Bespectacled

Being a human had been so hard for me. I guess it was because of my background. My childhood was messy. I was born into the hands of a 17 year old girl- life is a race, they say, and I have been in this race since I was a sperm cell, and I made it to the finish line, when a guy was in bed with her. The guy didn't reject the pregnancy. He became my dad at age 19. He was a low-life with no parents . My unschooled Grandma, my mum's mother in a broader sense, didn't send my mum out of the house. Instead she made a deal with them that she would be the one to name me.

I was named Blade Oriowo, I didn't know if it was an attempt to make me very different from the other kids with their indigenous names or she named me by the thing she first laid her eyes on. I hated that name. I would have liked to have my name changed for my birthday gift. Nothing else. As for the " Oriowo", which I would directly interpret as a head of wealth, well, in real sense it was greatly contrary to what we really are. We lived in the same place my Grandma had lived all her life, everything was the way it was years ago. My home wasn't an eye sore, it was a filth depot. I had tried arranging the place but it only changed the point of view of how it looked. And it had a particular long lasting stench that only we could embrace and we could never ever expunge. Visitors were liable to die young if they smelt it. It smelt of body sweats, old age, dirty clothes, moist and dead rats. It really was a home. Soon, at 18, my mum forfeited her education. Then she became everyman's woman. We grew apart and it was like she didn't care about me. For half of my life, I hated her.

My father, was the only favorite male I had. He was hippy, aggressive, mellow, a booze-hound and a chain smoker which as a result gave our house a tang of something like over-burnt stew. He liked me. He didn't love me. He gave me things, but trashed me at the slightest things. I preferred him to my mum. His occupation, that... I didn't know. I only knew he brought money home. As for my mum, it was a general knowledge that she collided with men for money. My Dad was aware but he didn't like it. He had no choice. He was living with us.

My education was taken care of by my dad. That, I will always be thankful for. He only paid when he saw me at home, when I was supposed to be at school. I was doing really good and preferred to stay at school because it was a hot zone – Mum and Dad were usually spitting in each other's face, some times, they got more physical.

Two years later, my Dad and mum coupled after their usual hot argument one night. And they kept taking rounds, shaking the whole place. What did I know? I was 2 years. What was I doing then? I think I was watching T.V. That old box of cathode ray-tube, it was going out of picture repeatedly, I kept trying to adjust the antenna to stop the static. Grandma was picking beans. She had ear issues so she couldn't hear well; most times we always had to shout in her ears, especially the left. Soon they came out sweating. I got to understand what they were doing that night when I grew, and whatever they were doing in the room produced another product. Another boy. I heard my mum cuss and declare that that was the last baby. Unlike me, he was given a better name. He was named by my father as Solomon. I wondered if that meant he was going to be greater than I am. Over the years, I was given the responsibility to take care of him; soon we drifted apart as we grew. I think it was me. And when I got to primary six, money was in my head. I wanted to make money and leave that place. I did the oddest job that men did. I saved and saved. I kept the money under our threadbare rug. Anytime I lifted the rug, it blew a whiff of awful incense like dung to my face. And when I smelt it, it felt so real in my mouth. I kept on doing menial, body-exhausting jobs... I even worked at a site.

One day, I came home to keep another wad under the rug. My remaining money was gone. Then I saw my mum walk into the room, in a dress I had never seen on her, with outrageous ornaments. They made her look like the god Lakshmi. Everything on her could buy us a new house. She turned to me and said:

" I took your money." my countenance had a restructure.

" What does a little boy like ya, wanna do with such amount of money?" She continued. If smoke do billow out of one's ears when angry, mine would have choked her.

" If ya want to get the money back, pay me back every dime I have spent on ya." She was talking like she knew what I would have said. I was frozen that time but my insides were on fire. She left my presence. She was off to a party. It was Friday, so it definitely was a party. My mind made me realize that the money I saved could have changed my life. And maybe I could have assisted my grandma in a way. I really owed her. My mum, like I preferred to call her, which if I called her mum, was a big slap on reality - was more or less an addition to the congested room. I even liked, not love, my brother than I did to my mum. I couldn't define what I had for her that time. I had to forget that money. I felt maybe I could only leave when I became a man.

