I missed Alade.

If I had been in his house I wouldn’t have to go through Kunle’s version of a low-key Easter vigil. We had been praying for over an hour. He and my mom were doing most of the praying while Marcel and I knelt there and provided reluctant ‘amens’ when required.

‘Father, on this night of your resurrection we pray that all our blessings and breakthroughs rise with you in Jesus name!’

‘Amen’.

‘We pray for our country Nigeria, this country of bokoharam and dead leaders. Good for nothing country of bribery, wickedness and magu-magu. Father deliver us, deliver us because we cannot deliver ourselves. Deliver us from friendly enemies, deliver us from overweight politicians in million dollar agbadas’.

‘Amen!’ mom boomed and I readjusted my aching knees.
‘And amen’. Kunle intersected
‘Amen’. We all said conclusively.
‘Honey, lead us in praises’. He rose and we followed suit.
‘Hallelujah?’
‘Amen’.

‘Come on people. Christ has risen from the dead, this miracle deserves more than that lazy amen so; hallelujah!!!’
My mom’s vigorous prayers amazed me but I was more concerned about sleeping neighbors.
‘Amen!’ We responded.

‘Receive our praise oh Lord!’ she began croaking. ‘Receive our praise oh Lord, glory and honor we give unto you, receive our praise oh Lord. Father receive it…’
The rest of us joined in but after the second stanza, it was obvious we weren’t winning any prizes with our rendition, still our parents made us continue in the suicide mission.

We howled for the next ten minutes before mom signaled for us to stop but she wasn’t done.
‘Let’s hold hands’.
Marcel remained where he stood with his arms loosely crossed around his chest until our parents cast gleaming eyes at him. He reluctantly grabbed my right hand and my mom’s left one. I felt his pain but I knew the fastest way out was trough cooperation.

‘Almighty King of kings, ancients of days, omeka nnaya, osimiri ya atata, agun echemba, lion of the tribe of Judah. Oh Chineke dalu’m!’
I could see Marcel’s right arm shaking as my mom shook in prayers.

‘Heavenly Father, I cannot thank you enough for you have been good to me. From the clothes on our backs, the food in our stomach, the roof over our heads even to the very air we breathe, I say thank you Lord. I want to thank you in a special way for all of us present in this living room, gathered as a family. God, it was your decree that brought us together’.

Marcel let out a huge yawn and in a few seconds I was giving off one of my own.
Over time, I lost track of the words that were said, petitions made and songs sang. I kept swaying from side to side until I felt a prick on my palm and turned sharply to Marcel.

‘Did you just pinch me?’ I whispered
‘Don’t fall asleep browny. Don’t let the devil use you’. He whispered back, looking smug.
I wanted to tell him he was the one being used by the devil to distract me during prayers but that conversation wouldn’t go unnoticed by the adults engrossed in spirituality.

By the time we concluded the vigil, my limbs were itchy and rubbery. I took a well-deserved bath but it was already 5am and the sleep I needed had escaped me so I returned to the parlor, this time to watch TV.
Marcel joined a few minutes later, he had his legs propped on the center table when mom came and asked us to join her and Kunle for 6am Easter service at his church but we declined with the excuse of fatigue.

We heard them as they struggled to prepare, glad that we didn’t have to go through another round of eardrum bursting prayers.

‘Okay, we are leaving. You two are sure you don’t want to come to church with us?’ Mom asked while Kunle moved out to get the car.

I knew she wasn’t forcing us to go only because she hadn’t informed us earlier and she didn’t feel like it was her place to judge since she attended church once in two months.

‘Don’t worry aunty, Amanda and I will have our own service right here’.
Marcel looked away from the television to give her an assuring smile and as usual, it worked like a charm.
‘Okay but next time, we are all going’. She beamed at him.
‘Nneka!’ His dad called from outside.

‘Amanda, there is chicken in the freezer, prepare it before we get back so I can just make the stew. Boil rice, six cups. We’ll be back before you know it, bye!’ She ran out the door.

‘How is she able to run after that midnight battle? The only thing I’ll be able to do right now is sleep’. It was a defilement of nature but I saw myself laughing with Marcel Wurade. As soon as I realized it, I bolted up from the sofa.
‘Where are you going?’ He turned to look at me, red eyes drooping.

