8 8 PICKING UP ALL THE BROKEN PIECES

Even Kompa behaved as though the world had come to an end. He moped around all day and wouldn't leave Eghe Boom Boom's side. He had become her shadow and when I asked him why he wouldn't give her some space, he gave me a side-eye, promptly ignored me and cuddled up beside her feet as she played a game on the tablet she was holding while sitting wrapped up in blankets on the couch.

She had a cold and my dad hovered around her in fear. He had given her all the home remedies he could make: hot chocolate, honey and lemon tea, honey and ginger tea, eucalyptus oil, hot water bottle, hugs, sweet words and songs. And Eghe Boom Boom soaked it all in. This was also in addition to all the medications my aunty who had come for the weekend had given her.

I kept asking her, "How are you feeling?"

One time, she responded without looking away from her tablet, "So, so. But can you get me more tea?"

She said it with such authority that she came across as a queen or some form of royalty and not the sick girl everyone was so concerned about.

I looked down at her for a minute, ready to pounce on her with angry words, and then promptly changed my mind as the words of my mum came tumbling into my mind.

"Promise me you will take care of your sister."

I ruffled the full head of soft black hair, which my aunty had helped her wash and oil earlier that day, and muttered the words, "You know you can be so annoying."

She responded again without taking her eyes from the tablet. "Not as annoying as you."

"You are so rude," I spat the words at her; irritation was getting the best of me.

She looked up at me; her eyes were open in that innocent way that made her so lovable and adorable. It appeared as though she was about to cry and her voice was very low as she said to me, "Sorry, Osaik, I didn't mean to be rude. Please, can you get me some tea?"

It was disarming. One minute you were mad at her, another minute, she irritated you, the next minute, you couldn't stand her, and just with one of her looks and her tiny voice, she made you love her fiercely.

I went to get her tea and did a lot of other things she asked of me. We all were at her beck and call—my dad, my aunt, Kompa and I.

Eghe Boom Boom had a way about her. It was like an air of unconcern. As though she didn't understand why there was a lot of fuss about her. It was as if she didn't even know she was living with sickle cell anaemia, or that the same disease that had taken our mum from us and made her a star, which hung up in the sky, was also in her body.She wasn't one to argue a lot, instead she obeyed you if she felt you had authority over her or simply ignored you if she couldn't be bothered by what you were saying, or made you melt with one look at her pity-me face and a tiny fragile whisper from her if she needed you to help her.

It was hard not to like her and if you stayed around her for a long time, you would not even realise when you had fallen in love with her.She would surprise you with her sudden show of emotion.

Sometimes she would run over to you and hug you tight without any reason and whisper to you, "I love you so much." Other times, she would come up to you with a paper in which she had drawn what she would claim was you and say with a bright smile on her face, "See, I drew one of my most favourite people in the whole world, you!"

There were times she would come to you and begin to discuss with you in a way that was far above her age. She would ask you questions after questions and listen attentively to your responses, and when you are done, she would smile and give you a kiss on your cheek, before she would say, "That is for being a darling."

Even her laughter was lovable. She would start from a giggle, then it would rise and rise until it cackled loudly with careless abandon. Her eyes watered and her body shook as she leaned back in a way that made you think she would fall over, and when she finally stopped laughing, she never failed to say, "That was so so funny. Can you please make me laugh again?"

No matter how many times you repeated the same joke or did something that made her laugh, she would laugh again. It was like she never got tired of it or of anything that she liked.Her clothes. Her shoes. Her toys. Her books. Once Eghe Boom Boom liked it, no one could take it from her. She arranged them neatly in her room and visited them over and over again with the same kind of excitement she had when she first got them. But once Eghe Boom Boom didn't like something, she was completely dismissive of it. She would not waste her time trying to get to know it. Her instinct was all that she relied on.She looked at it, if it was a thing, or at the person, with a frown on her face. It was her thinking face. Then she turned her head from left to right and then right to left, as though she needed to see clearly. Then if she decided that she didn't like what she was seeing, she would just look away and start to do something else. Nothing you could do would make her change her mind. That was why it was a shock for everyone when Eghe Boom Boom began to like Kompa after she had earlier disliked him.When I had asked her why she changed her mind about him, she responded in an honest way, as she looked up at me innocently.

"I wasn't sure about him before, but now I am. So he is my friend."

It made her sound so old. Like my uncle or Mr Ojo.

She had met my uncle a few times, and she didn't like him.When he called out to her, "Hey, Boom Boom, my baby. How are you doing?"

She would look at him as though seeing him for the first time and then she would murmur, "I'm fine."