Apart from the devastating fact that I wouldn't leave that place because of what she did; there was the feeling to leave the neighborhood but you not being able to do it... I didn't know if I was ever the only one who felt that way. Everyone on that street had lived there for long years, and if not years, decades; passed from generation to the other. However, some broke the jinx. Funny enough, a few of them came back. They came back to the mess they had left, the dusty, unstraight road with layers upon layers of all kinds of dirts, nylons going out of colour, passing in front of houses in fifties and probably sixties; houses with chipping blocks, broken windows, dingy public bathrooms, old inhabitants and sloven youths. They were to the hustle bustle of the neighborhood when it struck dawn, the loud music from the only guy with the job that requires a suit and tie; the wailing of kids under the torture of cold water whilst bathing and consequently, the scolding of there mothers. At times, it was someone shouting that something has been stolen or it was commotion about a man peeping through the bathroom door to see a naked bathing lady. Or it was loud sound of brush, violently scrubbing the tainted teeth of the young men who lived in the one story buildings, and spat the foams from the top... sometimes it fell like the poop of a pigeon on any hapless passerby.

That was the neighborhood I lived in. I lived in one of those old story buildings with pigeons at the rooftops... We lived beneath.

A year elapsed again, and I was done with primary school, preparing to gain admission into secondary school. I didn't think my mum knew about my academic progress. Probably to her, I was only wearing costumes of a school kid. I was a smart boy. I knew that. I was always told by everyone around me; I did amazingly well at school.

I had a long lasting eye defect. Perhaps I had seen things I wasn't meant to see- I had watched my mum undress naked in front of me. She didn't care anyway. I told my Grandma about my defect because she was the only who could relate. She gave me her glasses instead to use all the time. She said it was a burden on her face. I could see better and read better. Only that it enlarged things that I didn't want to see. So, basically life happened before my bespectacled eyes, twice better than my naked eyes.

I was able to get admission into a school, which was a mile from my house. I still had money with me so I was able to afford quality education. My dad was happy I kept doing things men his age did. He slapped blue back ( 50 naira) in my hand, the price of 5 candy bars or five sachet pure water. It wasn't much but at least, my hope wasn't dashed.

My first day at Secondary school was like me walking into a mine field. With guerrillas, feasting their eyes on me, ready to strike. And me, with my big burden on my malnourished shoulders, which kept slapping against my buttocks as I walked into a class. I didn't know if it was my class but I just went into the class I first saw. I wanted to greet the teacher there but she seemed to be very busy scribbling on the board. I walked past her to a seat, and I felt every students' eyes follow my footsteps. My ears picked some mocking giggling from some females. I knew it was about me; my trouser was the best trouser I had, and maybe in some people's houses, it was cleaning rag. My shirt had some patches, and I wouldn't blame anyone if I was called a mad man. My shoe had a worn out alignment, and a big opening which revealed my feet. My bag which as it slapped against my back puffed dust and the smell of a rat that breathed its last breath on my bag from weeks ago. And my hair was clean shaven- I made it to my seat, without falling. If I had fallen, like that was what they wanted, I would have created a jolly emotional outburst. First, I breathed the clean and purified air, and let it flow into my lungs and out. I asked a boy beside me:

" is this Junior secondary school 1?" , " you are in the wrong class." He was trying to keep a respectable distance from me and I didn't know why. I forgot to brush!. I stood and made for the door then someone halted me. I turned and I saw the teacher's face. She looked like one whose eyes could melt yours if you looked at hers.

" Who are you?"

" My name is..." Blade! I turned to the audience ready to laugh, and the sun shining in through the window was like a spotlight.

" Blade Ori..." I hadn't finished but too late, the word took off from my mouth and sunk into their ears and they all exploded into the most devastating laughter. Shame. I wore shame.

