THE SCARS OF DUTY

Shadows in the City

Chapter 2

Shadows in the City

Port Harcourt in 2012 was a city of contradictions, where oil wealth gleamed in distant skyscrapers while the slums of Diobu pulsed with struggle and survival. At 17, Dikume stood taller now, his lanky frame stretched by years of hauling fish and carrying the weight of his family’s hopes. The move to Port Harcourt three years ago had been a flicker of promise his uncle Tamunotonye, Matthew’s elder brother, had vowed to take him in, to give him the education his father dreamed of. But the reality was a cramped room in a sagging tenement, shared with Uncle Tam’s own family, where dreams were suffocated by the stench of open gutters and the clamor of okada motorcycles. Dikume’s optimism, once a bright flame kindled by his father’s reassurances, was now a fragile ember, threatened by the city’s harsh truths.

The sun was setting, painting the sky a bruised purple as Dikume trudged through the narrow alleys of Diobu, a sack of smoked fish slung over his shoulder. His mother, Afie, had sent him to sell her wares at the Mile One Market, her diabetes worsening and her strength fading. Richard, now 15, was restless, skipping school to chase quick cash with street hawkers. Golden, 13, was quiet but studious, clinging to the books Dikume brought home from secondhand stalls. Rhema, 11, was the light of the house, her laughter a rare balm, but even she sensed the strain tightening around them. As the first son, Dikume was their anchor, expected to keep them fed, in school, and out of trouble, all while chasing the education that was supposed to lift them out of this life.

School was his only refuge, a government secondary school with peeling walls and overcrowded classrooms. Dikume excelled, his father’s love for learning burning in him. His teachers saw promise, but promise didn’t pay for textbooks or stop the landlord’s threats. Uncle Tam’s promises had soured his own family’s needs consumed him, and Dikume was just another mouth, expected to contribute. “You’re the man now,” Afie would say, echoing her words from seven years ago when Matthew’s body came home from the river. The weight of those words was heavier now, a chain forged by duty and guilt.

Amid the grind, a spark had entered Dikume’s life: Ibinabo, a girl in his class with eyes like polished onyx and a laugh that cut through the city’s noise. She was 16, the daughter of a petty trader, her family just as poor but her spirit unbroken. They’d met during a group project, her quick wit and fearless questions drawing him out of his shell. For the first time, Dikume’s shyness softened, his quiet nature giving way to stolen moments by the school’s rusted gate, where they’d talk about everything books, dreams, the music blaring from roadside shops. Ibinabo wanted to be a nurse, to heal people like her mother, who’d lost a leg to untreated diabetes. “We’ll make it out, Dikume,” she’d say, her hand brushing his, sending warmth through his weary bones. He believed her, or wanted to.

Tonight, as he navigated the crowded market, Dikume’s thoughts were on Ibinabo. They’d planned to meet after his sales, to share a bottle of Fanta under the flickering streetlight near her compound. But the market was chaos traders haggling, a preacher shouting through a megaphone, and the ever-present threat of area boys looking for trouble. Dikume’s earnings were meager, barely enough for Afie’s medicine, and the guilt gnawed at him. He’d promised Rhema a new notebook, but the coins in his pocket wouldn’t stretch that far. The expectations pressed harder: Afie’s tired eyes, Uncle Tam’s grumbling about rent, Richard’s defiance, and the elders back in Ikodi, who still called about the family land dispute he was too young to resolve.

He reached the streetlight, his heart lifting at the sight of Ibinabo waiting, her braided hair catching the dim glow. She wore a faded blue dress, but to Dikume, she was radiant. “You’re late,” she teased, her smile easing the ache in his chest. They sat on a concrete slab, sharing the warm Fanta, their shoulders touching. “Tell me something good,” she said, her voice soft. Dikume hesitated, then spoke of his father’s old dream university, a teaching job, a life beyond the slums. “I’ll get there,” he said, more to himself. Ibinabo’s hand found his, her fingers intertwining. “You will. And I’ll be there cheering.” For a moment, the world felt lighter, the scars of duty less raw.

But the city didn’t allow such moments to last. As they talked, a shadow loomed Chidi, a lanky 19-year-old with a reputation for trouble, sauntered over with two other boys. Chidi had been in their class until he dropped out, now running with a crew that extorted market traders. His eyes lingered on Ibinabo, a smirk curling his lips. “Dikume, the bookworm,” he mocked. “You think this girl go follow you read for library forever?” Ibinabo stiffened, but her voice was sharp. “Leave us, Chidi.” He laughed, stepping closer, his breath sour with palm wine. “You need a real man, not this errand boy.”

Dikume’s heart pounded, fear mixing with anger. He stood, his fists clenched, but Chidi was taller, his friends circling like vultures. “Go,” Dikume said, his voice low, trying to keep the peace. Chidi shoved him, hard, and the sack of fish fell, spilling across the dirt. Ibinabo gasped, pulling Dikume back, but Chidi’s taunts followed them as they retreated, her hand trembling in his. The humiliation burned, but worse was the look in Ibinabo’s eyes—pity, not pride. That night, alone in the tenement, Dikume punched the wall, his knuckles bleeding, the weight of his failure as a “man” crushing him.

The weeks that followed were a descent. Ibinabo grew distant, her smiles rarer. Rumors swirled that Chidi had been seen near her compound, flashing money from his shady deals. Dikume, consumed by school, market runs, and keeping Richard from the streets, couldn’t compete. One evening, he found her at the school gate, her eyes avoiding his. “Dikume, I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “My family… we need more than dreams right now.” She didn’t say Chidi’s name, but it hung between them. When she walked away, Dikume felt his heart c***k, the first love he’d dared to hold slipping through his fingers like river water. He stood there, the city’s noise swallowing his silent grief, the scars of his childhood reopening.

The emotional toll was relentless. At home, Afie’s health worsened, her coughs rattling through the night. Richard was slipping further, caught stealing from a market stall, and Dikume took the blame, enduring Uncle Tam’s tirade. “You’re the first son!” Tam shouted. “Control that boy!” Golden, sensing the tension, withdrew into his books, while Rhema’s questions “Why are you sad, Diki?” cut deeper than any insult. Dikume’s grades slipped, his teachers noticing the hollow look in his eyes. The dream of university, once so vivid in Matthew’s voice, felt like a taunt. He was 17, but the weight of a man’s life was breaking him.

One night, unable to sleep, Dikume wandered to the riverfront, the city’s polluted waters reflecting the neon lights of distant oil rigs. He thought of Christmas Eve seven years ago, shivering in the canoe with Matthew, his father’s voice promising a better life. Now, that voice was gone, replaced by Chidi’s taunts, Ibinabo’s rejection, and Afie’s expectations. He sank to his knees, the damp earth soaking his trousers, and let the tears come. The city didn’t care, but for the first time, Dikume wondered if he could keep carrying this burden. Duty had scarred him, but the heartbreak and the endless grind were carving deeper wounds.

The next morning, a letter arrived from Ikodi. The elders demanded Dikume return to settle the family land dispute, a matter tied to his father’s legacy. Afie, too weak to argue, looked at him with eyes that said everything: You must go. Dikume stared at the letter, his heart torn between duty and the flicker of rebellion growing inside him. Port Harcourt had promised opportunity, but it had given him only loss and pain. As he folded the letter, he wondered if he could ever escape the scars of duty or if they were all he’d ever be.