‘Frozen chicken duties’. He gave thumb up and transferred himself to the now empty sofa.
I soaked the meat in cool water to thaw the thin layers of ice around it. When I returned to the living room after placing the seasoned meat and white rice on the cooker, I found Marcel sleeping soundly.

He looked different, laidback, safe for the crease on his forehead, there were no signs of stubbornness in his being. I thought of waking him to go sleep in his room but it didn’t matter where he slept, it wasn’t like he was going to pee on the sofa.

My mom was in too high spirits, I think she hadn’t known until now that Easter was the celebration of Christ’s resurrection. She got presents for everyone, her colleagues at work too, every gift wrapped up and addressed. From the look on Kunle’s face I knew he hadn’t been very pleased with the impromptu shopping, the poor man looked hungry.

I snuck out of the kitchen when my mother’s singing threatened to draw blood from my ears. She didn’t even need my help, she was so pumped she could flip over a Camry.

Breakfast/lunch was almost as loud as the vigil just a few hours before. Mom successfully transferred her happy fever to Kunle and try as we did, Marcel and I couldn’t escape getting a pinch of it.

‘He will deny it till tomorrow but he woke up every night to put on those shoes before going back to sleep for a month, straight’.
Mom and I cracked up. Kunle was telling us about Marcel’s first sneakers he got when he was six.

‘I did not’. The boy grumbled, trying and failing to glare at his father who was having a good laugh at his expense.

‘Why are we only telling stupid stories about me? Aunty Nneka, tell us something cute from Amanda’s childhood’. He put down his spoon, placed his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers under his chin, waiting to hear the story that would make his day but Marcel didn’t know that he had just stirred our resurrection party in the wrong direction.

He was smart though because in a few seconds he caught on to the shift in the atmosphere around us. Kunle was stuck between casting a worried glance at my mom and scolding his ignorant son with his eyes. I was placing my spoon on the half empty plate of rice, stew, chicken and salad when my mom spoke with a tranquil tone.

‘I’ve got one. Amanda was four then, it had been so long since I had seen her. I watched her from under the mango tree as she flew a kite, I didn’t even know she could do that and I wondered about the other things she could do. She didn’t look happy though, she looked angry, quietly scolding the kite in her hands. I approached her and I asked her why she was angry, she said her kite was stubborn, that it refused to stay in the air.

I told her that it was impossible for the kite to keep flying but she was adamant and asked why. “Because what goes up will surely come down”. She had taken a moment to ponder before saying; but the stars never come down. I asked her why she wanted the stars to come down, they brightened the night.

She said she wanted one so she could place it in her Alade’s room so it could brighten his nights. I remember touching her cheeks and telling her that her Alade didn’t need a star to fall off the sky, he already had one’.

Her sullen eyes refused to meet mine. It was a memory I didn’t have and a story I’d rather she hadn’t told because Marcel was looking at me like a wounded puppy and I suddenly felt too open.
No one made a sound as I left the table and for a long while, I didn’t hear anything from my room. It was evening when my phone rang.

‘Hello’.
‘I heard it’s a big day for Christians so I’m calling to find out how many chickens you’ve murdered’. I smiled as soon as I recognized the voice. I had given him the number but he never called.

‘You are not a Muslim, Rasheed’.
‘I’m not a Christian either’.
‘I know, I know, you only believe in mathematics’. I teased.
‘I believe in knowledge’.
‘I warned you to give the books some space, now you are talking like an unwise monk’.

‘Unwise... I’ll take it. How are you, Mandy the mad?’
‘Ohh. I’m going to kill you’.
‘Literally or figuratively?
‘Figuratively, until I figure out how to get rid of a corpse’.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you. Tell me you miss my tutorials’.

‘Who would I be without those gory sessions of ours?’
‘Just a pain in the… entire nervous system? I laughed.
‘How is Uyo?’
‘Beautiful. My cousin is taking me sight-seeing, it’s our first day off’.

‘Aww. Look at you using working class vocabulary. Tell me all about it in a week?’
‘Can’t wait’. I could recognize sarcasm in any form.

‘Bye ratshit’.