Obalende Avenue was assaulting as usual. The sun-dazed haste, the yellow buses full of squashed limbs, the sweating hawkers racing after cars, and the heaps of rubbish that rose on the roadsides menacingly. Commerce thrummed too defiantly, and the air was dense with exaggeration, conversations full of over-protestations.

The hustle affiliated with Lagos and how much effort and skill it required drained Yemisi quite too often. Today, she didn't have the energy to run after Peugeots and Volkswagens with those tattered rubber sandals, feet and ankles coated with the harmattan dust only to have her commodities bought at a lesser price from stingy and ruthless wealthy people.

Although the harmattan season had completely rolled away a few weeks ago, Yemisi still didn't feel like hawking on the streets today. So as she sat on a stool by a stall with the steel tray containing few wraps of agege bread, she gazed into the busy roadside aimlessly, wondering what would have been of her life as a sixteen-year-old if she wasn't on the streets. She decided that she would go home once one more person bought agege bread from her.

But that she didn't get to do because now, her heart had almost flew out of her mouth when she heard someone call her name in a loud, boyish voice. As though reacting to a whiplash, she turned immediately, averting her gaze from the roadside beyond, and saw her younger brother, Alexander, firmly holding Demilade's hand as he ran through the muddy path, dirty water splashing behind the sole of his shoes. Impulsively, Yemisi stood up. Eyes widened in shock.

"What are you two doing here? What—wha—?" her voice trailed off as she opened her mouth to ask more questions but didn't know which question to ask first—whether it was how Alexander had gotten here or why they were both still wearing their school uniforms.

"Sindara is dying, " Alex said, moving closer as he lazily clasped his knees in his hands, panting. "She's in the hospital now. We need money for her hospital bill."

A pause.

"Eh? Abeg abeg, How can Sindara be dying? What happened? Did she have an accident or what? What the hell happened?"

Yemisi's head was starting to spin, the suddenness of the news refusing to make any atom of sense. How could Sindara be dying? Death and Sindara didn't seem like two befitting nouns in a sentence. If it were her who was dying, it would have been more believable because she was always on the street every day, as a constant prospective prey to whatever calamity the street had in store for her. But Sindara? That little quiet sister of hers that didn't know anywhere beyond school and home? How on earth?

"It was a food problem. We need money egbon mi, " Sweat had dripped down Alexander's temples now.

"Food problem ke?" Yemisi's face was knotted with confusion as she repeated the words, looking at Alexander and waiting for him to give more details. But he didn't talk even as her stares became more preening. The only thing that moved was the upheaval of his shoulders in panic.

Then she decided not to lean on the effects of the shock. Food problem. Perhaps, that was the truth, and somehow, it wasn't unbelievable. After all, they did eat stale food as a family a few times. Perhaps, Sindara had eaten stale food. She decided to believe it by all means for the sake of urgency. When she got to the hospital, she'd ask questions.

"Okay, let me check my purse. I haven't made much money today, though, " Yemisi lamented and started to fiddle the pocket of her gown. Then she unzipped a small leather pouch, straightening out some crumpled paper notes, and started counting them each. Soon, her countenance changed from angst to disappointment.

"Ah omo. I've not made up to three thousand naira today. Hospitals are so expensive these days. I should call mommy or daddy so they can help us with more money, ooo, " Yemisi said to Alexander, looking at him.

She hadn't planned to notice, but she did see it, for a slight moment that Alexander had stiffened at the mention of "mommy or daddy." Alexander himself couldn't decipher why he'd looked startled. Why did the mention of mummy and daddy scare him strangely on behalf of David? Mummy and Daddy were supposed to be an ideal option at a crucial moment like this, so why did he find himself not wanting Yemisi to contact them?

Yemisi's eyes narrowed even at the innocent Demilade, who was also looking troubled.
"What is it? Abi, are you guys lying about something ni? Why are you people looking like I poured feces on your face after I mentioned mummy?"

Alexander froze, tongue-tied. He got frightened that Yemisi would start to suspect everything and start asking even more questions and delaying them because there was this silly thing about Yemisi— she was obsessed with knowing everything.

There was something about her thirst for knowledge that irritated Alex sometimes and even made him glad that she wasn't going to school yet. However, he did feel guilty for feeling that way. She wasn't going to school because she had to hawk—to earn extra money for the family, which is why he could even run all the way here to ask her for money. So he swallowed, changing his countenance as he answered her question.

"No, I'm not lying, egbon mi. We are just anxious because this is very urgent, " Alex replied in the best calm tone he could express.

"Oh, okay. Let me quickly call mummy then."

Alex watched as Yemisi brought out a small Nokia phone from her purse and forcefully punched in a few numbers. He watched her utter words in Yoruba to their mother on the phone, and after few minutes, she put the phone back in her purse and turned.

"Let's go to the hospital where Sindara is right away. Mummy said she would join us with Daddy in fifteen minutes, " she said.

***

David was still on his knees, although his tears had subsided now. He was clasping his knee caps in his palms as he stared blankly at the ground, the air of the hospital's reception humid, causing sweat to accumulate under his armpits and the outline of his torso.

And at the moment while he gazed aimlessly, he began to think of what could have been if he hadn't given Sindara poisoned food to eat. She would have told him about her aspirations. She probably would have reassured him that her goals were achievable despite how tough things were for the family.

He could never forget the day he'd molded a small clay pot, the day he'd tried to gather sticks but failed at creating fire with the stones, even the day he'd promised to become the richest man in the world.

