2020
"Mama nnukwu, tell me that story again!"
little Eunice shouts and we all turn to her in amusement.
From right beside me, you laugh loudly, and settle her tiny body on your lap.
"What story, my baby?"
"The story of you and mpa!"
Everyone laughs heartily at her words, knowing that our story had been told a million times already in so many different ways.
Our eldest daughter, Urenna, comes forward to carry her.
"Eunice, leave mpa and mama alone. Stop disturbing and come wear your jacket before you catch cold!"
A small pout followed by—
"but mommy! Its their wedding day!" makes my crinkled lips form a grin even as everyone laughs again.
I open my arms wide and she excitedly runs into them, settling comfortably into my lap.
"So you want to hear the story again eh?", I ask.
She bobs her head eagerly.
And so my eyes move slowly to yours.
I see that familiar encouraging smile; those deep brown eyes, which, now a bit shrunken from old age, I had stared into a billion times before.
I look at you...and as though I have been drawn into a trance, it all comes rushing back like it happened yesterday...
1960
"Hello? Hello??"
Those had been your first ever words to me.
I'd been sitting on the hard grassy ground right outside the classrom during lunch break, crying silently.
"Hello!".
This time around, you poked my shoulder. I became so angry, needing to just be left alone.
But even then, as a 10 year old, you had always been so stubborn.
Then you threw a stone at me.
The sudden blow hurt so badly that I forgot all my crying and turned around.
"Who are you? Why did you throw that stone at me?"
"Because you did not answer me since I was calling you. You are the new boy, okwaya?".
Ignoring you once again, I went back to my original position. To my shock, you turned around and joined me on the ground.
"Why are you crying? Is it because everybody laughed at you when it was your turn to sing that new National anthem?".
You poked your nose into my face and I turned away again. You didn't care. You were such a pesky little girl.
"It was good o...when I heard you say it. You look different. Chioma told me you are not Igbo. Are you Yoruba?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm Hausa".
"Eiii! Eziokwu??. I have never seen an Hausa before o. They don't stay in my area." Silence.
Another pock nose... "But why are you here in Enugu?"
"My mummy and daddy are dead" I muttered, sniffling softly. "My Igbo aunty brought me here".
A long silence followed.
I remember expecting you to say "ndo" or "sorry" like I was tired of everyone always telling me, but then the next thing that came out of your mouth?—
"Sometimes I wish my Daddy would die. So that he and mommy will stop fighting and she will smile all the time".
I was so shocked that I forgot all my tears and turned my full attention to you.
Suddenly you picked up the small stone you threw at me and hissed.
"It was not even heavy and you were shouting. It was just a little sharp."
Having finished inspecting the little rock like a general, you turned to me again, "Bia, What is your name?"
"Jamal. You nko?"
"Urenna".
"Thank you, mpa!"
Having had her request answered, Eunice hugs her small hands tight around my neck in a way that reminds me of my wilting body.
And then, she runs into the heart of the party to join her brothers and cousins.
All around us, our family is rejoicing, happily chatting and eating.
But you and I...we are in a bubble of our own...
We seat two feet apart but our eyes are interwoven in an endless gaze.
In your eyes, I see what is mirrored in mine—60 years of memories, memories shared and lost, of sadness and love, of sacrifices. They all come rushing in, and just like that very first day you forced yourself into my life as children, I want you all over again.
With my eyes, I call to you.
"Urenna..."
Let us live like its 1960 all over again...
When I was lost and all alone and you forcefully weaseled your way into my life as my only true friend.
You alienated everyone who told you otherwise, which consisted of your parents and even your friends.
And instead, you held my hand and played with me everyday after school.
You walked with me to my aunty's house every friday to eat her special Ofe nsala. You never missed a single friday.
And as the years went by, you never let my hand go. I never understood our relationship. How could a little, fragile girl like you care so much about me?.
How could you be so strong and fierce about your friendship to a mere Hausa boy?...a boy who had nothing and was no one.
Sometimes I would look at you for hours and wonder if you were probably an angel.
