My father, Jacob Makali, a Nigerian from Oyo, married my mother, Peace Makali, from Ekiti, a year after they met. Their union was blessed with a child, my sister, who was given an astonishing twenty-five names by the pastor during her naming ceremony.
The pastor prophesied that she would grow up to be great, as great as a queen. Inspired by this, my parents named her Ayaba, meaning "Queen" in Yoruba.
My father, a pastor and entrepreneur, owns two businesses. The first is named after him and my mother, while the second is named after his two children.
The name of the businesses were Jaceace Group and Adeve Farm which was quite famous in our local community in Oyo but not so popular in Lagos. I was born two years after my sister, on May 23rd, but my birth was complicated by Jaundice, a disease that I was born with.
As a result, I had to have my naming ceremony in the hospital, surrounded by sick people I didn't even know. It wasn't exactly the traditional celebration my parents had envisioned. However, despite the unusual circumstances, my health issue was treated, and I recovered. The experience left emotional scars- just kidding.
Later on, when I was seven years old, I found myself in the hospital with a bowel disorder, so I had to wear diapers again. It wasn't so bad, I guess. What made my stay bearable was a toy car and a toy hospital cart that moved back and forth when you pressed a button. I loved playing with it, and it brought me joy every day. I would eagerly look forward to riding it, feeling like it was my own little escape.
But one day, when I went to my usual spot, I saw that it was gone. The toy car and cart that had brought me so much joy were nowhere to be found.
At first, I thought someone had taken them, or even worse - we were robbed! So I ran around the hospital, shouting "Thief! Thief!" at the top of my lungs. I kept shouting and running until I reached a nurse, who asked me with a concerned voice, "What's wrong, what's the problem?" She was a tall, slim, fair woman wearing the standard white uniform - a white shirt, a white apron, and a pair of white trousers. She looked rather beautiful.
I said, looking up at her, "Someone stole the car."
I wasn't exactly dressed to impress, wearing only a black trouser. I had been running around, shouting 'Thief!' like a crazy kid.
"Oh, you mean the car you always play with? No one stole it silly. It is with John, he just arrived today. He seems like he was diagnosed with cancer. Poor kid. Maybe you can ask him for the car and you can share it. See no one stole anything little fella, so don't be going around screaming like that. As you can see this is an hospital." She spoke to me in a cute voice, but it felt like she was talking down to me, like I was just a child (not accepting the fact that I am one). I thought to myself, 'I'm not kidding, this is serious!'
"Maybe you can ask him for a shirt while you are at it?" She said with a giggle.
Honestly, I found it hard to communicate with others. He was around my age, and I saw him playing with the car. I never had the courage to talk to him, so I just went back to my ward. Every day, he would beat me to the car and spend so much time playing with it that I never got a chance to ride it.
I was discharged the hospital, after a few weeks. After then many terrible occurrence happened to me.
I lived in Lagos for a while. Now before you think I was some anti social introvert I am proud to say that I made two friends in my first primary school. Their names are Alisha and Emmanuel. We were really close and had a good relationship with one another. But that was soon cut short.
Where I lived in had security issues?Daily there were gunshots and fighting. I was practically locked in my house because of that. I and my sister were not allowed to leave the house during the day nor the night.
My parents got frustrated. My dad had brothers who were policemen so he asked them for help. Fortunately, the police arrived and arrested most of the perpetrators but some escaped. One way or another they found out we were the ones that got the police so we became the major target.
Daily we were being tormented. Either it was graffiti or breaking our windows they did it all. They did not want to rest until we end up dead.
Eventually we couldn't take it anymore so we left. We moved to Greenland Estate, Ogun State. So I had to change my school to another.
On my first day in that primary school, I wasn't really given the welcome treatment. I was just on my on minding my business when some kid walked up to me and said "From now on you are my slave!"
"Are you talking to me?" I looked right and left to make sure I am the one he is talking to.
"No, I am talking to the person at your back." He said sarcastically.
"Let me leave you to talk with him then." I said. I didn't feel like engaging in conversation about travel, so I ignored him and made my way to my seat. I rested my head on the table, trying to focus on my own thoughts and tune out the surrounding noise.
After a while I felt a light tap on my back. Just as I turned to acknowledge the tap on my back, the boy's mischievous grin flashed before me, and in a swift, unexpected move, he jabbed a pencil up my nose, leaving me shocked and speechless.
'No one walks away while I'm talking,' he said, his words dripping with malice. The pain came slowly, but it was excruciating. I bit back a scream as tears streamed down my face and blood gushed from my nose, staining my uniform.
I glanced sideways to see the teacher watching us, her expression unreadable. But she did nothing. She didn't intervene, didn't reprimand him, didn't even offer me a glance of sympathy. She just looked, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile play on her lips.
"School was a nightmare for me at one point, so I transferred to a better one in my estate. But even during holidays, accidents can happen. One Sunday morning, my nine-year-old sibling wanted to play ninja while everyone was getting ready for church. I was in my room, packing and pretending to fight an invisible enemy, when I tripped and ran out to the kitchen with my shirt over my head. That's when disaster struck. My dad was carrying a pot of hot water out of the kitchen, and I collided with him, spilling the scalding water all over me. The pain was unbearable, and all I could scream was 'Jesus! Blood of Jesus!' as I fell to the floor. My lungs felt like they were on fire. My mother rushed to my side, and my father quickly took me to the hospital.
The treatment was agonizing, and I screamed like a mad person. The scars from that day still remain. But amidst the pain, there was a silver lining - I received an outpouring of get-well wishes and visitors at the hospital. But it was at the expense of not being able to sleep properly, bathe properly, or even eat properly.
After a month, I had fully recovered and was able to put the past behind me. I successfully completed my primary school education, passing my common entrance exams with flying colors. My hard work paid off, and I was thrilled to be accepted into the most prestigious school in Mowe, Impact House College, one of the top schools in the region.
Despite being surrounded by new faces, I found myself feeling just as lonely as ever in my new school.
My junior secondary school experience was a solitary one - I'd attend classes by myself, work on assignments by myself, and eat lunch by myself. It was as if I was invisible to my classmates.
But amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, I managed to find a kindred spirit, a friend who shared my interests and sense of humor. And then, there was her - the girl who caught my eye, the one who made my heart race whenever she smiled. I had a major crush on her, but I didn't know how to express my feelings. I name was Katy. I had always loved the way she smiled, the way she expresses herself. She was beautiful.