"You will go," my mom said firmly.
"No, I won't. I'm not going," I replied.
That had been the situation in our home ever since I refused to study abroad. Every day, my mom would scold me, raising her voice and listing all the reasons why studying in Nigeria was not a good idea.
"There are better opportunities for you abroad," she said one day, her voice softening. "Better schools, better exposure. Please, I'm begging you."
But I shook my head. "I'm not going. If you keep forcing me, I'll leave. I'd rather go anywhere else than go abroad. Must I? Is it compulsory?" I burst out.
"If you want to remain in this house, then you will go abroad. That's final!" she shouted before storming out of my room.
Silence filled the space she left behind.
I hated it. Why me? Why am I the only child?
"Go abroad, go abroad"—that was all I heard every single day.
"I'm not leaving!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the house.I don't really understand why parents insist their children must go abroad to study. What is there that Nigeria cannot offer? I wondered.
.
.
.
"Mom, what's in the kitchen?" I shouted as I rushed down the stairs.
My mom was sitting on the couch, watching one of her favourite Nollywood movies.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I just want you to understand my feelings," I said, my voice heavy.
"My friend's son is back. I'd like you to meet him too," my mom replied in a cheerful tone.
"From where?" I asked.
"Abroad, of course. He travelled two years ago to study and just came back for the holidays," she said.
"I'm not interested in guys who study abroad," I muttered, looking gloomy.
"Who asked you to date him? You're getting too forward these days," my mom said sharply.
"But Mom, you said I could date after I finish school," I replied, my voice dropping.
"What school have you finished? You call secondary school 'finishing school'? Look at this child," she said in a low but firm voice.
"Okay," I said quietly.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
"They must be here," she said, suddenly excited. "I can't wait to see my son."
She hurried to the door and let the visitors in.
"What happened? It's only my daughter. You're welcome," she said warmly as she ushered in a woman and a girl about my age.
I moved closer to her and whispered, "Mom, where do you know them from?"
Then I smiled politely at the woman and her daughter.
"Stop being rude. Go and serve them snacks and drinks I made" my mom snapped . She settled on the couch with the woman and her daughter.
'What of David? How is he doing?' my mom asked in good spirits.
'He's doing well. This must be our fiancé,' she said, staring at me after I served them the snacks and drinks.
'Me? Fiancé? God forbid,' I muttered to myself as I walked into my room.
'No, it won't be possible,' I whispered into my pillow.
'Rosy, come downstairs and show her your room!' I heard my mom call loudly.
'Okay, Mom!' I shouted as I rushed downstairs.
I took the girl's hand and led her to my room. Trying to sound confident, I said, 'You see, in this house, I'm the only child. My mom takes very good care of me.'
'I can see that,' she replied as we walked in.
I expected her to comment on how spacious my room was, like my other friends always do, but she didn't say anything. She just looked around and smiled.
'By the way, what's your name?' I asked, smiling.
'Just call me Kezia,' she said, smiling back.
She seemed so different from the other girls who had come to visit before. My mom never lets me go out to play with others; instead, her friends' daughters come over, and I call them my friends.
'That's a nice name,' I said as we sat on a couch beside my bed.
'How is school, life, and everything?' I asked, unable to hide the smile on my face.
'Fine,' she replied, smiling too.
'You seem to hate the idea of my mom calling you my fiancé, right?' she asked, looking a bit gloomy.
'Yeah… you noticed that,' I said quietly."
"Its not a big deal. My mom likes joking, that's all," she said with a small smile as she walked toward my well-arranged shelf of books.
"Have you read this one?" she asked, picking out a book with a white cover titled The Eggs.
I stared at her.
"Have you read it? It's very interesting. I've read it twice already," she added, gently brushing her hand over the cover.
"No," I replied bluntly.
"Why?" she asked, surprised.
"I don't like reading stories, especially ones that don't seem real," I said.
"This book," she said, holding it up, "contains real-life situations. You need to read it, trust me—you won't regret it." Her voice softened, almost gloomy.
"Okay, I'll read it," I said, though I wasn't really interested.
I never liked reading novels. I just hated them—that's my personality. I prefer reality.
Kezia stood beside the shelf, running her fingers across the books. She picked a few, flipping through the pages, smiling to herself.
"What about your brother?" she asked.
I felt a lump form in my throat.
"You mean Dave, right? Your fiancé? He's doing well," I said.
"No, not like that. I'm just asking about him," she replied.
"He's fine. You should come to my place and see him. He hardly visits other people," she said, still checking through the books, lifting one slightly as if taking in its scent.
"My mom won't let me," I blurted out.
"Okay, no problem," she said calmly, continuing with what she was doing.
"Kezia, your mum is leaving. Come downstairs, darling!" my mom shouted from downstairs.
"That woman… she likes making noise," I muttered.
I had forgotten Kezia was still there. She just smiled and said goodbye.
I went downstairs after they had left.
"Mom," I called, walking toward the couch and sitting beside her.
"Yes, dear?" she said, looking at me.
"Mom, why is she calling me fiancé?" I asked, confused.
"Oh, she's just joking. Can't you see the smile on her face?" my mom replied.
"Mom, not again," I said.
"When did you people even start talking?" I added.
"She's the lecturer I mentioned before," she replied, continuing her movie.
"Okay," I said, standing up to go upstairs.
"Rose, one more thing—you will be going to her place soon for coaching," my mom said as I was about to climb the stairs.
"Mom?" I said in dismay.
"I'm tired of your nonchalant attitude. You are weak in your studies, and you play games all the time. I'm tired!" she shouted.
"Okay, okay, I've heard you," I said quickly as I rushed upstairs. I could still hear her laughing from downstairs.
I was well dressed in casual wear, my bag hanging on my back and my phone in my hand. I was playing a popular game that had just come out. In the game, I had to choose an opponent online to play with. I nearly screamed when my opponent was about—to defeat me.