Where is my friend?

I had a childhood friend who I simply called Sir K, coined from Sir Kalu. I was just about 4 or 5 years old, while he was about 20 when our friendship started. I can't remember what brought us together but, he loved me so much that we were just like brothers - the older and the younger. In fact, our friendship united our two families.

Sir K many times went to fish in the river, and most of the times when he returned, he sent some fish to my mother and ask her to roast them for me. Some other times, he will invite me to their house for a special dish. He was so fond of me that his mother equally loved and treated me very well as a son.

One time I fell ill during the war, my father asked him to take me to the military clinic, about 5 kilometers away since the nearby medical centre had closed due to the problems associated with wars. I remember he carried me on his shoulder, stopping only when he was tired. I only walked a small fraction of the distance.

On getting to the military clinic, the doctor said I would be on bed for three days. Sir K stayed with me those three days. He only sent a message back home to my parents, telling them we will not be coming back until I was discharged. So, our bond was so strong that we were inseparable.

When the war ended, and most people were unemployed and looking for means to fend for themselves, Sir K discussed his plight with my father who gave him our sewing machine to take to town and be mending people's clothes as a means of survival.

He took the machine to Onitsha and used it for about two years before he returned it saying he was following a friend to Lagos to do factory work. That was the last time my eyes saw Sir K, over 40 years now.

One particular Saturday, I was returning from work, and decided to go straight to my tailor to pick my suit for a friend's wedding the next day, Sunday. The tailor's shop was not very far from my house. I'll just collect it and walk home.

Having dropped from the bus, I began walking towards the tailor's shop. The road was very busy as so many people were moving in different directions. I minded where I was going, not looking at people as I was not expecting to see anyone I know.

All of a sudden, I raised my face to look forward, I saw "Sir K" (someone that completely resembled him). I saw him! I saw him coming in my direction. I hastened, rush forward with mouth agape, about to shout.

"Sir K, you came back...", my sentence stopped as I got close and was about to embrace him.

The man stood still, shocked and apparently embarrassed. I was even more embarrassed. He was not the Sir K I knew. Though he was just like him. A carbon copy!

"I'm sorry", I apologized. "You look like someone I know", I further explained.

"No problem," the man replied, and continued on his way.

He walked a little and looked back. Maybe he wanted to be sure I was not crazy. I myself too looked back at the same time, our eyes meeting. I was trying to convince myself that he wasn't Sir K.

From that moment, the thought of Sir K filled my mind, not letting anything else to enter. With that, I passed the tailor's shop unknowingly without collecting my suit.

In the house alone, sitting in the sofa, only the thought of Sir K was in my mind. "Is he alive? Is he still in Lagos? What has become of him?"

Nobody I know, including those living in Lagos had ever seen him.The whole of our village still asks, "Where is Sir K?"

In that mood, I didn't know when my wife entered the house. Though I felt someone's presence, the stimulus wasn't strong enough to disengage me from the prison of my mind. She even said she greeted without a response from me. That's when she knew all was not well.

"What's the matter?" She asked aloud, patting my shoulder.

It was then that my mind came back home. "Something happened today", I started.

"Like what? Is that why you're out of this world?" She teased.

I narrated my story, telling her of my relationship with Sir K. Even after telling her what transpired, the rumination of Sir K refused to go away but, kept appearing like a reoccurring decimal.

By the time I remembered I had not collected my suit from the tailor, it was too late and nothing could be done because the tailor must have gone home. And he would not open the following day being Sunday. What do I do? Nothing except to make an alternative arrangement by wearing another dress.