We could be together–Jibril
"So I get to meet the Salma," Yamíl says for the umpteenth time. I grunt in reply. We're on one of the notorious okadas of the island, mostly because of Yamil's insistence. It's safe to say that if I have my way I'll never ever get on one of these again.
"Where exactly are we going to meet her?" He asks again from behind me.
"The park. We'll be there in a bit," I assure him.
"I know where the park is," he hisses at me, causing me to laugh.
Soon enough the bike man parks in front of the park and we get down. I pay him and we quickly make our way into the park. Of course, nothing is free, we pay the man stationed at the gate our fees and he hands us our tickets.
"Are we too early?" I whisper to Yamíl. The park is a bit deserted for a Saturday.
"It's 12 in the afternoon, if this is too early then your girlfriend has major punctuality issues," he replies easily. I can't wait for Yamíl to start crushing on a girl again. He seems to have forgotten the feeling. We make our way to the nearest bench and wait for them.
"Why don't you just call and see where she is?" He suggests when I keep looking around. I nod and quickly dial her number.
"Hey Sal, we're already here, where are you?"
"Right in front of you." My eyes zero in on the two figures ahead of us.
"Ah, I see you," I laugh. She cuts the call and Yamíl looks ahead in the direction I was looking before.
"Dude, you weren't even capping," he whispers. I grin at him and stand up to go meet her.
Yamíl and I meet she and Fatima halfway. They're both wearing light brown pinafores over white t-shirts which gives them a smaller appearance than they actually are and also makes them look like sisters.
"Hii," Fatima greets first, as hyper as usual. I beam at her as we shake hands.
"Nice seeing you here. Fatima, Salma, this is my best friend and wingman, Yamíl," I introduce him. Yamíl steps forward and shakes both of them.
"It's nice to finally meet you too, I've heard a lot about you," he says devilishly. Of course he would add that.
"It's nice to meet you too, there's this nice spot over there. I thought we could get hot soup there," Salma suggests, pointing at a hut nearby. I nod in agreement and she leads us over there.
"So exactly what kind of soup are we getting? Cause I'm allergic," Yamíl inquires of Salma.
"Allergic to what?" She asks, glancing back at him. I snort before he can reply.
"He's allergic to just about everything. From black pepper, to crab, to groundnut oil-"
"You're allergic to groundnut oil?" Fatima gives him an incredulous look.
"Only when it's over used," he defends. We make it to the hut and take our seats. Yamíl next to me and Fatima and Salma in front of us. There are only three tables in the hut and only two are currently being occupied so it's pretty quiet and serene. Plus, from here we can the see the pretty green plains. I get why Salma wanted to come here.
"So, Salma tells me you guys go to this British Nigerian school in Lekki," Farima starts. I'm happy she's here, she's a very good conversationalist.
"Yeah, Solomon High. It's a pretty nice school," I reply.
"Do you guys have to write all the international exams?" Salma asks.
"Nah, except you're actually interested in studying in the UK. There are some of us who actually want to stay in Nigeria. Though they are quite few," Yamíl pipes in.
"Do you?" Fatima asks.
"No. Not at all. I do plan on studying in England. I've got family there and I've been there so many times it's like a second home," he explains. I know this story. Yamíl is specially attached to England and the British people. It's like they're his second nationality, his mum hates this attachment because she has this thing against them in general. Something about them making the Oba of Benin and outcast and stealing their artwork.
Whenever they travelled to England she would always come back with more insults, especially when she goes to the museum.
"My father wants me to go to Saudi Arabia to study, I genuinely do not want that," Salma says, breaking my thoughts. I feel my face scrunches up, this is surprising. She agreed to an arranged marriage but won't go back to Saudi.
"And why's that?" I ask.
"I've been raised in a relatively free environment. Don't get me wrong, I love my heritage but...I just can't help but feel I'd be a bit too caged there. There are just so many rules you know."
"And family, most of our family live in Saudi. And God they are so nosy. Imagine going back to where they all are," Fatima adds with an exhausted eye roll. Yamíl laughs and is about to say something but the waiter appears before he can speak.
"Good afternoon. What would you like to have?" The tall dark man asks.
"2 plates of chicken soup please, what would you guys like?" Fatima turns to us.
"Abeg give me jollof rice," Yamíl orders, waving off the menu. I order the same. Jollof is as creative as I can go. It's obvious Salma and Fatima find this interesting but they say nothing about it.
"Families are nosy everywhere though, my family definitely is," Yamíl resumes the conversation. "They act woke and modern but deep down they're just traditional people who want to gist about each other over kolanut and palm wine "
"I can't relate," I add quickly.
"Your family is small," both Yamíl and Salma point out immediately.
"Hey! It's not small, they're just... scattered."
"Hence the word small," Yamíl emphasises. I mutter an insult under my breath that I know he catches. When the waiter brings our food Salma orders kiwi smoothies for all of us. Yamíl is hesitant, he's never tasted Kiwi. He isn't sure if this would be among the growing list of allergies but he still tries it.
The smoothie is sweet, and so it the jollof. And most of all, the afternoon.
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P for Perfect
Teen Fiction6 high schoolers battle the expectations from their parents, their school and the society at large. Faced under such pressure each battle with their demons differently. Some lashing it out on others, others burying it deep inside of them. Follow the...
