitting amidst this
unbearable mess, I couldn’t even do
anything but stay subject to the overweight
man before me.
I saw no point to this whole meeting. Did I
not pay for my late coming as the rules
stated? For four straight years I had been
punctual as the classroom janitor. And I had
never wavered in my duties. So why had
they brought this up now?
“You do?” Sir Amadi’s voice cut through my
thoughts. “And then you leave for school
around ten, eleven? What are you thinking?
Do you know the damaging effect this has
on our reputation?”
“It is not like I do this on purpose,” I said.
The temper I’d tried so hard to control
flared, and though I fought to regain control,
success slithered from my grasp. “Do I
strike you as one who doesn’t care about
the school rules?”
Slapping his desk, Sir Amadi sprang to his
feet. His stomach, the stretching of skin
over a watermelon, bulged against his brown
designer’s long sleeve. “How dare you talk
back at me, young lady?”
Freedom of speech. He might have heard of
it. But considering that he majored in
Christian Religious Studies, I doubted he
read any other book but the Bible and Bible
based literature. So much for narrowing your
brain resources to one field.
I’d recommend he grab a copy of the
Nigerian Constitution, flip to chapter two
and examine section thirty-nine, sub-section
one. There he would find that everyone,
including me, is entitled to freedom of
expression, including freedom to hold
opinions and to receive and impart ideas
and information without interference. Try as
he might, he could not make me—or anyone
else—an exception to this law. So while he
had the right to speak, I had mine also.
But while I had freedom of expression, I
could not forget the discipline of my father.
He’d taught me to respect older ones. And I
always would, in honor of his loving
memory.
I wouldn’t want Sir Amadi to accuse me of
being disrespectful by remaining seated
while he stood, so I rose to my feet. “I’m
sorry, sir.”
More stories @ www.chorusman.com
“If your late coming repeats itself again, we
will be forced to withdraw your scholarship.”
For the first few moments, I didn’t register
the implication of his words. And then it hit
me with the power of a hammer blow,
draining the blood from my face. My heart
sunk, a menacing silence stealing me over.
I told myself I hadn’t heard correctly. “What?
What, sir?”
“Yes, Victoria.” With his affirmative answer,
my whole world came crashing down on me,
crushing me underneath its weight like a
bug squished by a firm foot. “If you have no
respect for our rules, then you do not
deserve the scholarship.”
Sir Amadi had just taken the air from my
lungs, and his eyes held no pity. He had
never struck me as one who would commit
murder and look down at the corpse with
indifference. But he had just done that. He
had killed me with his terrible news of
terminating my scholarship. And although
my eyes brimmed with tears, he felt no
remorse.
“Thank you for bringing this to my notice,”
he told Cynthia.
“It’s nothing,” Cynthia said, masking her joy
with a tinge of sadness. “It’s my duty.”
Emotions hit me like a spear protruding my
chest. Vigorously, I shook my head as
though to shake off this bitter reality. This
couldn’t be true. I couldn’t lose my
scholarship. No, this had to be a joke. There
had to be some hidden cameras somewhere.
But when had I enrolled in the school drama
club?
Who was I kidding? This was reality staring
back at me with eyes of mockery. I couldn’t
lose my scholarship. WAEC stood only a few
months away. How would I complete High
School without my scholarship?
My knees thumped on the floor but I didn’t
register the pain. Gluing my palms together
in a prayer pose, I begged, “Please sir, don’t
take away my scholarship. It is my only
hope.”
“Your scholarship is still yours for now. But
if you continue to show disrespect for our
rules and regulations, then like I said, we
will be forced to withdraw it.” With that, he
waved a dismissive hand at us.
“Is there a problem, sir?” The receptionist’s
voice announced her presence.
“No,” Sir Amadi said, settling back in his
seat. “They were just about leaving.” He
shot me a warning gaze. If I didn’t leave I
would be in trouble.
Swiping at my eyes, I marched out of the
office, with Cynthia close behind me. With
every breath I let out, I could feel my life
force seep out. My throat quavered. Where
would I start from if I lost my scholarship?