Then she would walk away and leave him standing there with his arms opened wide in expectation of a hug that would never come.

That was Eghe Boom Boom, my kid sister. The one who found it easier to dislike, than she did to like. And if she liked you, she took to you instantly. She would walk up to you smiling and introduce herself.

"Hello, I am Eghe. Everyone calls me Eghe Boom Boom or Boom Boom for short. What is your name?"

Her favourite colour was pink unlike the colour yellow, which was mine. Her room was a large splash of pink, and her dresses and shoes too.Her dolls, which were everywhere around the house, always wore pink dresses.

One time, I had told her that she should pick a different colour because pink was most girls' favourite colour and was boring. I wanted her to be different. Just like the yellow I picked which wasn't what you would see the average boy picking.

Eghe Boom Boom made a pout and said, "No. I like pink and it is not because I am a girl. I like it because it is pretty. If I was a boy I will still like pink. You can like yellow if you want that is your prerogative."

I was taken aback by her use of the word.

"Who taught you that word?"

"What word?"

"P-r-e-r-o-g-a-t-i-v-e," I pronounced it slowly.

"Oh, that word, I heard dad say it to mum."

"Do you know what it means?"

"Yes."

"They told you?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because I knew what they were talking about, so I understood what it meant by what Dad was trying to say."

"What was he trying to say?"

"He said mum didn't need him to decide for her if she should go to the salon in the morning before she went shopping, or in the evening after she finished shopping."

"So prerogative means my right to decide for myself?"

"Yes. To decide if you like yellow or not."

I repeated the word in my mind and smiled. It had a nice ring to it. I couldn't wait to use it when I got to school.

I used it one day during English class and my teacher, Mrs Uzor, asked me who taught me the word. When I said it was my baby sister, she looked at me in disbelief and proceeded to ask me again, as though she couldn't believe her ears. I told her the same thing again. My baby sister, Eghe Boom Boom. Then she asked me how old she was, and I told her she was five. She looked like she didn't quite believe me but she told me to bring my sister to her anytime she came to school. I did.

When she saw Eghe Boom Boom, she bent low before her and said with a happy voice.

"Eghe Boom Boom, nice to meet you finally. What is your name?"

There was a moment of silence as Eghe Boom Boom looked at her with her signature look—head to the left then to the right.

Mrs Uzor asked, "Are you shy?"

Eghe Boom Boom responded, "No."

"So tell me your name."

"You already know my name. You called me Eghe Boom Boom before you asked me my name."

And with that, she turned around and walked away from Mrs Uzor. She had become another person that my sister didn't like. Yet the other teacher that was sitting at her desk in the same staff room where Mrs Uzor had spoken to her was pleasantly surprised when my sister walked up to her after leaving Mrs Uzor and introduced herself to the teacher. Mrs Uzor stood up, crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. My mum who had brought my sister to the school to pick me, quickly chipped in to save the situation.

"Forgive her. She is just like that. She warms up to some people and not to others," she said to Mrs Uzor.

All Mrs Uzor did was nod her head, but the frown still remained on her face as she looked at Eghe Boom Boom who was laughing effortlessly with the other teacher.

Eghe Boom Boom finally fell asleep with the tablet in her hand. My dad lifted her up gingerly and carried her to her room. After tucking her in, he left the door of the room ajar and Kompa, who had jumped into bed and curled by her side, stared out of the opening in the door.

When my dad came back to the living room, he sat by me. "Don't you think it is time you went to bed too?" he asked me.

"There is no school tomorrow, it is the weekend."

"Still you need to sleep. You are a growing man, you need sleep."

I liked that he called me a man.So I acted like one.

"I want us to have a discussion," I said to my dad.

"About what?"

"A match for Boom Boom."

"I am looking into it."

"I thought you said you didn't know what to do?"

"Yes, at that time, I didn't, but now I know what to do."

"What are you going to do?"

"Find a match."

"How?"

"The foundation is helping out."

"What foundation?"

"The Sickle Cell Foundation. They are the ones who run the clinic where we went to give samples."

"Why do you call them a foundation?"

"Because that is what they are. They raise money to support scientists and doctors who are working to find a cure and they do all they can to tell people about the disease and also to make the lives of people suffering from the disease better. They work on making them happier."

"I thought a foundation was what you build on the ground before you build a house on it."

"One word can mean a lot of different things."

"Like a synonym," I said proudly.

"Hmm. Yeah, somewhat. Although a synonym is more like different words that have the same meaning."

"But why will…"

My aunty came into the living room at that moment and handed my dad a bowl of pepper soup.

"Thank you," he said to her as he collected it.

