Young

Last updated on May 19th, 2025 at 06:33 pm

She hawks, he makes furniture…

He’s shy, she’s bold…they love

“Fine girl. Fine girl.” Kazeem calls. I almost shrink. “What?” He says as I jab him in the ribs. Thankfully, she keeps going, paying us no attention. We pay the food vendor and head to my boss’ shop. “But you tell me that you like the girl,” Kazeem continues in his bad English. When we get to the shop, I put on my uniform and shake my head. “That’s how you will be doing like someone that cannot talk. And that’s why I’m helping you.” I grab my tools and resume sanding the wood I’ve been working on. After some minutes, Kazeem leaves. He won’t be back until we close for the day. 

Kazeem has been my best friend since secondary school. When my father died, I was in primary four, my sister was in primary two. We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. We had just completed and moved into our house, which was a “site” for a long time. Meaning that even though the house was completed, many things were missing. We didn’t have a well, so we didn’t have water; we also didn’t have a fence or a gate. We had only been in the house for a few months when my father died. He slumped and died. That’s what my mum told us since we were at school when he died.

My mother was a tailor, and my dad was an office clerk. Since my parents had spent all their savings on finishing the house, there was barely any money left when my father died. My sister and I were in a private school at the time. For the next three years, my mother would struggle, taking on extra jobs to see us through primary school. Many times, my sister and I stayed alone in the house while our mother was out working, and we became inseparable. 

When I finished primary school, we had to consider a public secondary school, which was where Kazeem and I met. He started getting close to me when he noticed that I was always alone. I would barely talk, but he seemed fine considering that he had a lot to say. Eleven years later, he still has so much to say. He became the brother I never had, although it didn’t affect my relationship with my sister, who is my second best friend to date.

When I was almost done with secondary school, my mother reminded me that she couldn’t afford to send me for further education. Having grown up in a poorer household, Kazeem already knew he couldn’t attend university. We both decided to learn a skill. I enrolled to learn carpentry, while Kazeem went for welding. Many times, we joke about starting a company together. 

Since my father’s death, my mother has become a different person. At first, I assumed it was because she got too busy, so busy that my sister and I started cooking our meals, washing our clothes, and cleaning the house. One time, we went into her room, which used to be our father’s and hers, saw the state, and devoted the whole weekend to restoring it. Then I knew that we had not only lost our father but our mother. She was alive, but it seemed as if she wasn’t. She started forgetting things, and it felt like she almost forgot us as well.

With many questions floating in my head and no one to answer them, I slowly started becoming quiet as if by so doing, I could find all the answers within. Why did my dad die? Why did he die when we finally completed our site? Why is mummy no longer acting like mummy? What if mummy died? This quietness earned me the name “mute.” Kazeem soon started speaking for me where necessary. He’d order my meals, and when someone stopped on the road to ask a question, he’d be the one to reply to them.

It’s not that I stopped speaking, but if the average person speaks around 16,000 words per day, I probably say 300 words in a day. This means that whenever I do speak, it’s really important. If I went dumb suddenly, I’m not sure that my mother noticed. She, as with my sister, simply relied on my body language and cues for daily communication. 

Thankfully, I didn’t get bullied in school. At age 14, I started sprouting. My body seemed to want to see just how big it could get. At 15, I towered above all our teachers and my mates. My mum, sister, and Kazeem started looking up to talk to me. This earned me even more names like “bigi” and some people went as far as calling me “silent iroko,” as if trees talk. Few of what Kazeem knew about me, I told him, but the many things that he knew, my sister told him. All that I knew about him, he told me. He’s the noise to my quiet. Funnily enough, his stature remained unchanged. Taking after his mum, he was light-skinned (for a Welder who worked under the sun most times) and petite. We were the opposite of each other.

—

The mistake I made was telling Kazeem that I liked the girl who hawks bread. For over a year, she’s passed before our shop in the morning, around ten, hawking bread and butter. Sometimes, I would buy from her and just stare. Even though her head barely touches my chest, she seems intimidating. Every time I’d rehearse in my head what I wanted to say to her, but once she arrived, I’d order the bread, pay, and she’d leave.

I didn’t see her in the past week, and I got worried. While she hawked bread in the mornings, she sold akara, yam, and other fried foods in the evenings. Her spot was a longer route to my house, but throughout last week, as Kazeem and I went home after work, I made us follow the route. Her things were there, but someone else sold them. It’s irrational to be worried about someone you never speak to, but I was worried.

