* * *
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Oke said, opening the gate for him.
“Afternoon,” Nnamdi muttered, looking down so that Mr. Oke wouldn’t see his red swollen eyes. He’d tried to hold them back, but as he walked home, the tears kept coming.
Mr. Oke walked up to him. “What’s wrong? You look—”
“I’m fine,” he said, quickly moving past him. He wasn’t ready for any questions. Not yet. His mother would hear about the fight by the end of the day anyway. Nnamdi froze. There was a blue Mercedes parked in the driveway, right in front of the house. Nnamdi frowned.
“Nnamdi, did someone hurt you?” Mr. Oke asked.
Nnamdi just shook his head. Mr. Oke’s cell phone went off and he held up a hand as he answered it. He grinned widely, “Vicky,” he said. “Baby, I’ve been waiting for your call.” He walked away for privacy and Nnamdi quickly went inside. He entered the living room and froze.
His mother was sitting on the couch. “Nnamdi, honey,” she said. A man sat on the couch as well and he was seated way too close to her. She quickly got up, pausing for a moment to look at his dirty school uniform. “Nnamdi, this is my friend Mr. Bonny Chibuzor.”
The man stood and stepped up to Nnamdi.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking Nnamdi’s hand firmly.
Mr. Bonny Chibuzor was not as tall as Nnamdi’s father. But he was built strong. He looked like one of those construction workers who lifted and cemented concrete blocks all day. The only difference was that he wore a stylish suit and his big hands were not that rough.
“Your mother has told me many good things about you,” Bonny added.
“Well, she hasn’t told me anything about you,” Nnamdi said.
“Nnamdi!” his mother snapped. Then she chuckled. “He’s just tired from school.” She gave Nnamdi a dirty look.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Nnamdi said, lowering his head. He glanced at his mother. “Can I go do my homework?”
“Please do,” his mother coolly said.
The Go-Slow
IT TOOK NNAMDI two weeks to accept it; his mother was dating Bonny. Nnamdi had to see him every Saturday and many times during the week, when Bonny would drive his mother to and from the market. Bonny, who was a medical doctor, always had a smile on his face and something in his hands that made his mother squeal with delight. His mother had settled into the job selling tapioca and now even had a stall in the market. Nnamdi’s mother had her pride, so she refused when Bonny offered to help with money.
She didn’t even let Bonny help with Nnamdi’s school fees or groceries. However, she enjoyed the little things he bought her—like fresh fish, delicious teas, and a dress he knew she had her eye on. Nnamdi had never seen his mother like this and he wasn’t sure whether it relieved or irritated him. He didn’t like Bonny, no matter how many packets of biscuits he gave Nnamdi or how many times he asked how school was going.
Bonny had recently bought his mother her first cell phone. His father had never liked cell phones and banned them from the house. His mother had not argued about this, despite the fact that all her friends had them. Nnamdi wondered if this had to do with the fact that his mother never wanted to receive the News on her cell. But not owning a phone hadn’t kept away the News that every family of a police officer dreads. Nnamdi had received the Letter instead. Maybe the fact that she’d gotten the News regardless was why she accepted the cell phone from Bonny.
Nnamdi hated hearing his mother chat with Bonny in the evenings. The sound of his mother’s happy voice made him think about his father and the fact that he wasn’t there. The only direct connection he had to his father now was the Ikenga. The Ikenga! What to do with it? He wished he could ask Chioma what he should do, but it had been two weeks now and Chioma was still not speaking to him. Neither were any of his friends.
Nnamdi sighed as he stared out the car window, his mind heavy with his own miseries and confusion. He still had no idea how to control when he changed into the Man. It hadn’t happened since that time with Bad Market. And he still had not gotten revenge on the Chief of Chiefs. His world was upside down and now he was in Bonny’s car with his mother on their way to eat at the Calabar Kitchen Restaurant.
“I’m not kidding, o,” Bonny was saying to Nnamdi’s mother. She laughed hard and tapped him on the shoulder to stop talking. But he kept going. “The woman was so empty-headed that when she finally got to the house, she forgot her child in the car, and the taxi driver . . .” Both he and Nnamdi’s mother totally lost it, laughing like crazy. Nnamdi hoped Bonny wouldn’t crash his precious blue Mercedes. But then again, that would be kind of funny. The only time Bonny had ever gotten irritated with Nnamdi was when he saw Nnamdi leaning against the vehicle one day.
“Off the car!” he’d snapped, coming out of the house.
When Nnamdi had quickly moved away, Bonny had polished the place Nnamdi had been touching, using the sleeve of his white shirt. Bonny would probably have a heart attack if he ever crashed his car, Nnamdi thought. Of course, that wasn’t likely to happen today, as they’d just gotten stuck in a “go-slow.” Who knew how long they’d be in the congested traffic?
Sunset was fast approaching and Nnamdi’s stomach was growling. He had his mother’s cell phone and was playing Connect Four on it to keep himself occupied. He was winning. His mother let out another peal of laughter and Nnamdi squeezed her phone in anger. CRACK! He gasped. He’d crushed it. A piece of plastic fell to the floor.
He stared at the phone, feeling a drop in the pit of his belly. His mother was going to kill him. And how was he going to explain how he did it? In the car? He looked at his mother and Bonny and wondered if he should say something now while they were both in such a giggly mood. A shadow passed his window and he felt a chill.
“Mommy, did you see that?” he asked.
But she and Bonny were fiddling with the radio. Bonny found a music station and she shimmied her shoulders as Bonny sang along to the tune. The windows were down and the car’s engine was off, the same as the other vehicles around them. Nnamdi leaned out the window to see if he could spot anything ahead. There were hawkers walking from window to window, selling peanuts, plantain chips, “pure water,” and Coca-Cola. Things seemed normal enough. But he could feel it in his chest—something was very wrong.
He was looking through the windshield when he saw his mother’s purse disappear right before his eyes. He blinked. It had been there. Sitting on the dashboard. Then it was gone!
“Mommy!” he shouted, pointing to where her purse had been. “Your purse!”
She frowned a bit at him, looking annoyed at being shaken from her enjoyment of the music.