" Blade?" She asked, I nodded as I held the moist in my eyes.

" Yes ma. I was told I'm in the wrong class. Please where's JSS1?"

" Greet first!" I was expecting that. I prostrated, spread my body, I almost had my chest touching the ground and a tear dripped on my lenses.

" I was expecting good morning ma but that would do. Just go outside. Walk straight. Move to your right. You'll see it."

" Thank you ma." Then I walked out, and heard the students giggle lightly. The teacher kept missing and saying under her breath, " Blade? That's the name of my neighbor's dog..." I was born into the wrong family, I thought. I moved out of the building and turned right. I didn't see any class. It seemed the teacher had lied to me. In my dilemma, the security man walked up to me.

" Wetin you dey find?" It was quite a stereotype for security men to speak pidgin. He wasn't an exception.

" Please where's JSS1 class?" He looked at me despairingly.

" Enter the bildin na. Shey na here you go find the class ni?"

" A teacher told me to move out, walk straight and turn right."

" You be Fool. Enter joor!!" Everything and everyone in the world had always been so cruel to me. It was just my first day and I was holding back tears just entering the building some minutes ago. If I had let out the flood welling up in my eyes, I would get laughed at again. The man escorted me in. We stopped at a class, he violently turned my head to the door post, there was a sign. I saw ' PISS'... I was confused. I turned to him, he blared,

" Enter! Na your class be that." I looked up... The smear on my lens, from my tear had dried so I could clearly I see ' JSS1'. While I was digesting what I saw, he tossed me in. There was another female teacher, much younger than the one I saw earlier and very pretty, I didn't register her face well. She told me to go and have my seat, after assessing me briefly with her eyes. I literarily closed my eyes on my way to the vacant seat. It was like a long, unending journey. I collapsed in my seat and I saw everyone looking at me, holding back their laughter. One boy sniggered, and the others contracted it and then into a full laughter. Even the teacher revealed her smile too, but she closed her mouth immediately. I closed my eyes again, and that time, tears streamed. Closing my eyes was my way of escaping when it seemed I was trapped. I placed my hand on my eyes to stop the tears but I could feel my mouth trembling. I eventually swallowed in. I opened my eyes again. And light flooded my eyes and dazzled me for a moment. My lenses were smeared again.

" What's your name?" The teacher called from the front. Not again.

" Blade..." I said under my breath " –Oriowo" I said audibly.

" I didn't hear you. Please can you come over to the front?" I stood up and felt my feet go numb at first. I took a step forward to know if my legs still worked fine. I took baby steps towards the front of the class. And there were some people cheering, they weren't real, they were in my head. They sounded like spectators in a stadium. They sounded like there were a hundred thousand of them. They kept chanting, ' say it! say it! say it!' It wasn't helping. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that I had unconsciously reached the front of the class. I felt like going back. Can this day get any better? I must have thought. But I wasn't so good in English grammar to make such thoughts. I couldn't have thought about it. Then my eyes projected my mum sitting in front of me. Waiting for me for to fail. I felt my eye brows fold.

" My name is Blade Oriowo."

" Wait... you said Blade?" The class exploded in amusement. It was destabilizing, hearing people laugh at me and the bothering question of why it was funny seemed like it had no answer until I got the answer; it was for sharpening pencils. It gets depressing sometimes that it's only me that doesn't get to see it that way. I saw my mum grinning.

" Why are you laughing?" said the teacher. Their noise distorted. I heard that and I turned my head to her.

" What's so funny about his name?" Finally, someone else doesn't get to see it, just like me.

" Ignore them. Your name is beautiful, so..." and that was where all her words passed through me, out of my body, like a ghost. I used that moment to behold her smooth clay-coloured face, her well-shaped eyes, her sharp features, her hanging hair and that crimson red lipstick on those soft round lips. Her lips kept clasping and hitting each other... Her teeth kept opening and closing, and her tongue kept twirling. The words came out of her mouth kept coming out as blabs. She was the most beautiful lady I had ever seen. I didn't even realize that one of her hands was on my shoulder. Yes! The day could get any better. Then her mouth stopped moving. I felt her hand come down hard on my shoulder. That's where that it all stopped.

