“That’s because you weren’t looking hard enough,” Ruff Diamond said. “Come on, have some fun. I’m tired of your sulking.” He held a spoonful of jollof rice to Nnamdi’s face. “Eat. It’s delicious and you look dried like stockfish.”
Nnamdi shoved the spoon away, cracking a smile. Debo Okunuga, known more commonly as Ruff Diamond, was bigger than Nnamdi, and each day after school he would bring out a pair of diamond earrings and put them on. “These teachers won’t let me wear my diamonds in class,” he would always say with a shrug. “Teachers, always jealous of rich guys like me!” Ruff Diamond was beyond proud of these earrings and claimed they cost two hundred and fifty thousand naira each. Nnamdi believed the earrings were expensive but not that expensive.
“Maybe you’re too busy looking for Chioma?” Jide said, pushing up his black glasses as he drank from a bottle of Coca-Cola. Nnamdi rolled his eyes again. For over a year, Nnamdi had known that Jide was the one who liked Chioma, but Chioma never gave Jide the time of day.
“It’s my father’s memorial,” Nnamdi said. “Why would I . . . ?”
“Because the best place to meet girls is at events like this,” Hassan said. He put his plate, laden with only hunks of goat meat, on the ground just so that he could dramatically slap hands with Ruff Diamond. The two laughed raucously.
“Hey, I’m going to Abuja for a few days,” Ruff Diamond said. “The girls are fine there, sha. But not like here. You should keep your eyes open, Nnamdi.”
“So I can always remember that I met her at the anniversary of my father’s murder?” Nnamdi suddenly snapped. He paused, feeling the darkness and weight of his father’s death press on him yet again. His friends looked anywhere but at him. Nnamdi took a deep breath. “Sorry, guys,” he said.
Ruff Diamond patted him on the back. “It’s all right.”
Nnamdi was glad when his mother called him over to come and say hello to his grand-auntie Grace.
“Praise God,” Auntie Grace proclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. She was very fat, tall, and strong and she wore a black drape of a dress made of a thick, coarse material. Hugging her was suffocating, hot, and scratchy. “Praise him, o! We are here today, gathered despite the loss of my sweet, sweet brother.”
“Yes, Auntie,” Nnamdi said, stepping back.
“Do you miss him?” she asked. Before Nnamdi could respond, she said, “I miss him. But he’s with God now.” She grinned at Nnamdi, though he knew full well that she wasn’t really seeing him. Auntie Grace was nice, but she was never fully there; she was always more occupied with whatever prayer she was praying.
“I prayed for him every day when he was alive,” she said. “When he was fighting all of those criminals. Trying to be Kaleria’s superhero. Do you like superheroes, Nnamdi?” He opened his mouth to answer. He loved superheroes. Especially icons like Naruto, Superman, Black Panther, Storm, and his favorite, the Incredible Hulk. Superheroes got to view the world differently because their lives were so crazy; they could be anyone and they could dive into danger when it was at its worst and win. Superheroes survived. Nnamdi would have loved to have a conversation about all this with even Auntie Grace but instead she kept talking. “Your father wasn’t a superhero; he was more. He was a messenger of God. Now he’s with the Lord.” She nodded, whispering, “He’s better off.”
Nnamdi frowned. He felt his father would have been better off with him and his mother. Auntie Grace’s attention was back to his mother and two other women. “We should all pray!” Auntie Grace proclaimed, putting a big hand on his mother’s shoulder.
Once his auntie started making people pray, those present lost at least an hour of their lives as she went on and on. Nnamdi was standing behind her and he took the chance to slip away. He was between two tents, about to sneak away from the party, into the tall plants of his father’s garden despite the mosquitoes and other night creatures, when he heard, “Nnamdi! There you are!”
He cringed but then recognized the voice over all the noise. “Chioma,” he said, turning around. He smiled. Like most of the girls and women at the memorial, she was wearing a rapa and matching top; hers was a loud yellow. She moved slowly, her tightly wrapped rapa limiting the length of her stride. Nnamdi and Chioma slapped hands.
“I’ve been here for twenty minutes but couldn’t find you anywhere,” she said. She took a sip from her bottle of Bitter Lemon.
“I’m not in the mood for any of this,” he said, leaning against the wall of the house.
“Hmm. Well, the party’s more for your mother, really,” she said. “To usher her out of mourning and back into the community. You should be relieved. She won’t have to wear black anymore.” She patted her belly. “Whoo, I’m stuffed.”
“I’m glad for my mum, but I don’t really want to be here.”
“Oh, Nnamdi,” she laughed. “You’re such a good, obedient son.”
A shadow caught Nnamdi’s eye and he turned and squinted in the darkness. “You see that?” he asked.
Chioma craned her neck and squinted, too. “No.”
“What is that?” He stepped past Chioma for a better look. “Or who?” The shadow was human-shaped and heading toward the gate, moving around the vehicles parked on the blacktop around the compound. “Hey!” he called. Whoever it was stepped into the light and seemed to look at them. But even in the light shining from the house, Nnamdi could barely see him. Yes, it was a him. A man. Then the man did the impossible. He stepped right through the wall beside the open gate! At least that’s what Nnamdi thought he saw. The man skipped around the parked cars and disappeared from Nnamdi’s view.
“Hey!” Nnamdi called again, pushing the gate open and stepping through it.
Behind him, he heard Chioma shout, “Leave him. You don’t know who that is.”
Nnamdi caught another glimpse of the shadowy man. He seemed to be walking quickly down the street, disappearing into shadows and reappearing in pockets of light from houses and streetlights. The man stopped and gestured to Nnamdi to follow. Nnamdi hesitated, frowning. He blinked, thinking of his dead father, his mother robbed, the Chief of Chiefs disrespecting his father’s funeral last year, and something new washed over him. He tensed his body and balled his fists. “No,” he whispered. “This is my house.” He would protect his home by any means necessary. He took off after the shadowy man. “Hey!” he called.
“Nnamdi!” Chioma shouted. “It’s dark out there! Stop! Just let him go!”
Nnamdi ran into the darkness of the dirt road, frantically looking from side to side. There. He heard the man’s footsteps running off to the right, down the narrow track, and so he ran in that direction, too. The night was pitch-black as he passed gated house after gated house. The sound of the memorial celebration quickly faded, as did Chioma’s voice. The wind picked up and it propelled him faster. It was exhilarating to run like crazy in the dark after . . . what? A thief? He didn’t know. But now that he actually had a chance to do something, he was going to catch up with the man who had the nerve to come to his home uninvited.