ChiSomto || A Story of Friendship that Stands the Test of Time.

Nina Hill

The flat upstairs, right above ours, has been unlived in for eleven years. The railings are rusty, held up by weather-worn pillars, the roof is overrun with creeping plants, and white mushrooms grow on the door whose surface is marred by cracks and eleven-years-faded blue paint. The last time I ventured inside, curious to see the extent of the degeneration, the cobwebs sent me out long before I planned to go. They were everywhere, hanging like grey threads in every inch of the room.

Now, as I stand below with my head tilted upwards and hands shading my eyes from the sun, I can see six-year-old Somto and I sprawled out on a mat on the balcony floor, colouring away in our drawing books. He is wearing a blue T-shirt which has a picture of a red truck on it on black shorts, and I’m wearing a red and white polka dot blouse on black frilly shorts.

“Chisom!”

I’m jolted out of my reverie. It’s only Mimi.

“Why are you staring up like you’ve been hypnotized?” She’s just come into the compound. Her hands are full — a bag of sachet water in one and a black polythene bag in the other.

“Sorry.”

“Me, sorry? Wait and tell your mother when she asks you why you’ve not started preparing dinner.”

That’s when I remember. “No!” I gasp. I left the pot of meat on the cooker. I dash inside the kitchen. I’m just in time to save my meat from getting burnt.

“And that’s how I save your sorry ass every time.” It can only be Mimi. She drops the things by the door and peers into the pot as I stir and try to dislodge the pieces that are stuck to the bottom. It’s happened again for the second time. Will Somto come or he won’t come?

“What if he comes?” I blurt.

Mimi smiles, a little at first, then it widens and she pokes me in the ribs.

“Fantastic? Perfect dream come true then! I can barely remember what he used to look like.” Then as as afterthought, she adds, “I should be jealous sef. That boy!”

Yes, that boy. Only my best friend since forever. My glasses-wearing, heart-crossing, adventure-crazy, superhero-drawing, upstairs neighbour. We were friends since I was born till three months after my seventh birthday when his family moved out. We both cried that wet September morning as the rain poured — me, unashamedly, and Somto, in what he thought was a manly manner, wiping his tears every three seconds with the back of his hand. A truck had taken their stuff the day before so they didn’t have much to move, only what they’d needed to use the night before.

Before Somto got into his father’s car, he pushed a spiderman action figure into my hands and I ran inside to get my parting gift for him. His mother was already calling him to get into the car when I returned, breathless. His eyes bulged when he saw my hands. I handed him my prized crayon box I’d won at the national spelling bee for primary one pupils. With still-bulging eyes, he took the box from me. As if saying “Yes, Somto, you can have it,” I nodded. Then he dashed to their car, and before I knew it, he was gone. That was the last time we saw each other. We connected recently though and have been chatting about the most random things. It’s like we’re being careful not to go deep, skirting around important topics like our mums’ fight and why he didn’t find me sooner. I tried searching for him. I’m justified.

After years of fighting, my mum and his have made up. Mum broke the news to me this weekend that Mrs Ubah was coming to visit. She mentioned that Somto just got admission into a private uni to study law. I already knew that; she didn’t. Also, I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he’d be coming as well even though I’m clueless about it. Why? Well, sometimes I like to keep myself in the dark so as to feel all the emotions when events take place. I’ll be honest though. This dark is killing me!

“So you’d better ask your mum if you want to survive it.”

“Huh?” I ask the five-footer at the other end of the kitchen. She pelts a banana peel at me.

“I can read your thoughts. Dummy.”

I swing around unsuccessfully. The banana peel smacks my neck.

---

7.00 means dinner. Mimi stayed behind. She says she has to see Somto since I’ve never stopped talking about him. At 6.50, the doorbell rings. Like I planned, I’m nowhere in sight so mum or dad has to get the door. I wait in my toilet, with Mimi just outside, and then I hear the unmistakably singsong voice of Mrs Ubah. I can hardly believe it after these many years. I step out of the toilet, close the door. Mimi and I exchange knowing looks then tiptoe to the door and place our ears against it. Mr Ubah’s rich baritone is what we hear. Then the door closing. Disappointment. Somto didn’t come.

“Sorry,” Mimi tells me, a comforting look on her face.

“Sure.” I haven’t felt this dejected in a long long time. So much for staying in the dark! I shake myself, then open the door. “Let’s go.”

Mrs Ubah and Mr Ubah are chatting with dad in the living room amidst the noise from the television, and I’m setting the table with Mimi when the doorbell rings. I blow out my breath, a bit annoyed at the disturbance. “I’ll get it.”

I open the door.

“Hello.” And I freeze.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure!” I say a little too loud, having just recovered.

“Somtochukwu!” mum squeals from the dining room. She drops the tray of sliced pawpaw gingerly on the table before she hurries over to him.

My heart is racing at this point. Gbim! Gbim! I can barely hear the chatter all around me. The next thing I know is that Somto and I are standing beside the bookshelves.

“I knew you’d be this tall,” I blurt, wondering how I found my voice this easily. He’s wearing a light blue checked shirt over a white round-necked T-shirt and black jeans. Like he told me during one of our chats, he’s done away with the Harry Potter glasses.

“And I told you if you entrusted your crayon box to me, I’d keep all them crayons safe till whenever you needed them.” He picks up a drawstring bag from a shelf and produces a familiar sight.

I gasp. The tin box is right there in his hand in all its faded glory, with ChiSomto scratched onto the cover just like I remember.

“See if I kept my word.”

All twenty four of them. I nod, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dinner’s all set!” says mum.