" is that clear?", I could hear her.

" Yes ma." But probably knowing I was mind-lost, she decided to tell me what she was saying.

" In case, you didn't hear what I said, I told you I was going to explain shortly because we had started the lessons before you came.

I hovered my eyes from side-to-side on the others, their eyes gnawing on my confidence" Yes ma."

I brought my hand to the top of my head, and made a shade on the side of my temple. I was saluting her. Stupid. The lady only parted her mouth slightly instead of talking sense into me. I felt a rainbow array on my head. I felt so confident walking back to my seat. The projection of my mum had vanished. I wondered why that projection was there. I was happy through out that day. I hadn't smiled that way in a long time. The last time I was that happy was when I saw how much good money I had made. That happiness I had at that moment was pure. I didn't want it to die. When I got home, I got a old book, and instantly, I started writing my mind in it. I called it a journal, feeling that calling it a diary was feminine, sort of. I first wrote my day experience and ended it with a happy ending; the mirage I dived into, in the face of an Angel. Just when I was fantasizing, I saw a spectacle that beheld my eyes. Two people broke through the door...

I saw a man carrying something quite heavy, bust the door open; he staggered with the burden on him, the weight of the burden made him turn his toes, hit the door, nevertheless he didn't flinch. A closer look, it was the lady who was burden, strapped her legs round his midsection and belted her hands round his neck. They kept biting and eating their lips aggressively, the lady went up and down his torso like a tidal wave. She reclined and rid him off his shirt, then they began again. He staggered forward and hit the lantern.

It burnt his feet; they were so passionate their performance that the man didn't feel pain from the burn. I stood on my feet to drive them away, " Hey! You are in the wrong house!" They both turned to me. My eyes recognized the lady. Immediately, resemblance flushed in my brain. That was my mum! The man wasn't my Dad. My heart started over- working and I was afraid I was going to fall and black out. She gave me the most scornful look that could detach my head from my body. I retreated, because I felt I was risking a slap from her, the man wanted to drop her but she said " Let's continue..." She sank her mouth into his and caressed them violently. He pushed her face and said

" don't you care there is a boy?..."

" There's no time for guilty conscience, let's finish what we have..." She didnt care to finish; she plunged her mouth into his, proceeded to removing their clothes till they moved into the room and banged the door behind them. Soon I heard both of them making disturbing noises. The bed kept creaking violently, back and forth. My Grandma was asleep on the only couch we had. She could hear a thing, she had ear issues. I found my Dad's ear piece on the ground, I inserted it into my ear holes to dampen the noise. I saw my Dad walk through the open door like a ghost; He was about asking why it was open, and mosquitoes were freely making there way in... but the noise he was hearing stopped his words halfway; He skipped steps towards the door and busted in. The door closed behind him, I began to hear him scream angrily at the two. Different noises came from the room. From what I presumed must have been happening behind that door, my Dad was beating the crap out of him, because I could hear my mum telling my Dad to stop hitting him. My brother rolled over his belly, He was asleep on the floor. He slapped a disturbing mosquito against his cheek, he froze, his snoring resumed. I almost jumped when I saw that man scamper out of the room naked, covering his private part with his clothes and out of the house. Minutes later, my Dad angrily struggled with his bag towards the door, pulling the bag by it's corners because the straps were gone; with mum, half naked, non-challantly begging him. She stopped eventually and sat on the couch, at Grandma's feet. She lit a match on a cigarette and puffed at my father as he carried his remaining luggages. There weren't any baggage and stuff to carry anymore, he stopped and turned to me:

" pray you never find a woman like your mum!" He turned to my mum, she was still smoking. The smoke came out of her nostrils. He went back into the room to check if he left anything else. Grandma choked on the smoke. From the episodes of frightening coughs, wheezing, complaints of headaches and belly pains, there were perhaps latent diseases we didn't know of; like I thought she must have had Asthma- her eyes opened, She began to inquire what was happening. My Dad came out and snatched his remaining pack of cigarettes from my mum.