Kazeem, already attuned to my actions in the place of my words, asked me what was wrong. That was where I made the mistake. 

“The bread girl.” That was all I said. It was more than enough for him to make his right deductions. 

At twenty-two, I’ve never had a girlfriend. While Kazeem was always entangled with one girl or the other, I preferred to stay clear-headed. I finish my apprenticeship in a year, and I’ve been aggressively saving so that I can open my shop. Kazeem and my sister have futilely made it their duty to get me a girlfriend. It’s not my thing, I’ve said to them many times. Still, it’s no surprise that Kazeem called the bread seller.

—

“Where are you going?” I ask Kazeem, but it’s more of a gesture. My left hand on his right elbow.

“What? Won’t we go and buy akara?” He retorts. We’ve seen her today when she hawked earlier, and there’s no need to take the longer route, but Kazeem will not stop until he at least finds out the girl’s name. Choiceless, I follow along. It doesn’t hurt to see her beautiful face. For me, I’m satisfied with seeing her daily, even if I never talk to her. I mean, I wish I could talk to her, but it is what it is.

We get to the Akara spot, and she’s there, assisted by the other lady from the previous week. She’s busy attending to the other customers, and I stay on the side, watching her. Kazeem stays beside me, unable to keep still.

“Bigi, shey you go follow am talk? Customers don reduce.” He looks up at me. I shake my head.

“Fake fine boy. You’re just fine for nothing, to toast girl na war. Shey she will say that she no see fine boy ni?” He hisses and goes to the girl. My heart starts to pound.

“Akara 300, yam 200.” He says.

“Ah, na akara 300 be this ?! You no see my friend wey dey there?” He points at me. She looks towards my direction and looks through me as if I’m barely there, then back at Kazeem. “Shey this one can full his stomach ni? You too check am.”

“Oga, this na akara 300, make I put the yam?”

“Ehn, oya yam 400.” He hands her a thousand-naira note and continues talking as she sorts out his change. “Fine girl, that my friend like you well well o. He wan follow you talk.” She gives him the change and, without another word, goes to lift the sieve of hot akara and pours it into the tray.

“Ahnahn, don’t pour hot akara on me o.” Kazeem says and leaves. “Bigi, it be as if we will try harder o.” We start walking. “It seems as if…” I say, correcting him.

“Ehn?” He looks at me, giving me the stink eye. “If na to correct my grammar, you go open that your smelling mouth. Go speak English for the girl na. Useless boy.” 

—

“Fine girl, greet us na.” Kazeem says as she passes. While he’s not always here every morning when she passes, on the days that he’s here, he ensures to call her. She never answers. I never stop jabbing him. He never stops screaming when I do so.

When he’s not there, though, I still stop her to buy bread from her. I never say anything, she never does. She just sells the usual, and I pay. Even with this, every evening, her stop has become our new route. Sometimes, we buy. Other times, we don’t, but Kazeem always greets. 

—

It’s only me at the shop. I am sawing away at the wood, maneuvering it into another shape, deeply engrossed. My work does that to me, the noise sometimes contrasts with the silence in my head, sometimes it matches the noise in my head. Regardless, it’s always welcome. I don’t see her. She taps me, so I turn to see her. At this point, we’ve been following her route for over two months.

“Won’t you eat this morning?” She asks. For some reason, I smile. “Why are you smiling? Where’s that your loud-mouthed friend? The tiny boy.” She gesticulates, dropping the tray of bread on a nearby surface. I shrug.

“Don’t you talk? Why don’t you talk? I’ve noticed that you don’t talk. Why?”

“Nothing,” I answer—my first word of the day. After gradually becoming quiet, it soon became my nature, and talking began to stress me out. It’s so easy to get distracted by a lot of words. When you’re quiet, you’re forced to sit with your feelings. I can’t be as quiet with her, though, not when she’s just made it easy for me by initiating a conversation after I’ve been rehearsing what to say to her for more than a year.

She starts buttering up a loaf of bread, which she has split into halves, then stretches it towards me, looking at me, “You like to work too much. Every time that I pass, you’re always working.” Her English surprises me, being that I am a little obsessed with correct English. Even though I didn’t further my education, I’ve made books my companion, and reading has been a great help in improving my English. All the used book sellers in the environment know me. Since I barely talk, I wonder why I even bother. 

This is a good time to talk though, so I open my mouth and… come up short. She lifts a brow, rolls her eyes, and starts packing up her tray. She wants to leave. And for some reason, it scares me.

