It was early in the morning and still dark when Jimi Solade woke up to someone shaking him roughly. He groaned and mumbled to himself half-asleep.
'Jimi!' He jerked fully awake at the sound of that familiar voice. It was his brother.
'Wole!' Jimi said in surprise.
'Yes, it's me,' and his brother smiled in a way that showed only his upper teeth.
'Man! What.....?' Jimi began. They looked at each other, delighted.
'No greeting little bro?' Wole smiled again.
'Sorry, does anyone know you're here? Does Daddy...?' Jimi did not complete the sentence; instead he embraced his brother tightly. 'I've missed you!'
Wole was thinner. Jimi could feel it.
'Mum knows I'm here,' Wole said. He too did not mention their father. Just then, the alarm clock sounded. It was time for Jimi to get up and he released his brother.
'Go on, get ready for school,' Wole said, stretching on the bed. 'At least you seem happy to see me.' He looked around the room at the carelessly flung shirts, jeans and boxer shorts over the chair, to the poster of the Manchester United football team on the wall above Jimi's bed. A typical boy's room. Another worn-out poster of Tupac Shakur was posted on the opposite wall.
'I didn't remove it even though it's an eyesore,' Jimi said, grinning. 'Everything's just as you left it'.
Wole squeezed Jimi's arms lightly. He picked up something from the bedside table beside jimmy's music CDs, chemistry and mathematics textbooks. 'Man, this is some watch. Must have cost a mountain. You always get all the nicest things, why...?'
'Wole, don't touch my watch.'
'What's your problem? Can't I look at a watch?'
'I'm sorry bro,' Jimi muttered. I'm glad to see you back -- really -- but, you know...'
'My cute spoilt brother... You grow everytime I see you.' Wole got up and walked towards the door. 'Don't worry about the bear. Better get ready for school. Er -- I took some cash from your drawer, hope you don't mind.'
Sighting, Jimi plodded to the bathroom. Trust his brother always collect things, but he was happy he was back. It was a new day and the beginning of his final year at school. Like his brother, he was as tall and long-limbed as an athlete, though, unlike his brother, he had dimples when he smiled. He was sixteen years old and he was already sprouting a beard. He flexed his right arm noting that he had developed some muscles. Good.
He whistled as he took his shower, refusing to think about the morning's surprise. The reason why was a long story; too long to think about on a brand new day.
As Jimi ate his breakfast of 'moin moin' and brown pap, Wole sat on the sofa watching early morning cartoons on television. Their mother was in the kitchen with Risikat, their househelp.
It was like any other morning - peaceful, almost as if Wole never left. Then Mr Solade came out his bedroom yawning. He was a tall and well-built man with a head shaved bald. He wore a loose caftan over his bulging tummy.
'Kemi. . .' he began and then stopped short and rubbed his eyes, and rubbed them again just to make sure.
'Good morning, Papa,' Wole said and, as an afterthought, prostrated himself. He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.
'What are you doing here?' his father said in a strangled voice.
Mrs Solade came running out of the kitchen. Good morning, dear. Just relax and let me explain. . .'
Jimi knew his father wouldn't listen.
'What is this good-for-nothing doing in my house?' his father roared. 'Didn't I tell you never to set foot in here again? Get out before I call the police!'
'Kola!' Mrs Solade shouted ------ if her high, thin voice could be called a shout. 'It is too early in the morning for this. And he is your son! You cannot treat him like this!' She knelt down.
'It's you!' Mr Solade turned on her. 'You spoiled the boy! He has brought shame and disgrace in this family and you still beg for him. All your children are bad!'
Jimi jumped down from the dinning table and knelt down too, beside his mother and brother. 'Papa, forgive him.'
Mr Solade stood still, his chest heaving, and said very quietly, 'You are not welcome here,' and turned back to his room. Mrs Solade collapsed onto a chair, but when Wole stood up, he grinned widely.
'You can laugh,' his mother said. 'It's not funny. You saw how he reacted. We shall have to see Uncle Kazeem and maybe Uncle Shola. They will talk to him.'
'He is not a serious man,' Wole said, grinning.
'Ah, Wole!' his mother protested. 'He's your father!'
Jimmy picked up his school bag and slung it over his shoulder.
'I'm not hungry. Bro, stay cool.' He was annoyed as he turned for the door, but he didn't know exactly why.
Papa and his temper, Jimi thought. Outside the gate, he stood for a moment and listened to the distant sounds of the buses and shouts of the bus conductors on the main road. A cock crowed in the distance. Someone called his name. It was his next door neighbour and schoolmate, Ansa Izaegbegbe, running towards him. A short, thin boy who hardly reached Jimi's shoulders.
'Heard you arrived back from your trip yesterday,' Ansa said, slightly out of breath. ' Was waiting for you.'
'Hey Ansaboy! Sorry. My mind was somewhere else.' Jimi slightly delightedly and threw Ansa a friendly punch
Ansa snorted noisily. 'Well, it's nice to have you back.'