" I have nothing to lose man!" She cackled, " there are so many men wey dey this world and I fit pick my spec. I just have to shake wetin I have for them!" She bellowed in pidgin tongue. Grandma nudged her and told her to wear some clothes; the old woman begged my Dad to stay. He out of some sort of respect and reverence told her he couldn't stay. I heard my mum say to me,

" hey, yo, can't ya beg your father?" She always had her YA for YOU. I think it had to do with her profession and sometimes if she was trying to be vivid, she forgets to say YA.

I did try to beg him but I was weak. Everything was happening so fast. I just got to school that day and my Dad was leaving that day. I looked at the clock - the only thing which seemed to remain in good shape, because it hung on the wall - It was 8:30. My Dad had finished packing. I was about telling him goodbye before he banged the door behind him.

" Hey! Ya couldn't say goodbye?!" She called after him.

" Go and die!!" he yelled back. My mum ignited a hysterical laughter, kept whooping and dancing till she entered the room. It meant more money because he had been living off her. I looked at my Grandma who was staring blank at the door of the room. She stretched her body on the couch and closed her eyes. Sometimes, I wondered why my Grandma couldn't be a responsible adult. My mum always told her to hold her tongue and never interfere in her matters, and Grandma would sheepishly agree. My mind would eventually resolve that it was old age. All these drama happened in a poorly lit room by a hurricane lantern, losing light, wick and kerosene. I placed my body on the ground, where I slept, when I felt my head beating. Pictures of what happened that day slideshowed before my eyes in mirage resolution. It was hard to fall asleep; I used a method I always used whenever I was finding it difficult to fall asleep - I imagined I was drowning...

Crash!

I jounced from my sleep. The light in the lamp was almost dead. In it's weak light, It revealed the leg of someone walking across the room.

" Go back to sleep" the voice said, I felt chilly until I digested that it was my mum. She broke something. I turned to my side, Grandma was still asleep. The light only made me see a part of her face. Next to me, was my brother, marooned on the rug. They both didn't hear the noise. I turned outside and the sky was dark and blue. A distant rooster cried out with its strength from afar. It must have struck 5. I heard my mum walk out the door.

I stood up slovenly, and walked over my brother's dead-like body to the couch, where that towel with holes -which was for us all -was spread. It was still wet and it was smelling. I quickly undressed leaving me with my boxer short; it was my third time wearing it that week. I was going to wear it again so I spread it on the burglar proof. I took a whiff of it, and it smelt like urine. No, not again! My brother's urine had spread during the night to my side. He always rolled over to my side and did his business there- an air freshener definitely could never exterminate the stench in that house.

I stretched my hands towards the only toothbrush we shared too. The bristles were already falling off bit by bit and there wasn't much left. The remaining stood erect and took the shape of a toilet brush; I dipped it into the sachet toothpaste which had been ripped in half, two days ago. Like I hoped, there were smears of paste in it; then I swept the remains into my mouth.

I had my bath there after, dabbed my shoes with my hands, dusted my bag and flung it on my back... Rip! My bag ruptured. I sighed in despair. Walked across the room, over my snoring brother, to the needle and thread on the window. The needle had bent a bit, the thread remained a few rolls. I bent the needle with my canine. I tried inserting the thread into the eye of the needle but I failed. Then I remembered I didn't have my glasses on. I went back to the spot I slept in, I wore the bifocals to have a better view, and that time I saw that it was a Coke bottle that shattered on the ground. Who drank coke? I had only drank that cola drink only twice ever... At that time though. Only the dregs in the bottle, that I managed to see in crates; the one outside Mama Iyabo's window, the 50-year-old-looking woman with excessively and hideous bleached skin, whom had had a blade draw two straight lines on both cheeks like trenches... whatever sweat or tears could pass freely. it didn't do much to her face, even if it was erased, she remained as ugly as ever. Nevertheless, she had many men who always held her behind and call her their wife.

