And co.

We send Bolawa off today. I know she’s nervous because she has been talking non-stop since she woke up. We are scared too, but I look around, the chairs are filled with people who came to ensure they witnessed this. Even the priest looks impatient, as if this should have happened last week. This is a send-forth that must happen.

I met Bolawa at the tailor’s shop the week before we resumed JSS1. Mrs Amusan called out “Mowalola”! I approached her and giggled in my head because she smelled like she had poured her perfume on the floor and rolled in it. I calmly tell her that I was the wrong student. The collection sheet said Mowalola Coker. She scrunched up her nose and adjusted her glasses. To prove me wrong, she asked the room if there was a Coker amongst us. Bolawa came to join us. She looked bored. “What’s your full name?” “Mobolaoluwawa Coker” “Okay Mowalola, Mobolawa, ewo ni difference, WHAT’Z THE DIFFERENCE?” Neither of us responded. Mrs Amusan started a rant about how new-generation parents were pretentious and liked to act unique. It was then that Bolawa’s expression changed from bored to irritated. She told Mrs Amusan that it was no one’s fault that some people couldn’t think outside the box. Mrs Amusan looked like she was about to explode but that ended her rant.

The next time I saw Bolawa was in the school cafeteria. She was sharing duck meat with Mobanke. She waved me over because she had recognized me from the tailor fiasco. It was the first day of school; I hadn’t made any friends. She eagerly offered me her food and introduced Banke as one of her best friends from primary school. That day, two became three without either of us realizing it.

Banke nudges me to look in the hallway. Bolawa is being escorted by her uncle. She looks almost dollish in her lilac basque dress. As she walks towards us, I think about how regal she has always been. My Bolawa looked like a queen even with straight backs in our ugly school uniform. I wonder if she considered adding a tiara to this ensemble, although she looked like she had one on. Banke doesn’t let me finish my thoughts because she’s crying. I give her a Kleenex and she asks me if Bolawa would be okay. This same question has been lingering on my mind since we were told today was going to happen. Banke was the superstitious one amongst us and I knew she would read 700 layers of meaning into whatever answer I gave her. So I simply said “yes she would”.

I look at the man planning to take her away and at that same moment he holds my gaze too. I didn’t like him until recently, I used to find him forward and talkative. This made me more critical of him. I think back to the conversation we had yesterday. I laid all my cards on the table and let him know how much he would regret being born if he crossed me. This involved not even one hair strand on Bolawa’s head being amiss, or a cell in her body being unhappy. Right now, he doesn’t look as fearful as he did yesterday, but I know he took me seriously and that was good enough for me.

I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Sweat pools on the bridge of my nose. I dab and dab. I listen as words are exchanged. Except for this man’s voice you can hear a pin drop. He finishes his words and it’s time for us to complete the send off with a dance. Banke and I move closer to Bolawa and we hold hands. Davido is playing and I don’t care to know what song it is. I’m too flustered.

I tell Bolawa to look at me. To look at us. Then I tell her I love her. I tell her that every single time I think that I could not love her any more than I already did, my heart expands and creates more space for her. And Banke too. I tell her that she will always have a home with me and no secret is too big, no task is too small, no distance is too wide, I’ll be there. That whenever she can’t find an answer, she should come and we will squint at the question together until we find an answer. That she should remember where we started.

We’ve been writing this book of ours since forever. Before Banke knew she wanted to spend her life defending women in court, or before Bolawa started saving lives in labour theatres. We have held each other. We held each other when my parents divorced, when Mrs Coker passed away from cancer, when Banke didn’t initially get into school and it was the worst year of her life. We saw light for each other when someone’s eyes were too tired to stay open.

Banke starts crying again. Bolawa joins. Then I join. Suddenly we’re laughing in between tears. Banke closes her eyes and I know she’s saying a prayer for laughter and joy never to leave us and for God to hold our friend as she embarks on this new journey. I tell Banke to stop being such a Pisces. Just then Timilehin, the man taking our friend away comes back to hold her. He squeezes our hands and we smile. They start dancing together and everyone is watching in awe as two becomes one. I tell Banke we have to dance too, because we’re also celebrants. This new page we turned in our book is a special one.

I tell Banke how honoured I am to be wearing the same fabric with her today. I tell her that I hope she knows we’ve been cut from the same cloth since forever, and it will never end. She starts crying AGAIN. We’re wearing a darker shade of purple so you can tell we’re part of Bolawa. God forbid you saw her somewhere and didn’t see us too.

……….

[photo credit: laylaaseamss]