My body trembled as grief’s tangibility
streamed down my cheeks. Craving support,
I sauntered to the stairway and gripped the
handrail. My eyes squeezed shut, letting out
more tears. Dad had always told me to
never lose hope. But this day I had failed
him. I wanted to believe that after this
darkness, light would shine through. But I
couldn’t hang on to this hope.
A feathery sensation on my hand alerted
me. Slowly, painfully, I opened my now puffy
eyes and found a butterfly fluttering around
me. Despite myself, a smile stole its way to
my face and I reached out my hand to the
colorful beauty. It hesitated for a moment or
two, and then it perched on my right pointer.
Series of thoughts crowded in on me,
turning my admiration to envy. Unlike me,
the butterfly had freedom. It didn’t have any
chains binding it.
“I want to be free,” I said. “I don’t want to
die in my misery.” Throwing my hand in the
air, I watched my split-second friend fly
away only to perch on another side of the
building.
Movement to the right caught my eye.
There, a few feet from me, stood Cynthia,
staring with a blank face. She just stood
there, motionless, drinking to intoxication
every detail of my sorrow.
“Are you satisfied with this?” I asked. I
studied her for a reaction, but the actress
before me showed none. “I know you hate
me. I know you always want to be one step
ahead of me, but did you have to go this
far?”
“Shut up, you stupid girl,” she said, looking
around to be sure we were alone.
“Why, Cynthia, why?” I asked between
hiccups and sobs. “I just want to know why
you did this. Why did you do this? Why do
you feed off of my sadness?”
“Are you seriously talking to me like that?
Oh, I see that friend of yours has been
giving you some tutorials. Let me make
something clear to you. We are not on the
same page. Do you understand? Life is
made up of two groups of people. The
privileged and the less privileged. It’s not
my fault you belong in the unfortunate
group. There are many schools for peasants
like you. You’re free to try one of them. But
you, dressed in this uniform, and trying to fit
in, it all makes me sick. You’re such a
parasite. Always trying to compete with
me.”
“That’s not true!” I said. “You’re the one
who sees everything as a competition!”
“Do you know how irritating it is that
someone like you is trying to rub shoulders
with me?” she asked.
“I’m not trying to rub shoulders with
anyone,” I retorted.
“Hmm. You’ve grown wings. You are going
to regret every line you just recited, I swear.
Wait till mum hears this. You’re not even
happy you’re not out on the streets! Do you
know what we go through just to
accommodate a pest like you in our house?”
“My father’s house,” I corrected, my voice
crackling with resentment. Rage fought to
overcome me. And this time, I let it win. My
inner demon had been crouching for far too
long. I let it rise. I let it blind me. I glared at
Cynthia and let the fire in my eyes consume
her. Awed into silence, she could only gape
at a part of me I had never let her see.
“I guess you’re on cloud nine right now,” I
said. “What does this add to your life? Do
well to remember that no matter what you
do, my light will always shine through. You
try to bury me, but you don’t know I’m a
seed. You can run home and tell this to
mummy, adding sugar and every other spice
because you’re a spoilt little brat. The
stones you use to pelt me, I will use them to
stand. Just watch. You might even want to
grab some popcorn, because a show is fast
approaching and you are definitely going to
be my audience.”
Cynthia blinked, disbelieving both her eyes
and her ears. She opened her mouth to
speak, but it stayed open, voiceless. After a
second too long, she found her voice. “Are
you forgetting who you’re talking to?”
“You try to be happy, but deep down you’re
just as sad as I am,” I said, smoldering her
with my gaze to rub it in. I could tell it
unnerved her. And I enjoyed every bit of it.
“You’re depressed, and though you have
everything, it’s as though you have nothing.
And truly, you have nothing. You wonder
what’s missing in your life, but you can’t
place a finger on it. You can’t place a finger
on it because you’ve blinded yourself from
seeing what’s missing in your life.”
Without waiting to see her reaction, I
whirled on my heels. Simultaneously, the bell
for the next period rang. Each second drew
me nearer to the moment my scholarship
would be stripped from me, and I would drop
out of school. More tears blurred my vision.
I couldn’t go to class in this state. I sprinted
to the sickbay, my new-found sanctuary.
“They want to withdraw my scholarship,” I
said to Stella. “It’s over for me now.”
.
To be continued..