VESSEL

The days sped by like rushing winds. Graduation loomed closer, and I found myself poring over my yearbook, unable to believe how much had happened within a year. The loss of Mum. The sudden weight of responsibility, being both sister and mother to Chinaza. The countless nights of tears, balanced by God’s steady presence. And in the middle of it all, friends who never let me sink, and Tunde, always there, always steady. At a buka opposite the university, my friends laughed and bickered around me as we shared a fruit salad. Then, like a burst of sunshine, Chinaza rushed in, her school uniform slightly crumpled, her braids bouncing. She wrapped me in a bear hug, her backpack sliding off her shoulders.  I stared at her, pride swelling in my chest. She had borne Mum’s death with a maturity beyond her years. In truth, she had comforted me more than I had comforted her. As I brushed biscuit crumbs off her uniform, I whispered a silent promise to God: I will always look out for her. ...

The rain ushered us into Christmas. Heavy drops drummed on the rooftop, wrapping the house in a cold silence. That night, none of us stayed in our rooms, we huddled together in the parlour, blankets tangled, the faint glow of the Christmas tree painting our faces in soft gold. Six weeks had passed since Mum’s departure. Six weeks of fighting back tears, six weeks of holding on to Chinaza, six weeks of watching my friends fill our home with laughter and chatter so grief wouldn’t swallow me whole. Funke busied herself in the kitchen, the smell of jollof and fried chicken filling the air. Her parents had brought the Christmas tree, and Chinaza had been giddy decorating it. Every time her tiny hands couldn’t reach the higher branches, Alfred swooped her up with a playful groan. He carried her so often that by the end, he was practically the official tree decorator. The house felt alive again; food stacked in the kitchen, laughter bouncing off the walls, and yet, beneath it all, I still fel...