I turned to my side, up the wall, to the clock. It was 6:59; I galloped to where I placed my bag, I held up the bag towards the window so that I could see. I closed and enclosed the rip with stitches a couple of times and over and I was done. I dashed towards the door, and bump into my mum. I had forgotten she went out this morning.

" Where are ya off to? Are you leaving like your father?" I nodded sideways. We both knew she shouldn't have asked a kid whose dad left the previous night, such question but there was no heart in there, so I thought.

" Good..."she mumbled, I was expecting more questions but she left. I made my way out.

I got to school, fortunately, that back seat was still reserved for me. I sat in it and decided to bury my head in my arms on the table for a while, with a vain hope that someone would raise my head. I wanted that teacher to do it. The air that swept past against the little strands on my bald head felt like the other students slapping my head and their hurling insults. On the desk, away from any eye view, I saw something, written, carved with something really sharp like a mathematical set's compass. It said:

' I LOVE MISS NEVILLE'

Did I write that? If it was that teacher I was beginning to have a love-at-first-glance for, I didn't get to know her name. When I was trying to wrap my head around it, someone's hand touched my shoulder. I raised my head, and behold... disappointingly, it wasn't that teacher, one of the students. Female.

" Are you okay?" The girl said

" Sorry, is this your seat? Let me change..."

" No..." She stopped me, " I saw that you were down and I thought you were sick or something."

" Ohh...I'm fine. Thank you." I blushed.

" My name is Lola." She said, stretching her hand at me. I shaked it.

" My name is..." It was embarrassing, " - You know already"

" Yes." She said. I recapped that she was the girl my eyes momentarily saw, not laughing when I introduced myself the other day. She was the first person to speak to me. I looked at her face, she was somewhere between beautiful and drop-dead ( meaning ravishing). She had the skin of a peach and the color of mango when it's naked. She smelt of her shampoo; had a soft voice like the purr of a happy cat and eyes of the color of a shedded cockroach's wing. I could see the effect of the sun's light on the lipochrome of her eyes, which look like an egg broken into the midst of baking flour. She sat on the seat in front of me, and kept talking to me, and I replied in monotones, trying not to make blunders.

" Hey!"

We both turned to whom called out. It was a boy, with company of two or three other boys. They arranged themselves behind him like they were his body guards. Classic high school bullies.

" You want to get your head shaved?" the other boys laughed in respect for the one that stood tall like he was their boss.

" Raheem, scoot." Lola said to them.

" What are you doing with this..." Raheem said but he paused when Lola stopped the words at his throat with her beady eyes.

" Let's go boys." He said and they left. It was two things; it was either she had an influence on them or Raheem had a stupid crush on Lola.

" Don't mind that dope."

It dawned on me that if I was going to survive and avoid Raheems advances in that school, I had to stick to Lola. The noise surrounding us drowned when the teacher entered. Lola moved to the chair next to me. I rose to stand and like I had thought the others did, I said, a little high on the pitch

" Good morning ma..." The others weren't with me, same with Lola. I turned to her, she whispered and said:

" We don't do that here." I was really embarrassed.

" Sit..." I recognized that voice. It was that teacher that made me spellbound. I sat on my chair and I caught Raheem giving me one of those looks that said many bad things. Thank goodness, Lola was an aisle-to-my-side, on the other row, I seized the moment to ask:

" What's that woman's name?", I hoped her niceness had not worn off.

" That's miss Neville." That name ultimately describe how she looked. It described her as showstopping and a hot teacher. I began to wonder what kind of feeling I was having for her as a eleven year old. I didn't even know the name to give it...

For a damn reason that I couldn't figure, I had that name somewhere but I couldn't remember where I had seen it earlier.