“Wait,” I say, holding her hand. She stops, then smiles. I thought she was angry. “Wait, let me pay you.” She scoffs and continues wrapping the nylon around the remaining loaves of bread on her tray. She doesn’t seem satisfied, I need to say more. “What’s your name? My name is Dapo.” 

“My name is Dami.” She says and smiles again. I smile in return. “What else?” She asks, snatching the money from my hand. “No change for you until you know what to say.” I smile and let go of her hand. My change is enough for another loaf, so it makes me happy thinking that she has to come back tomorrow.

The next day, very early, my boss announces to me that we have an on-site job and we’ll be there all day. Usually, I like when I have to go out to work, but today, I almost want to tell my boss to go with another apprentice. I won’t get to see Dami today.

—

I end up not seeing Dami for a whole week. The job took longer than expected, then we got a referral and moved to another site, and continued working through the weekend. It’s Monday today and I’m back in the shop. Kazeem offered to tell Dami (not that he knows that I now know her name or that we spoke) that I was busy, but I refused. Now, as I wait for her to pass by, I’m beating myself up for saying no.

“Oya make we dey go. You no suppose late today, throughout last week na so so work.” He stops and looks around to see if there is anyone close. He says in a reduced voice, “You go soon comot for here. Your oga dey use you make money, he dey build house. They carry wo-”

“Let’s go.” I cut into his spiel after changing out of my work uniform.

“Now you can talk na,” he says, eyeing me. He stops and looks at me properly, “Why you wear fine cloth like this? My guy baff up.” He starts jumping. Honestly, I put a little bit more into my outfit today—the Ankara outfit I reserve for visiting my paternal relatives. “Bigi! Silent iroko! D-money!” Kazeem continues hailing, and I’m forced to crack a smile. I grab his head and tuck it under my arm playfully.

My heart starts pounding as we approach Dami’s spot. I adjust my shirt, dust some lint off, and clear my throat. 

“Don’t worry, my bro. You set!” kazeem says, ever bubbly. I scratch his head in response. 

We get to Dami’s place and stay in our usual spot, away from the customers crowding her. Surprisingly, Kazeem doesn’t make our presence known, he just continues talking to me about what I missed in the previous week. I’m listening and nodding and eyeing Dami, who is busy with her customers. After some minutes, she looks to the side and sees us. The customers have waned.

“Oya, come and sit down. You know your change is still with me.” She says, not looking at us. I know she is referring to me, though, so I move. Kazeem looks at me with his brows raised, but follows. When I’m almost there, he whispers to me, “Bigi, make I dey go house. I go message you. Ah, no o. No data. I go come your house come check you,” and then he scurries off.

“Sit down.” Dami orders. I immediately start thinking of what to say. There are just a few customers, and she seems to be handling them well, even though it’s just her.

“What of that girl that helps you?”

“English boy.” She answers, then she asks a customer, “Sausage, how much?”

I start to consider leaving so she can face her business, since it doesn’t seem like she’ll be free enough to talk to me when the last customer leaves. It’s most likely been an hour. She turns to me and then asks, “What are you going to eat?”

“Sell akara and bread.”

“The girl you asked about is my sister. We live together, but she’s an apprentice at a tailor’s shop. If her boss allows her to close early, she comes here. If not, we meet at home.” She sits beside me, and I move to create a little space between us, just out of respect. She gets up to scoop out another batch of akara from the hot oil, scoops more bean paste as small balls into the huge frying pan, and then sits beside me, covering the little space I left. Should I shift again, I might land on the floor. So I stay put.

She doesn’t sell the akara and bread to me until she turns off the gas. I don’t know if she expected me to talk as she worked, but she sure made me assist her. “Pass the nylon.” “Bring the bread.” At some point, she gave me her purse and told me to assist with giving the customers change. This trust surprises me, it’s almost as if we’re friends.

As I eat, she starts packing up. That’s when I notice a tiny stall behind us where she keeps her things. It didn’t take her too long to pack up; she washed a few things, wiped the table, and managed to stuff everything into the stall. When I am done eating, I help her carry the table and the bench to the stall. She tells me how to place them such that both are leaning on the door of the stall. We then secure them to the door lock with a chain lock.

“Oya, let’s go.” I hesitate a bit, not knowing where she’s headed.

“What’s the time?” I ask. She brings out her phone to check.

“Five minutes after ten.”

