NEVER LET THE HAIR DOWN 🌸🌸🌸 Chapter Eight

Inspired by a lovely girl named Holy.

"Questions, questions, swirling in my head.

"What's the answer, what's the truth instead?

"Is there meaning in the world around me?

"Is there purpose, will I ever see?"

These lines greeted my eyes one dreadful Monday morning as I checked my class's group chat messages.

"Does life have purpose, or is it just chance?

"Or is it something more than circumstance?

"Are we alone, or is there something more?

"Is there someone, or an open door?

"Does it matter, what we do each day?

"Do our choices make a difference, or just fade away?"

"Wow," I muttered and gave the poet a heart reaction. It was so lovely. It reminded me of the poems my aunt would read us back in Thailand.

It suddenly dawned on me that I had actually hearted the message. That was like the first thing I had done on that group chat. I usually just read and left; I had never done anything to let anyone know I existed in the group. Call me a ghost all you want. I can't be the only one who feels nervous about messaging a large group.

"These questions haunt me night and day.

"I search for answers, but they seem to slip away.

"I seek the truth, but it's out of reach.

"I long for clarity, but it's so far out of reach.

"I question everything I thought I knew.

"I wonder if I'll ever find the truth that's true.

"Unanswered, all of them, without any end

"My mind is spinning, I might as well struggle to the end

"I want answers, to set my mind at ease.

"That I forever in subliminal bliss, be at everlasting peace."

(Spenzy)

The poem was signed, Wordsmith.

"He deserves it," I said and left my heart reaction. I read some reviews on his poem and his appreciation to them. His manners were as smooth as his words. I wondered who he was. I recollected the faces of the boys in my class, the much I could remember. No one seemed to match Wordsmith's personality. I hoped that if I saw this Wordsmith, I wouldn't be disappointed.

Earlier, I stated that this was a dreadful Monday morning. Here's why.

"Group 5, chapter 12. Chiagbo and co, come out."

Presentations have to be the worst CA activities ever. Just imagine standing before a sea of eyes and speaking on a topic you were barely taught! No escape this time, I thought as I joined my teammates at the front of the class room. The three presenters were dressed in cultural attire and they began to deliver a lecture on Parts of Speech... In IGBO language! 😭

My team performed well. I was already thanking God when the last speaker presented exceptionally well and the class clapped. I just had to answer my name and rush back to my seat.

If only it were like that. The lecturer, Mrs Chinelo, took so much interest in the topic that she began to ask the seven of us that hadn't presented questions. She was pleased when three of her questions were answered correctly. Then she looked at me particularly. I knew that look. It was the same look people gave strange animals in the zoo. I had gotten it all my life but hers was a little different. Hers had a motherly look about it.

With a gesture of her eyes, she singled me out of the crowd and queried me, thankfully, in English.

"Where's your father from?" she asked.

"Nigeria..."

"Where in Nigeria? Your hometown."

"Oh. Nnewi, Anambra state," I replied and swallowed. I was getting conscious of the unusual silence that enveloped the class.

"Good. What's your name?" she said.

"Chimarama Marahadum," I answered.

"Mahadum," she said staring up thoughtfully. I refrained from correcting her. She was right. It's just that my father preferred to call it fully and my birth certificate (and all my documents) bore the full form so... Marahadum.

"Do you know what your name means?"

"Yes."

"And your surname?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. If you were to go to your mother's hometown, would you be able to communicate with them?"

I wanted to shout, "Very well!" The class began to buzz with murmurs of what they thought my language sounded like so I simply nodded.

Mrs Chinelo called for silence and explained the reason for her interrogation; "Many times, you hear of children who are born and brought up in the West, particularly Lagos. These children are Igbo but when you tell them, "Bia," they'll reply, "Come again. Excuse me. I can't hear Igbo." The class laughed. "Yes. Here is a foreigner living in Nigeria but if she were to go to her mother's home now, she would be able to communicate without repeating, "Come again. You said what? Huh?""

There was more laughter. I tried to join in but I had had a glimpse of the crowd and my knees were shaking. I licked my lips repeatedly and tried to focus on Mrs Chinelo. She was adding a lot of Igbo to her speech and if I didn't focus, I wouldn't know when she'd throw a question at me.

"Now, my dear," Mrs Chinelo turned to me, "I hope you can hear your father's language too. Forget your mother's nationality. When you want to get married, it is at Awkuzu that your fiance will take palm wine to."

I gave a tight smile and said nothing.

"Can you understand Igbo?"

"Yes, ma." I could.

"Can you speak it?"

Bummer. If I said no, I might lose some marks, but if I said yes...

"Yes, ma'am."

What happened next was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. I got from her gesture (I couldn't really understand what she said) that she wanted me to speak five Igbo sentences (she raised up five fingers). The class became silent, dead silent. I looked at my shaky fingers and tried to grab words; words I had heard from my father, from my mama; words in a language I hated.

