LOVE OR LUST

It was not a happy day at all. My face felt tight, as if I had just drunk vinegar. Not even my mom’s cracked voice could make me laugh as she sang Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish, which was playing on the radio in my dad’s car. My dad and I never really got along, so he didn’t even bother to ask what was wrong with me. His eyes were fixed firmly on the road. Then I saw a dance group by the roadside. They looked like they were shooting a music video. Immediately, I remembered my own dance group back in Enugu, and tears burst from my eyes. “So this is how we’re just going to leave everything behind,” I muttered to myself. I turned to my mom again. “Why are we leaving? What’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?” I was very curious at that moment. She smiled gently and said, “It’s for the best. We’re not hiding anything from you. You’ll understand with time.” When we finally got to Lagos, all I could see were crowds of people everywhere. Everyone seemed to be shouting or rushing around. The place felt disorganized compared to Enugu. It looked like a jungle. I glanced at my dad. His face was squeezed tight in concentration as he drove. I couldn’t help but stare at him and wonder what was going through his mind—what he felt about the chaotic environment of Lagos. Soon we reached a place called Iyana Ipaja. “What kind of name is that?” I wondered as I struggled to pronounce it. Just then, the car stopped. My mom leaned closer and whispered softly, “Welcome home, Kelvin.” The house was a small mini-flat with two bedrooms and a parlour. I stepped out of the car and began carrying some of the luggage inside. My dad and I hadn’t exchanged a single word during the entire journey. Sometimes we would just stare at each other and then quickly look away. At that point, I had already accepted the feeling that we might never truly get along, no matter how hard anyone tried. The house was dusty. I was already beginning to hate everything about it—from the stained toilet to the cobwebs hanging in the corners and the faded paint on the walls. Then my mom shouted, “Kelvin! Come, let’s pray over the house!” Reluctantly, I joined them. As we began praying, something interesting happened. I was struggling to keep my eyes closed, so I kept blinking slightly. Through the corner of my eye, I saw someone passing by the window. It looked like an angel—or at least, that’s what I thought at the moment. She was a very fair girl with long hair and an average height, just like me. All I could do was stare and wonder who gave birth to this blue-eyed melanin beauty. Just when she was about to turn and look toward the window, my mom suddenly opened her eyes and shouted: “Kelvin! If I slap you, eh!” I quickly remembered that we were still praying. Instead of apologizing, I said, “I was praying in my mind.” My dad gave me a deadly stare and continued praying. He was a man of very few words—far too few. Communication was never his strength. Sometimes I guessed he must have had a rough childhood, and it affected the way he saw life. He saw himself as nothing more than a provider, a machine responsible only for meeting the family’s basic needs. Anything beyond that, he ignored. I often wondered how Tobi, from my dance group, had such a strong relationship with his dad. They even exchanged playful insults with each other—something I could never imagine doing with my stiff and serious father. After the prayer, I went upstairs to my room and locked the door. All I could think about was the epitome of beauty I had just seen outside the window. Just then, a text message came in from Jennifer, my best friend back in Enugu. It seemed like she was already missing me. She kept sending love emojis while telling me how boring life would be without me in Lagos. We both complained about how much we hated the fact that we wouldn’t see each other for a long time. During the conversation, I told Jennifer about the girl I saw. From the tone of her messages, I could tell she felt a bit awkward about it. “Kelvin… isn’t it too soon?” she asked. “Tch,” I hissed. “I’m just appreciating God’s creation. Nothing more.” She then told me that their school had a new principal because the previous one had been caught extorting students. In the middle of talking about the changes at school, she asked: “What about you? Which school will you attend now?” Honestly, that was one of my biggest fears. I had already made many friends in my old school in Enugu, and I was quite popular because of my dancing skills. Whenever I performed, people gathered around, cheering. Even girls would blush and stare. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it yet,” I replied. Just then her dad called her, and she had to hang up. I lay naked on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the new direction my life was about to take. Before I knew it, night had fallen, and we were all sitting at the dinner table. I decided to bring up the topic. “Dad, which school will I attend?” I asked. He paused his eating and looked at me. Using his fork, he removed some meat stuck in his teeth before replying. “I saw a school near the entrance gate. Tomorrow morning we’ll go there and check their admission requirements,” he said softly. I didn’t know whether to smile or frown. It was the first time we had spoken that entire day, and surprisingly, it ended well. The next morning came. It was 8:00 a.m., and I was still sleeping. I had forgotten that my dad and I were supposed to visit the school. Suddenly I heard a loud shout. “This boy is still sleeping? My friend, will you get up from there before I slap you this morning!” Recognizing the voice, I jumped up. My dad was standing at my door, fully dressed, holding a black bag. I assumed it contained my admission documents, but at that moment I cared more about avoiding the beating that would follow if I didn’t move quickly. I rushed to the bathroom, took a bath, and finished my morning routine. By 8:30 a.m. I was fully dressed and ready. When I came downstairs, my dad was already reading his daily newspaper. He hated being disturbed while reading. Once his eyes were fixed on those black-and-white pages, nothing else in the world seemed to matter. Knowing this, I didn’t dare interrupt him. Instead, I called my mom from upstairs. After several attempts and persuasion, she finally convinced him. By 9:45 a.m., he stood up with a stern look. “Carry the black bag on the table,” he said. “Let’s go.” I humbly obeyed. Not because I was afraid of him—but because I needed his help with the admission process. We entered the car and drove off. The silence inside the car was as quiet as a graveyard. Soon we arrived at the school. From a distance, the signboard read: COVENANT HIGH SCHOOL The school looked beautiful, but the students looked like complete nerds. Almost everyone was carrying a huge textbook—something you would never see in Peculiar Memorial High School back in Enugu. We reached the waiting room by 10:00 a.m. and met the principal at 10:20 a.m. Students passing by kept staring at my dad and me as if we had done something wrong, which annoyed me. The admission process was quick—document submission, passport photos, and uniform measurements. By 11:00 a.m., everything was done. As we were leaving the principal’s office, I accidentally hit my foot against a wooden edge on the floor and nearly fell. Then I heard a soft female voice. “Sorry.” I raised my head. To my greatest surprise, it was the same girl who had passed by our window while we were praying on our first day in Lagos. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was already smiling awkwardly at her. She looked at me strangely and walked away. I felt embarrassed. But at the same time, I was happy—because for the first time, I had seen her beautiful blue eyes up close.