She smiled and looked over at me.

"Do you want some?"

"No, thank you," I promptly replied.

Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click www.novelhall.comfor visiting.

I didn't like peppery foods and I wasn't hungry. She walked back to the kitchen and I turned to my dad as he slowly began drinking the pepper soup and chewing some of the small pieces of meat in it. He would scoop a spoonful, raise it to his lips, blow some air onto it for a short while and then drink it before he will take another spoonful of meat, blow on them, put them into his mouth and begin to chew, his eyes misting over as he sniveled. I sat there silently by his side for a while, then I began to speak again.

"How is the foundation going to find a match?"

"They have a register of a lot of people. They will contact them and tell them to help out by coming to give samples."

"Will they come?"

"Yes."

"Even if they don't know Boom Boom?"

"They have already volunteered to help anyone that needs a match."

"Anyone?"

"Yes, anyone, no matter who they are."

I kept quiet for a moment as I thought of it. A smile spread across my face as the reality of what they were doing dawned on me.

"That is a really good thing they are doing, Dad. They are helping people they don't even know."

"Yes. It is a wonderful thing."

"So even though I was not a match for Boom Boom, I may be a match for someone else?"

"Yes. "

"Dad, what are we waiting for? We need to volunteer too."

He smiled, reached over and squeezed my shoulder, then he said, "I am already a volunteer, but I am happy and proud that you are volunteering without me asking you too."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just sat there and smiled. I was proud of myself too. My dad returned to drinking his pepper soup and I watched him for some more minutes before I spoke again.

"What if there is no match? What do we do?"

"Let us not think negatively."

"It is not negative. I just want to know what we will do if it happens again like it happened to me."

"We will decide what to do if that happens, when it happens."

"Why don't we pray that there is a match?"

"When did you start wanting to pray? I remember you always dozed off when you heard prayers."

"That was when I was a boy."

"You are still a boy."

"I am eight."

"Eight is the age of a boy."

"But you called me a man just some minutes ago."

"That is an oxymoron."

"Oxymoron?"

"Yes, when you use words or terms that contradict themselves. Like, the eight-year-old boy called Osaik is a man."

"Oxymoron," I repeated the word in my head again, then I said aloud.

"Dad, isn't moron a synonym for a fool?"

"Now see who is using new terms at will, synonym."

I laughed, then I spoke, "Seriously Dad, is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"An ox is an animal?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So why doesn't oxymoron mean a foolish ox?"

My dad laughed. It was sudden and explosive. The bowl of pepper soup nearly fell from his hand and he had to grapple to balance it as he broke out in coughs. They were thick coughs that brought liquid from his nose. My mum always said that meant that food had gone the wrong way.

My aunty rushed out of the kitchen with a glass of water, handed it to my dad, and took the bowl of pepper soup from him. My dad drank from the water and coughed less and less until it stopped altogether, after which he started to laugh again.

My aunty asked him, "What is making you laugh?"

"Osaik said that Oxymoron should mean a foolish ox."

"Oh, is that what you want to have a heart attack over?" my aunty said, a frown on her face.

My dad looked up at her, "You mean that is not funny?"

"No. Do you still want the pepper soup?" my aunt asked, her arms akimbo.

"Yes, please." My dad reached up and collected it from her.

She looked at me. "Stop cracking dry jokes and let your father eat in peace." Then she walked back to the kitchen.

My aunty used to have a sense of humour but when my mom became a star in the sky, my aunt's humour disappeared. She still sang like my mom sang and went around the house doing chores like my mom used to do, but she never laughed or smiled. Even when she attempted to smile, it came across as a grin. As though she was in pain. I know she missed my mum because sometimes I heard her crying in the bathroom while she sang a song in which she kept repeating my mum's name. It was in our native language.

As my dad ate the pepper soup, I kept looking at my parents' wedding picture which hung on the wall of the living room. They were smiling broadly. My dad was wearing a suit and my mum, a lovely white wedding gown.When my dad dropped the empty pepper soup bowl on the side table, I turned to him.

"Did you and Mum know when you married that your children might have the sickle cell disease?"

My dad's eyes opened in surprise. He hadn't expected a question like that, so he kept quiet for a while and looked at the wedding picture.

I watched him as I waited for the answer.

I saw his eyes mist over and a tear run down his cheek.

I reached up and cleaned the tear from his cheek, and it was as if the action of my finger touching his skin unlocked something inside him.

My dad broke down.

He began to sob.

They were not loud sobs, but they shook his body.

Then he began to speak.