“That’s late.” I rarely stay out late. I may stay up late chatting, or rather listening to Kazeem and my sister, Ronke, but I don’t like being out late. I can’t say that I hated it, but if she lives far from me, I’d rather we take a bike instead of walking.

“Are you scared?” she asks, nudging my ribs playfully. “For your size, one won’t expect you to be scared. In fact, your personality is different from your appearance.” It’s not the first time I’ve been told what she is saying. I just hope it’s not a let-down for her. Not surprisingly, she is an entirely different person at this time of the day. I choose not to believe it’s different because she’s with me, even though the possibility makes me happy.

“Where do you stay?” I say quietly.

“It’s actually close to where you live, let’s walk since someone is so scared.” She smiles and looks at me. I smile too.

We walk in comfortable silence until she stops at the front of a blue old bungalow with the paint chipping off. It’s not unlike the houses in the neighbourhood. It has a low fence and a single rusty gate. 

“What?”

“I was thinking you might be angry at me for disappearing all week.”

“Wow, you are saying so many words at once.”

“Well,” I smile. I also surprised myself, but if I intend to get close to her, then I have to come out of my shell a little bit.

“Kazeem came by and explained to me.”

“Kazeem?”

“He didn’t tell you anything? He said that you’re stubborn.” She continued, now mimicking Kazeem, “That bigi, he too stubborn. He get strong head.” I chuckle at her almost perfect imitation. 

“But…why should I be angry? It’s not like we are a couple. It’s not like you have even told me that you like me.” She says, looking at me, almost expectantly.

“Umm,” I say, caught off guard. I’m almost kicking myself for asking because it’s true, we are not a couple. Although in my head we are, but I guess that’s not how things work, and I have to communicate to let her know what’s on my mind.

“Don’t worry, Bigi. We’ll see tomorrow.” She says, saving me. 

“Okay,” I answer, scratching my back. “I’m not going to work tomorrow. My boss gave me the day off.” 

“I know.” She states. Kazeem! “Good night!” She turns towards the gate. I wave in response and watch her go inside. I start to jog home.

—

It’s been a week since I’ve been going alone to Dami’s shop after work. In the morning, when she hawks, she makes my shop her last stop and stays for a while. Thankfully, my boss is almost never around at that time. He doesn’t come until noon. My mates have started noticing and teasing me even in her presence. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it. On my part, it’s difficult to stop my mates from being obvious like that, at the same time, I don’t want Dami to stop coming. If anything, I look forward to the time spent with her. I don’t even mind the teasing, but I just don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” We’re going home at the usual time again. I’m glad that when I take the shortcut from her house, I can get home in five minutes. I wonder how we never noticed her house, admittedly, we almost never take her street since it is about two streets behind ours. Also, it’s sort of hidden even with the short fence and rusty gate.

“What?” She looks at me and reaches for my hand. How is her hand so soft? I’m sure she feels the corns and calluses in my furniture-crafting palm. She doesn’t complain, though, so I take the moment to relish her small hand in mine.

“When my mates tease me in your presence.”

“Oh,” She throws her head back and laughs. “I don’t care. You have to be tough to achieve anything in this life, and I mean anything, even peace. This means that I pay no attention to them.”

“Hmm,” I answer.

“You know,” she says after we walk a bit in silence. “Romola and I ran away from home two years ago. We never knew our father, but my mother was always getting drunk and coming home with different men. I had to clean up her vomit, feed her, and care for her many nights. But that wasn’t the problem, I mean, it was a problem, but I could handle it. What I couldn’t handle was the men coming around. At the time, I was hawking so we could afford to go to school. When I finished at 16, I increased the time and frequency, so that I could start saving for university. When we ran away, my sister had just finished secondary school, I was 18, and she was 16. I put the money I saved together, stole some from my mother, and we ran. We came here. I had a best friend in secondary school who was living with her aunt, but her parents were here. So when I ran here, she was the one who helped me get a house and settle down here.”

“Where’s she now?”

“She’s late. I used to go to see her parents until I noticed that it seemed my presence caused more hurt than I imagined.”

“Why exactly did you run?” I ask, almost scared to hear the answer.

“I didn’t feel safe and worried that my sister wasn’t safe either. Sometimes when I hawked, she’d be at home reading, and the men would come to see my mum. Nothing ever happened, but did we have to wait?”

“It was a good decision. But you were so young and she was so young.”

“Now we’re older.”

“Do you still want to go to school?”

“Yes! That’s why I work so much.”

“So, how would you support yourself when you’re in school?” 

“I’ll continue my akara. But I will stop hawking.”