Good morning, a voice in my head said. I recalled the translation. Mrs Chinelo counted it as one.

"Aha m bu Zikora. Aha nna m bu Mazi Chimarama. Aha gi bu Marahadum," Wanida's voice echoed in my head. In my heart, I thanked her for bothering to teach me how to speak. She helped me get three answers. I just needed one more to please Mrs Chinelo. I needed it fast too; my heart was palpitating and I was going breathless.

"What else? What else? Chanok, speak Igbo!" I said in my mind.

"Speak Igbo," I remembered Wanida's words to me earlier this year.

"Forget what your mother told you. You are a Nigerian! An Igbo girl! So speak your language!" I remembered how my father had thundered at me for singing a Thai lullaby.

"This child. Speak Igbo! Speak Igbo!" Mama had screamed at me in Igbo on my first Christmas in Nigeria, and little me had burst into tears.

I shuddered at the painful recollections that came in quick flashes. My face grew dark and I swallowed back the grief that was welling in my throat. "Suo n'Igbo," I said at last and the class erupted with cheers and applauses. Mrs Chinelo gave a satisfied look and scored my CA. I sniffled and went to my seat.

"Are you alright?" Fumnanya confronted me after the presentation class. I was on my way to find Kelly when I bumped into her. I saw the concern in her eyes and my temper cooled a little. I smiled and told her I was.

"Great," she smiled. "It's important for a Thai to always smile."

I looked puzzled.

"That's because Thailand is called the land of smiles. It's also called the rice bowl of Asia. I've been doing some research." She held up her phone. Then she peered at the screen and questioned me as we went, "Is everyone in Thailand really friendly? Do you have Siamese cats for pets? Is it true bugs are taken as snacks there?"

"Fumnanya." I stopped and face her. I was still hurting from the embarrassment I had suffered. I didn't need her to make it worse. I felt she was jabbing at my wounds and hated her for it.

"Sorry. I was just..."

"Ka-ni!"

I turned and saw Kelly wave at me. Just before I went to her, I told Fumnanya, "Just stay away from me."

Kelly took my hand and led me to the quadrangle where the other K-girls were at. They smiled when they saw me and didn't mention anything about the GS presentation. Kelly even called me Ka-ni and they all liked the name.

"Ka-ni. It fits her so well. It even starts with k," Katherine chirped and they cheered. I chuckled. I'm a K-girl, I thought with glee. I finally belonged somewhere.

"Hey, ladies," a familiar voice said.

"Boo bear. Come! Let me introduce you to the newest member of our group, Ka-ni," Kamsi said and he looked at me. I smiled and waited. He came closer.

"Hi."

"Um, hi."

"I'm Chris."

"Marahadum." It was unnecessary since the entire class knew.

He pointed at me and made guesses, "Chinese? Vietnamese? Korean? Tibet?"

I made a small chuckle and said, "Thai."

"Thailand! The best of them all," he said truthfully. I looked at him and smiled. It meant so much to hear him say that.

"Chris, your poem was great. I loved it," Kelly said.

"Wordsmith," I muttered in surprise. I asked him, "You're Wordsmith?"

"Yeah," he said with a nervous grin and I thought him the humblest young man in the world. "Any problem, milady?" he added. I came to a conclusion that his manners were as smooth as his words, and I wasn't disappointed.

A few days later, I matriculated. My fears that my matriculation would be a bad day were in vain. In fact, it was one of my best days. Wanida couldn't make it. Father had an important case. Mum was in Thailand. Still, I wasn't alone. I celebrated with the K-girls. Kamsi's parents rented a big canopy and we all feasted on delicious rice and drinks and cake! I also took pictures with them.

"Smile, Ka-ni!" Kelly said and I made a peace sign as the girls posed to my left and right, and the camera went click.

"It's lovely," Kosi said as she peered at the camera.

"Kelly, can I have one with you?" I asked Kelly.

"Oh, sure. Hey, Chris! Let's take a picture. I'm coming. Let me have this with my girl, Ka-ni."

"Okay. Hi, Marahadum."

"Hey, Chris," I replied nervously noticing how charming he looked in his blazers.

"Okay," went the cameraman and Kelly's phone rang. She apologized and went aside to pick it. I waited for her, feeling awkward. I didn't want to look at the cameraman and I definitely didn't want to look at Chris.

"May I?"

I startled and looked at Chris as he stood by my side and held my hand. "I'll pay for this one," he told the cameraman. He smiled at me and then at the camera. I smiled back and faced the camera with my brightest smile.

"They're great, Wanida. I was so happy today. I actually feel like I have friends," I told Wanida during our video call later that day.

"And Chris..." I stopped immediately. I hadn't told her about him, and he wasn't in any of the pictures I had sent her so she wouldn't ask.

"You said something?" Wanida asked.

"Nothing," I replied and looked thoughtfully at the hand he had held.

To be continued 🧣

PS: Thanks for the poem, Spenzy.