We remained silent for a while.

‘Why don’t you go and have something to eat?’ my mother said. ‘There’s some powdered milk left in the tin but if it’s not enough, I can send Chikaodinaka out to buy some more.’

I stood up.

‘I don’t want to eat anything. I want to go and see Ola.’

‘Why don’t you-?’

‘No, I’m not eating,’ I replied, pulling off my T-shirt.

She left. I started polishing my dedicated pair of black shoes. They were my only pair. Moments later, my mother knocked and came back in.

‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take this and add to your transport money.’

Some naira notes were scrunched up in her palm. I shook my head.

‘No, thank you. I have enough for my transport.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Still take it.’

‘Mummy, no thank you.’

‘OK, at least use it to buy something for Ola.’

‘Mummy, don’t worry. I can manage till Daddy gives me my next pocket money.’

‘Kings, look. I know it’s just for a brief period and that things will work out for you soon. Take the money.’

Disgraceful that a twenty-five-year-old was still depending on his parents, but she smiled and looked tremendously pleased when I took the notes. Right there and then, I decided that the first thing I would do when I got a job was to buy my mother a brand new car.

Three

The 504 station wagon had a handwritten sign on the roof – UMUAHIA to OWERRI via MBAISE. The vehicle had originally been designed to carry the driver and one passenger in the front seat, three people in the middle row, two at the back. But an ingenious rascal had come up with a more lucrative agenda. Now two people were sitting beside the driver in front, four in the middle row, and three at the back. Being last to arrive, I had to squeeze myself into the back middle seat, the tightest, most unbearable position in the entire vehicle.