The clay pot wasn't smooth. He had been too impatient to put the baked clay in the kiln to give the sculpture a glazed look, but when he showed the pot to Sindara, she studied the sculpture, observing the few cracks on the surface. With a slight smile on her face, she'd said, "I hope the pot doesn't break because I plan to put a few flowers in it and keep it." There was something about that comment that reassured David, making him feel comfortable even with the lazy work he'd done.

On the day he'd failed to create fire on the firewood and the day he'd promised to be the richest man on earth, she'd simply cheered him on, saying, "you will do it well next time!" and "yes! That will be cool! I could buy the whole of Barbie's House with all your money!"

Even a few hours ago, when she talked about their siblings. Sindara could have chosen to state what she didn't like about David as she did with the other siblings, but something was reassuring about the way she'd said, "You like to listen to me and give me things. Still, I want a little sister I can play with."

It made David feel like even the presence of a newly born sister wouldn't take his place in her heart. Those words created an image that quickly morphed into a solid company between them—the existence of a strong foundation. Something David could always rely on at any time.

Now, he started to wish that she would promise to remain alive and live for his sake. He began to wish he could apologize for causing her excruciating pain, and she would say something like, "Don't worry, egbon mi. I know you just wanted me to eat. My tummy isn't even paining me so much, so I will be okay." Even if it were apparent that her tummy really did hurt, still, he would be sure that she would live because she was Sindara— a fountain of peace.

So he closed his eyes again, unsure of what more he could say to God. His mind was in a jalopy, the state like a swinging pendulum, conflicted in between wanting his sister to be alive for the sake of his mother or just for what he wanted it to be—to have her by his side, as his favorite sister.

Minutes afterward, he found a ground of equilibrium and realized the craziness of the fact that death was a real probability for Sindara at this moment. His sister could really die. Her calm voice never to be heard again. Her brown eyes never to be seen again. Her tone of reassurance never to be felt again. The weight of the fact offloaded in David's mind like a sorrowful sack.

And so he started to mutter desperate words when it dawned on him that he wanted this precious girl to live—beyond the fact that his mother might hate him for putting Sindara in this state. He needed to see Sindara again. If at all he had to grief, he wanted to grieve with tears of joy—at what could have been if she had died. He wanted to be thankful to God that Sindara lived to see her eleventh birthday, not wishing Sindara would be alive on the day she was supposed to turn eleven. He needed a second chance.

God, please, I'm begging. I will dedicate my life to Sindara. Just help her survive this.

His chest soon moved in an upheaval of sober tears as he repeated the prayer like a mantra. Then he felt someone tap his shoulder gently. He looked up and was a bit startled to see the jowly face of the radio repairer. He'd forgotten that the man was still here with him. The radio repairer had given up on trying to console David, so he sat by the lounge and silently hoped on David's behalf that his little sister would be okay.

Now, the man said. "It seems like your family is here."

David wiped his tears reflexively, his heart thrumming with an antagonism that slightly baffled him. He rose, leaning onto the counter for support. Then he saw his mother, Yemisi, Alex, and Demi standing by the entrance of the hospital.

Folakemi and Yemisi particularly seemed hysterical. Yemisi in her unkempt brown hair, her light-skinned face pervaded by acne and harsh sunburns. She was wearing her regular hawking kaftan and oversized tattered sandals. Folakemi and her protruding tummy, looking the opposite of what David had seen earlier in the morning— rough and not so pretty. They had both been busy with their hustle, trying to earn money so the family could access basic human needs.

They had no business being here, but David had brought them here with his actions. David realized it at that moment, and he felt like shrinking into nothing. He'd caused trouble instead of causing them to smile as he'd always dreamt of doing.

"Your Dad is far away and can't come right now, but he will join us soon. I heard the news from Yemisi. What happened to Sindara?" Folakemi spoke, looking at David like he was the only person present at the hospital's reception. The radio repairer completely ignored.

The look on her face wasn't something of accusation. Instead, it was a countenance that demanded a simple explanation. After all, she'd kept Sindara in his care and believed that he was the only person who ought to have the answers. But David's guilty conscience would never grant him the confidence he needed to answer the question. He'd disobeyed her.

"She was unconscious, so Alex came with him so I could drive her to the hospital, " The radio repairer answered in David's stead.

That was when Folakemi became aware of his presence. She turned. She wanted to thank him then shut him up. There was something in his reply that felt like a cover-up, and Folakemi resented it. She didn't raise her children in a way that would make them afraid of her. So what was so frightening about her question that made him reply like he had a better answer than her son? 

But she didn't get to express how she'd felt to the radio repairer because they all heard a door open and slam shut loudly. A lean man in a white laboratory coat and a stethoscope hanging loosely on his shoulders appeared. He had a morose expression on his face. One that David wished he could smack away.

The air was dense and saturated with awkwardness as the doctor approached them. Yemisi itched her hair impatiently. More sweat dripped down to Alexander's collarbones. Demilade chewed nervously on the empty stick of her consumed lollipop. David clenched his fists. Folakemi folded her arms under her breasts, her hand resting on her swollen stomach. Even the radio repairer stood with his arms akimbo. Everyone was anxious. The doctor had come with news that they were unsure of receiving.

"Is anyone of you here related to Miss Sindara?"

"Yes. We all are, " they all said. Demilade nodded. Even the radio repairer had unconsciously concurred.

A pause came from the doctor. Then slowly, he shook his head. David's heart pounded so hard he could hear it in the hollow part of his eardrums.

"I'm sorry. She's dead. The poison she consumed already ruptured her blood vessels and damaged her heart before we could even get to save her and do something substantial."