THE SCARS OF DUTY

A Flicker of Light

Chapter 4:

A Flicker of Light

The harmattan winds had begun to sweep through Port Harcourt by December 2012, dusting the Diobu slum with a dry haze that clung to everything. At 17, Dikume felt the city’s pulse in his bones—the relentless hum of okada motorcycles, the chatter of market traders, the distant promise of oil wealth that never reached his family’s tenement. The betrayal of Uncle Tamunotonye, exposed months ago through that crumpled receipt, still burned in his chest. Tam’s involvement in a corrupt land deal with Chief Okoro threatened the family plot in Ikodi, a legacy Dikume’s father, Matthew, had died protecting. Ibinabo’s rejection lingered too, her choice of Chidi over him a scar that hadn’t faded. Yet, amidst the weight of duty—Afie’s worsening cough, Richard’s defiance, Golden’s quiet hope, and Rhema’s innocent trust—Dikume’s heart refused to break entirely.

School had become his lifeline. Despite the overcrowded classrooms and outdated books, Dikume’s grades had climbed, his father’s love for learning a fire that refused to die. His teachers noticed, one even slipping him a secondhand physics textbook, its pages yellowed but precious. “You’re university material, Dikume,” Mr. Eze, his mathematics teacher, had said, his voice firm with belief. The words were a spark, rekindling the optimism Matthew had nurtured during those cold Christmas Eve fishing trips. But the pressures of being the first son loomed: Afie’s medicine drained his market earnings, Richard was running with a rough crowd, and the elders in Ikodi still demanded he settle the land dispute. Tari, his old classmate, had offered a dangerous path—joining a community resistance against Okoro—but Dikume wasn’t ready to risk his family’s safety, not yet.

This evening, Dikume stood outside the school’s rusted gate, waiting for a community study group Mr. Eze had organized for top students. The harmattan dust stung his eyes, but he barely noticed, his mind on a rare piece of good news: he’d won a small scholarship from a local church, enough to cover his exam fees and buy Rhema the notebook she’d begged for. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress, a step toward the university dream Matthew had painted. As he adjusted the faded backpack slung over his shoulder, a voice broke through the evening noise.

“You’re always early, Dikume. Don’t you ever rest?” The voice was warm, teasing, and belonged to Nimi, a 16-year-old girl from his class who’d joined the study group last month. Nimi was different—her smile was wide, her eyes bright with a curiosity that matched his own. She was the daughter of a tailor, her family just as poor as his, living in a nearby compound. Her braided hair was tied back with a colorful scarf, and her secondhand school uniform was neatly pressed, a quiet defiance of their shared hardship. They’d talked a few times, her quick questions about algebra drawing him out of his shyness, her laughter easing the ache of Ibinabo’s memory.

Dikume managed a small smile, his reserved nature softening. “Rest is for people with money,” he said, his voice lighter than he felt. Nimi laughed, falling into step beside him as they walked toward the classroom, a small concrete building lit by flickering bulbs. “Then we’ll both be restless forever,” she replied, her eyes catching his. Something stirred in Dikume a warmth he hadn’t felt since those early days with Ibinabo, before the heartbreak. Nimi’s presence was like a breeze, gentle but persistent, cutting through the dust of his burdens.

Inside, the study group was a haven. Mr. Eze drilled them on equations, but Nimi’s whispered jokes about his strictness made Dikume stifle a grin. After the session, she lingered, helping him stack chairs. “You’re good at this,” she said, nodding at the textbook in his hand. “Better than me, and I’m not bad.” Her compliment landed softly, but it meant something someone saw him, not just the first son carrying a family’s weight. “You’re not bad either,” he said, daring to meet her gaze. She grinned, brushing his arm as she passed, a touch that sent his heart racing.

Over the next weeks, Nimi became a constant. They studied together, sharing notes and dreams under the school’s mango tree. She wanted to be a teacher, inspired by her mother’s stories of sewing late into the night to keep her in school. “I want to make kids like us believe they can do more,” she said one evening, her voice fierce. Dikume told her about Matthew, about the fishing trips and the promise of university. “He’d be proud of you,” Nimi said, her hand resting on his. For the first time in months, Dikume felt seen, not for his duties but for who he was. Their connection grew stolen glances, shared bottles of Fanta, walks home through Diobu’s crowded alleys. When she laughed at his quiet jokes, he felt a happiness he thought he’d lost, a flicker of light in the darkness.

The scholarship brought more than money. Mr. Eze recommended Dikume for a part-time job tutoring younger students at the church, a small but steady income. He bought Afie’s medicine without skipping Rhema’s notebook, and when Rhema hugged him, her eyes shining, Dikume’s chest swelled with pride. Even Richard, sullen and distant, nodded when Dikume slipped him a few naira for new shoes. Golden spent hours with the textbook Dikume shared, their late-night talks about school a rare bond. For once, Dikume felt like he was winning, balancing duty with his own dreams. Nimi’s presence made it sweeter her belief in him mirrored Matthew’s, but it was softer, warmer, a love that felt possible.

But Port Harcourt never let happiness linger. One evening, as Dikume and Nimi walked home, her hand brushing his, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows Chidi, his smirk sharp as ever. “Bookworm’s got a new girl,” he taunted, his eyes raking over Nimi. Dikume tensed, the memory of Chidi’s fist in his stomach still raw. Nimi stepped forward, unafraid. “Leave us alone, Chidi,” she said, her voice steady. But Chidi’s laugh was cold, his words laced with a threat. “You think you’re safe, Dikume? Okoro’s watching. Your uncle’s mess is your mess now.” He vanished into the alley, but his words lingered, tying Dikume’s new joy to the shadow of Tam’s betrayal.

That night, back in the tenement, Afie’s cough was worse, her face gaunt. “The land, Dikume,” she rasped, clutching the Ikodi letter. “You must go soon.” Richard was out again, Golden was silent, and Rhema’s questions “Why’s Chidi always around, Diki?” cut deep. Dikume’s happiness with Nimi felt fragile, threatened by the city’s dangers and his family’s needs. Tari’s offer to join the resistance echoed in his mind, a dangerous temptation. He lay awake, Nimi’s smile battling Chidi’s threat in his thoughts. The scholarship, the tutoring job, Nimi’s warmth they were progress, but the scars of duty were still there, and the city was waiting to test them.