‘Bro. Kingsley, welcome.’

I grunted and walked past.

I paused at the dining table and exchanged ‘good mornings’ with my mother and siblings. Breakfast was over but they were sitting and chatting.

‘Should I bring your food for you?’ my mother asked.

‘Not now,’ I replied.

Across the room, my father was snoozing in his favourite armchair with his head tilted to one side. A rattling sound rose in his throat like water gurgling in a disused tap that had just been turned on. My mother flipped her head in her husband’s direction.

‘Reduce your voices,’ she said. Despite the fact that we all knew from experience that even the blast of Angel Michael’s trumpet was not loud enough to awaken my father from these post-breakfast slumbers.

‘Did the letter arrive?’ Eugene asked.

I mumbled something. As intended, everybody mistook it for a no. There was no point in ruining everyone’s morning.

Pretending that life was still normal proved a bit too difficult, so I went on to the children’s bedroom and sat on the bed. Someone knocked on the door. I ignored it. The person knocked again.

‘Yes?’

‘Kings.’

It was my mother. I did not look up. She sat beside me, put her arm around my shoulders and pushed my head against her neck. We sat in silence for a while. Without asking any embarrassing questions, my mother knew that her first son was still a component of Nigeria ’s rising unemployment statistics.

‘It’s OK,’ she said.

She stroked my cheeks.

‘Kings, it’s OK… ehn? It’s OK.’

I removed my head from her body and sighed.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Your own will eventually come. Let’s believe that there’s something better waiting for you. Just don’t let all these disappointments get to you.’

‘Honestly, Mummy, I’m just tired. What is it I’m doing wrong? I always pass the tests and then they don’t want me. I’m really perplexed.’