Sometimes I was even jealous because you radiated something I could never have—Innocence .
But I didn't mind, anyways.
I had only you, so I was fine.
But then Biafra happened...and EVERYTHING changed.
Our biggest obstacle unfolded—
your father.
He hated me for being Hausa. Your fight for our friendship stood no chance against his feral disgust. I couldn't have blamed him then, and I still don't now.
My tribe was the cause of the death of your people...How could I fault him?.
And so when he would catch us in your mother's kitchen playing Ayo or other games, he would hit me on the head and tell me to leave.
Shame never allowed me stay behind. That was why even amidst all your and your mother's loud objections, I would silently leave, to avoid making things worse.
But, of course...
you once again found us a secret bunker to hide from his fury.
And amidst all this, we were changing, evolving, slowly growing into a man and a woman. I watched you grow right before my eyes.
The night before I was forced into the army, we had our first kiss under that bunker.
It was clumsy, and I was a panicked, boyish boy and so it ended up in laughter , jokes and teasing.
But then you saw something in my pocket.
"Jam Jam, what is that stone?"
I smiled mischievously "do you remember that first day we met?...when you hit my head under the tree?"
"Don't tell me You kept it all this time!. But why?"
I smiled again "I just wanted to use it to remember our friendship. So that one day, when I leave you, I will have a reason to come back again. I will return the stone to you to show you that..."
"...don't talk like that, Jamal! You are not going anywhere. Papa will come to love you, e nugo?"
I simply smiled sadly and only wished I were Igbo.
The very next day, your father's Biafran Soldiers came and bundled me into their caravan, amidst all your shouting and pleas for them to stop.
I watched as the caravan slowly left the driveway, and I watched you as you screamed for them to come back with me.
A goodbye formed on my lips.
But it never came out.
I remember how cold and dreary the detention centers for Biafran soldiers were after the war. I remember how living in its dank walls felt like rotting in the deepest parts of hell.
But all of that was nothing compared to finding out your father had shipped you abroad to an International University. Nothing compared to the feeling of betrayal I felt.
And so I worked hard. I shaped my life, spent years on the streets of Lagos and Onitsha to make money. I did it to forget you....and to prove to your family that I would make that money.
I hustled to survive and to look you in the face one day and make you regret leaving me...
Suddenly,
I feel a slight tug on my arm and I am brought back to the PRESENT
I look down and realize it is your arm touching mine.
"Jam Jam, what is wrong?. You have been looking at me for the past ten minutes without blinking".
I give a warm smile and squeeze your hand right back.
"I'm just remembering the time you married Senator Oluwaseun before I came and carried you away".
Your eyes warm with tears and laughter as you squeeze my hand tighter.
At that moment, I reach for my pocket.
"I almost forgot to give your present, Urem"
You laugh at me.
" Jamal! You didn't have to!. I haven't even given you anything yet!"
I look around at our family—our children, our grandchildren, our many friends garnered over the decades, and then I look over at you.
"You have already given me everything, Urem"
When you smile at me, I suddenly don't know what to say.
I don't know how to tell you I've loved you all my life...that my life had meaning because You came into it and made it your own.
I don't know how to tell you I would repeat these past 60 years together in the next life and millions of others after it if I just had you by my side.
I don't know how to say it.
But looking into your eyes again, I see that I don't have to...
You already know.
And so, with my shaky, old hands, I give you the red box.
I watch you open it tentatively and slowly bring out its content.
I watch as you suddenly cry out in shock as deep sobs erupt from your throat while you twirl the old stone around.
"Jamal...you've kept this stone all these years..."
"I told you I would return it to you when I came back to you. And now I have"
At your awe-struck expression, I simply smile again, clean your tears one after the other as they fall down your beautiful, beautiful wrinkled cheeks.
Then I whisper to you...
"Happy 60th Anniversary, Urem".
Omdssss, I'm crying rn🥺✨💖❤️ this type of love though
I'm so emotional right now. This is so beautiful 🥺