“You can’t go to classes during the day and cook at night.”

“Have you heard of online classes?” I smile in response. Then suddenly she stops and looks at me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve spoken so many words this night than since I’ve known you.” I nod.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

“No problem.”

—

I know that I should act on what Dami said about us being an item. It’s been almost two months since that time, and she hasn’t made it obvious yet if she thinks I’m wasting her time. Kazeem thinks I should have asked her out already, and he’s right. 

“But what if she just wants me as her friend?” I ask him as he struggles with the meat he is eating. I wince, merely imagining the sauce getting into his eye. It takes him a while to reply, given his current struggle.

“Bigi, person say you never ask am out, you no know say she don dey tell you say you too slow? See ehn, that girl o, she like you, die! Na until another person enter her zone before you go move?” He picks another piece of meat and resumes the struggle. I really want to remind him that buying fish can save him this stress, but I keep quiet. 

 —

“I have bought my JAMB form,” Dami says, swinging her legs. She is sitting on the railing of our balcony. Ronke and Kazeem are arguing about something as usual. I have been working up the courage to ask us to become an item for more than three weeks now. She has been coming here, and with our joint routine, it’s as good as her being my girlfriend. But I have never had one, so what if I am a bad boyfriend? Should I have pitched in for the form she just got? I am still not talking as much as I think I should, not that she has complained. I cleared my throat.

“Congrats,” I say.

“Wait until I pass first.” She playfully hits my shoulder. She’s been spending more time with me, and I’m happier whenever we are together, but is that enough?

“I know you will.”

“Thank you. That helps me.” She says, and I smile. I look over at Kazeem and my sister, and Kazeem winks at me. It’s now or never.

“About that thing you said one night,” I say at the same time that she says, ”Do you know that I’ve always noticed you?” We both pause and laugh. Then I keep quiet, and I can almost swear that my dead father just rolled in his grave. Thankfully, she doesn’t push.

“I’ve always seen you and Kazeem. It’s not hard to notice you two. I used to think he was your younger brother.” She says. I smile because that’s what people assume before they get to know that we are friends, and Kazeem is a few months older than I am. I itch a spot on my head because what she is trying to tell me now is that she had seen us even before Kazeem started calling her. My heart starts thumping for no reason.

“So, what about that night?”

“Umm,” 

“Umm, what?” She asks, sticking out her tongue. She’s so cute.

“Wait, do you mean that when Kazeem started calling you when you passed by, you already knew us?”

“Yes.”

“So you weren’t angry?”

“No,” She says, and raises her left foot to rest on the railing.

“You said we were not a couple then.” I continue, then pause when she raises a brow. “Umm, are we a couple now?” I quickly blurt out before I lose my courage.

“But you never asked me out, Dapo,” she answers, not missing a bit. She seems to be enjoying my discomfort. I dust an invisible lint off my shirt and look at her. Once I see that she’s smiling, I relax a bit.

“So, do you want us to be a couple?”

“What? I didn’t hear that.”

“Shh,” I reply, not wanting loud-mouthed Kazeem to hear. I move close to her, closer than usual. She lifts a brow, trying hard not to smile.

“Aunty Dami, let’s go and grind the beans o.” I hear just as I’m about to ask the question again. Her sister waltzes into our compound and for the first time, I’m not happy to see her.

“Good afternoon, brother Dapo.” She says, looking at her sister and me. I nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” Dami answers, getting off the rail. A panic bell goes off in my head, and I reach out to hold her.

“Wait, Dami. Do you want to be my girlfriend?” I bend and whisper into her ear.

“Is it going to be a secret?” She whispers back, teasing me. I wish I could joke about this, but it suddenly seems serious, and getting an answer matters more than anything to me right now.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Well then.” She says and runs off with her sister. I guess I deserve that.

“Wetin she talk?” Kazeem asks as soon as she leaves.

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t ask her?” My sister asks, almost screaming. Great, just great. And for some reason, I resolve to ask her out properly and get it over with today. It has to be today.

—

I start packing up once her last customer leaves, moving the items into the stall. Tonight, I get to be brave and speak up. We work together in silence, she washing and I rinsing the dishes. I clear my throat so I can talk. 

“Yes,” She says, looking up at me.

“What?” I ask, needing to be sure.

“Your question this afternoon.” I smile and drop the dish I’m rinsing. A damn of joy breaks open in my heart as I lift Dami and hug her. She screams, taken by surprise, then starts laughing.

Read more stories here