It was worth it

To John, it felt like it was the end of the world. He watched his life revolve around the same cycle—Surviving to get food on the table.

On a perfect Sunday, the scent of roasted beef and yam sauce seized the air—it was the only day when good meals were assured.

"John, how are you? Please, when you change your clothes, get me a gallon of water," his mum, who prepared a meal with a firewood, pleaded.

He scoffed. He had just returned from watching a dancing competition across the street opposite the cathedral where they both worshipped.

Source

"Alright, Mum." He was about to open the entrance door when he heard his name again.

"John, the church closed two hours ago. Why are you just returning now?"

He stopped,and stood still with his hand on the doorknob. "I went to—"

"To watch a dance competition," she interrupted, her eyes fixed on him as she was enveloped in the black smoke that arose from the firewood and blackened charcoal pot.

"Mum, it’s just a dance competition."

"I know," she said, adjusting the wrapper which ran underneath her armpit across her chest to just below her knee.

"You could have used that time to stay at the shop. We could have made enough money, maybe just enough to pay your tuition fees." She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Sorry, Mum. I..." He paused, realizing there was nothing he could say to change his mum's stance.

"You what?" Rage filled her voice.

"Nothing, Ma," he replied, his face expressionless.

He got into his room and sat on the bed, ruminating about life. He was a good dancer and aimed to win a regional dance competition that would soon be hosted in his state.

"My God," he sighed and fell flat on the bed with his arms outstretched; his black tie was loosely knotted on his white shirt, folding backward across his shoulders.

A call came in, halting the rumbling sound of his flat belly. It was Amaka, his long-time friend. He looked sideways at the phone and tapped the green pickup icon.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Her voice was as warm as the early morning sun.

"Hey, I’m good," he grunted as he tried sitting up.

"Fuck!" he muttered as he lay back lifelessly—hunger had a hold of him.

"You said what?" she asked.

"No, no, no. It’s my... um... my—" he stuttered.

"Your mum?" she prompted gently.

"Of course not!" His face transitioned to a smile. "I’d be dead if I said that to her."

They both laughed simultaneously for a few seconds before an awkward silence stepped in.

"Umm... so, are you still participating in the upcoming dance competition?" She breeched the short-lived silence.

"Yeah, but my mum, she’s..." He paused again.

"She’s what?" Amaka asked, her voice showing keen interest.

"Sorry, can—can I call you back?" He said as he hung up the call— He had heard his mum call him from the distance but his ears were too busy absorbing Amaka's charming, subtle voice.

"John! Food is ready!" She called out to him again.

He jolted from bed with excitement and rushed to grab a plate of food— That was the call he had been waiting for. It wasn’t the perfect quantity but it was just enough to kick-start the day.

Underneath the sun's cover the next day, he looked at his mum in the shop as she attended to customers. They sold local African delicacies and had a large canopy over them to reflect the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. Trays of different foods were lined up in front of them.

"Mum, there's something..."

"Alright, so how much is your change? Hey, where are you going?" she asked, attending to customers. He paused, waiting for the number of customers to reduce significantly.

She turned back to him. As he washed the dishes while she sold the food. "You were saying something. What was that?" She wiped her face with a handkerchief.

"Ahem." His heart rate doubled. "I'd be going for that stuff tomorrow."

"Which stuff?" She winced, trying to recall what he was talking about.

"The umm..." He tried putting himself together. "The dance competition."

"Alright, just make sure you win." She turned around, stirring the meal while awaiting more customers.

Just like that, he thought to himself. She had never been in support of him forfeiting business or household activities for anything related to dancing.

"It's my moment," he whispered, wearing a smile on his face as he washed the dishes in ecstasy.

It was the D-day already. John rushed into his mum's room.

"Mum, I'm leaving."

She snuck her hand out of the bedsheet cover, and waved at him. "Alright, good..." she yawned.

"Luck."

"Thank you. Love you." — a word he hadn't said to his mum in years. Without hesitation, he left home and boarded a motorcycle to his destination. On arrival, he met a large queue filled with gangsters that had tattoos and ear piercings. He took deep breaths as he waited for his turn to be called in; the tension was overwhelming.

He was finally called in. Facing him were four known judges.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning," their voices echoed in unison.

"So what type of dance will you be doing for us today?" a judge asked, breaking the silence.

"Umm, I'll be doing some hip-hop moves."

"Oh yeah, I love hip hop dance. It's one of my favourites," another judge said.

John's hands were locked together as he maintained a humble stance with a faint smile on his face.

"So, let's have it, shall we?" the third judge said with a keen expression. .

Eighteen-year-old John began putting in all he had memorized over the years. He danced to "Low" by T-Pain, performing all sorts of stunts and footwork, as well as popular moves like the 'Running Man' and 'Criss-Cross'. He even incorporated a famous popular African move, the "Gwara Gwara."

The judges had different expressions for each unique move he pulled: "Ooh," "Yeah," "Come on bro!"

The judges rose to their feet in a standing ovation as John took a bow.

"Umm... you know what? I think you're very talented. You've got a mixture of styles, and I was impressed," one of the judges said as the others nodded in agreement.

"But I'm sorry—you won't be going through."

John's face fell flat in disappointment as he stood still, listening to their remarks.

"You're a great dancer with the moves we need someone with a little more concept." The judge continued, "You were so close to getting the ticket. Please, we'd love to see you come back next year." She smiled as a form of encouragement.

"Okay, sure," John replied, forcing a faint smile. The judges clapped as he walked off the stage.

He made his way through the large, noisy crowd outside the auditorium when he heard a familiar, soft voice call out to him.

"Hey, John!"

He strained his eyes, trying to figure out who it was, until he saw that heavenly smile with the aligned gap between her two incisors. Of course, it was none other than Amaka.

"Congratulations!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at him. Her embrace was as comforting as ever.

"Thank you. But I... I didn’t—" His words siezed as a result of her tight grip around his neck.

"I know. You’ll always be a winner, no matter what," she said, her words as relieving as a cool breeze. He tightened his grip around her, and they clung to each other for several moments.

John arrived home accompanied by Amaka—she had insisted on coming along.

His mum leaped from the old, ragged parlour chair as soon as he walked in. "How did it go?" She asked. Her reflexes were as quick as a cat's.

"It was fine. I didn’t win, but..."

"But what?" she asked hurriedly, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"I’ll be featuring in Ne-Yo’s music videos," he said with a warm smile.

"What?" Amaka exclaimed. "You didn’t tell me this!"

"Yeah, I wanted to keep it as a surprise," John replied, w

"My son, come and tell me what happened," his mum said, placing her hands across his shoulders as she led him to the inner room. Amaka followed from behind, curious to hear the full gist.

"So, I didn’t make it to the live rounds, but one of the judges—who happens to be an artist..."

"Is it the Ne-Yo you mentioned?" his mum intercepted.

"Yes," he answered, then continued...

"After the show, he came up to me and said he loved my stunts, that they were really good." John paused, taking a deep breath, as he was exhausted from the busy day.

"He said they’d be paying me a total of one thousand dollars for each video I appear in."

"Chai! My son ooo!" His mum stopped in her tracks, bent over, and began dancing. Her hips swayed rhythmically as she hummed a Christian song in her local dialect, Igbo.

"Chaii!" Amaka exclaimed, breaking out of her normal composed character to join his mum in celebration. Their hips moved in a spiral fashion mixed with an intermittent robotic sway as they danced rounJohn, who stood smiling at the two most supportive women in his life.

For the first time in a long while, the air felt refreshing— a feeling, that was indeed, inexplicable.

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