Sam San's field isn't the same anymore.
A few years ago, it was the heartbeat of our little world — our own mini-stadium. We played football in threes, sometimes fours if the turnout was mad enough. The whole place throbbed with energy — boys shouting, feet kicking up dust, competition as fierce as a World Cup final.
And it wasn't just football — it was drama. Pure drama. Mothers storming in to drag their sons home mid-game, some lucky boys sprinting off laughing while the mothers of their counterparts chased them with slippers or turning sticks. The unlucky ones got caught and received instant justice right there on the pitch.
I wasn't spared either. But what I remember most aren't the goals — it's the girls who came to watch me play. Especially Gloria, the sharpest flirt in our area. I almost crossed a line with her once. Jimmy's face that day when I told him I wasn't feeling like playing, but when he saw who I was it, he had no choice but to understand— but still, the disappointment in his eyes — still stings.
Jimmy and Mikky YOYO were my brothers-in-arms. With the three of us playing together, we were almost unstoppable.
The sound of goal celebrations, the arguments over fouls, the never-ending "that one no count!" debates — that was the music of our afternoons. If not for one of those loud arguments that day, maybe I would've gone too far with Gloria.
"Ben! Ben! Werey boy!"
Chosen's voice yanked me out of my thoughts.
"You no dey go Ade's party? Wetin you dey look bayi? We don late finish!"
Chosen Dada Oluwaferanmi — who insisted we call him Dah Fey because every superstar needs a stage name — was already sweating like he'd just played a match. He was always saying he'd soon blow in the Nigerian music industry.
We argued a lot, but he was one of my realest friends. Our mums had been tight since secondary school, and maybe that's why they both settled near each other. His apartment was just off Masha — barely three minutes from mine — so we practically lived in each other's pockets.
By the time I caught up, he was stepping through the rusty old gate that guarded the field. The place had lost its shine. The community gave up on fixing it long ago — Surulere boys always had to "sign their name" on anything new with graffiti or dents.
We started heading down Paphos Drive.
"But I thought the party was for three or four p.m. naa… why are you rushing?" I said, teasing him.
"Guy, check your time," he said.
5:14 p.m.
"Ehnn, even so," I said, grinning, "better slow down before you fall and disgrace your steeze."
"Baba, free me." He shook me off with a laugh.
Near a row of vendors, he asked for directions.
"Ah, go back, take the next three streets to the left," one of them said.
He nodded, then took off like we were late for an exam.
I laughed. "So you didn't even know the way? You just wanted to stress my legs?"
Soon, we reached the gate leading to Milaj's house. Chosen pulled out his phone before I could ask for the house number.
"Bro, we don enter… Green two-storey? I see am. Omo, I see you already!"
His grin was wide as he dragged me inside.
After a round of handshakes, Milaj led us through the gate, and I started spotting familiar faces — some guys from high school, some I couldn't even place.
"Bro, you guys are sleeping over oo," Milaj said proudly. "I got the house to myself this whole summer."
Milaj was dark and skinny, all knees and elbows, while Chosen was short and round, like he'd been rolled into the world instead of born. When they walked together, they looked like a stick escorting a ball — one bouncing, one wobbling.
But somehow, they matched each other's pace perfectly. Not that it stopped me from throwing jokes their way — as if they cared. They were already too busy plotting their next mischief like two kids in trouble.
As we climbed the stairs, Chosen muttered something under his breath.
"What's wrong again?" Milaj asked, glancing at him knowingly.
Chosen sighed dramatically.
"Nothing, abeg… but since we entered your place, I haven't seen a single girl. Not one! Hope this is not an all-boys hangout o. I didn't trek all this way just to watch FIFA with your neighbors."
Milaj laughed. "Na wa for you, Chosen. Is that why you've been frowning? Relax. Wait till you get inside first."
"So that's why you were speed-walking like we were in a marathon?" I asked. "Because of girls? Abeg, I pray you actually see one you like tonight. It'll be embarrassing if we graduate and you still have zero experience."
Chosen pointed at me, grinning. "You sef, talk like say your record clean. Just pray we don't meet anyone you like tonight."
We all burst into laughter.
By the time we reached the front steps, the faint music had grown louder, until the bass practically vibrated through the concrete.
"Kai, Benjamin... Chosen don't mind this guy," Milaj said with a smirk. "Enter first, you go see something."
When he opened the door, the music exploded into the hallway, bass thumping through the floor, making the air vibrate. The house felt alive — laughter from the parlor, clinking bottles from the kitchen, the smell of fried rice, something like samosas, and chilled drinks drifting out to meet us.
"Remember I told you my twin sister promised to bring her friends?" Milaj said proudly. "Looks like word of my birthday party traveled faster than that Ewekoro wildfire!"
We both laughed as we stepped in. The parlor was busy — boys gathered around the game console like it was a stadium final. One of them celebrated like he just scored in the World Cup, while his opponent ignored him, controller tight, plotting revenge.
The music nearly drowned out the girls' laughter coming from the other rooms. The smell of fried chicken mixed with smoky suya hung in the air. One of Milaj's cousins passed us, giggling when Milaj greeted her.
Just as we were about to step into his room, my phone buzzed again. I'd been ignoring it, but when I saw the caller ID, I stopped.
"It's Mikel," I said quickly. "Give me a minute."
"Guy, abeg! Tell her you no dey do again!" Chosen yelled after me, laughing. "Stop letting these girls use you as their personal driver!"
I waved him off and stepped outside, it's my Mom actually.
The hallway was quieter. The bass dulled into a distant hum, and suddenly I could hear my own breathing.
"Mikel, what's up?" I said.
Fifteen minutes later, I was still outside, back pressed to the wall. The night air felt colder now.
Mikel had told me my dad — the same man who had walked out on me, Mum, and my little brother for another woman — was coming tomorrow.
For a moment, the sound of the party inside felt far away, like it belonged to someone else's life. My chest tightened. This was the man I'd spent years pretending didn't exist — and now he just wanted to show up?
I exhaled slowly.
"No problem, Ma. When is he coming? … Okay, Ma. I'll be home before then. Just leave the keys behind the door… Okay, bye."
I slid the phone into my pocket. My mood had shifted completely. The music sounded too loud now, too happy.
But I squared my shoulders and walked back in.
The party swallowed me whole again — the bass thudded, the laughter hit my ears, and the smell of suya wrapped around me like smoke.
"Ah! Finally!" Chosen shouted. "We thought you went home!"
Before I could answer, Milaj grinned and dragged me toward the table.
"Guy, drink this—"
And that was when I saw her.