"She told me not to marry her, but I didn't listen. She warned me. She begged me. But I loved her too much to let her go. I couldn't live without her. I couldn't think of life without her. I thought we would be lucky. I begged God not to allow any of you have the disease.When you were born and didn't have it, I was happy. I believed God had heard my prayers. We decided not to have any more children. Just you. But then one day, we found out that your mom was pregnant with your sister. We prayed and fasted. We were afraid. And our fears came true."

My dad turned to me. His cheeks were wet with tears. I reached over and placed my hand on his knee. I could feel them vibrating. I wanted to tell him not to cry. I wanted to stop him from speaking, but before I could open my mouth to speak, my dad continued:

'The doctors told us that your sister had the disease and everything they asked us to do, to save her from being born to live the sort of painful life your mum was living, fell on deaf ears. We couldn't do it. Our religion couldn't let us do it. And when we were told that the kind of sickle cell she had was not as bad as your mum's, we were relieved. God had answered our prayers. So we allowed your sister to be born and promised that we would do everything in our power to ensure that she lived as normal a life as we could manage. It was hard. But we tried. Your mum and I. We wanted her to be like you, play like you, but every time she tried to, we found ourselves fearing that it will trigger a crisis. So, we held her back to protect her. We believed it was the best thing to do: just like your mum was treated by your grandparents when they were alive. Everyone believes a person living with sickle cell anaemia should be protected. To be loved. You have to treat them in the best way you can to convince them not to go back early. Our older relatives, the ones who came from the village, thought people living with sickle cell anaemia are spirits…"

Then my dad caught himself and stopped speaking. It was as though he had just realised he was divulging too much. He began to clean the tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt as he started speaking again.

"I'm sorry, Osaik. I shouldn't be behaving like this."

"It is okay, Dad." That was all I could say.

"I want you to know that your mum and myself loved each other a lot. And we love your sister too. I do not regret for a minute having you and your sister as my children even though I should have done what was right when I had the chance to, by not going ahead with the marriage to your mum when I found out she had the SS genotype; and even after I did, I should have stopped us from having children and adopt instead."

He went silent and stared at the wedding picture, before he sighed and continued speaking, "Well, you both are the pride of my life and the best thing that has ever happened to me."

He reached over and pulled me close to him.

It was a tight hug.

We held onto each other for a while as we sat there side by side. Silently. The only sounds present were the television that was turned low and the sound of my aunty busy in the kitchen.

After a while, I whispered to my dad, "I miss Mum."

"I miss her too," he said.

"I have not gone to speak to her for a while now."

"Do you want to go and speak to her now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you can go."

"Will you come with me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes."

We stood up, walked to the front door and let ourselves out. As we walked down the short staircase that led to the cobblestone driveway, Dauda pointed his flashlight at us. Then I saw him walk from the guardhouse, between the two cars parked in the driveway and over to us. He met us just as we stepped off the staircase.

"Evening, sir. Any problem?" he asked my dad.

"No, we just want to get some night breeze," my dad responded.

It was a white lie. My dad and mum always told Eghe Boom Boom and me not to tell lies, no matter the situation, but then sometimes they told the lies themselves. They called it white lies. My mum had explained to me that it was the kind of lie you told to protect someone or to keep a secret that had nothing to do with the other person. She said only adults were allowed to tell white lies because they are mature enough to know what can help or harm others. So I understood why my dad didn't tell Dauda that we were going to speak to my mum. I knew that Dauda would have thought it crazy. Just like he thought it crazy that Kompa could speak.

Dauda nodded his head and walked back to his guardhouse, while my dad and I walked towards the back of the house where we knew Dauda would not be able to see us.

When we got there, we stood beside the clothesline and looked up at the night sky. It was not as starry as the first night I had looked up at the sky after my mum had become a star. We stood there silently for a short while, staring at the stars. My dad was the first person to speak.

"Which star do you think she is?"

"That one," I said pointing up at the sky.

"Which one?"

"That one that is winking at us. Mum said if I looked up at the sky in the night and called her name in my mind, she will wink down at me to let me know that she is always watching over us."

My dad stared up at the sky.

"Do you see it?" I asked him.

"Yes, I see it. The one right by that thick cluster of stars."

"Yes, that is it. It is Mum."

"Hi, darling," my dad said as he waved at the sky.

"Hi, Mum," I did the same thing.

"So, what should we tell her?" my dad asked me.

"Let us tell her all that has been happening to us and ask her to make sure that one of the volunteers is a match for Boom Boom."

My dad looked down at me and smiled. Then he nodded. I looked up at the sky and began to speak to the star that was winking down at me.

My mum!

And I felt deliciously good.