VESSEL

  The holiday swiftly faded, and the dawn of a new school session settled upon the students. Bags were dusted, boxes aired out, and provisions bought from bustling markets in preparation for resumption. She sat across from her two beautiful daughters, who looked almost unbothered by what she was about to say. Just as she parted her lips to begin, Mama Rufus stepped onto the balcony, dusting her blue slippers. “My sister, I am so sorry. I had some errands to run. We can proceed.” Their resemblance was striking, like cold and fire, calm and flame. Mama Yola gave her sister a firm look and adjusted her wrapper.  “I am happy that you both are…” she paused, glancing at the two girls seated opposite each other, “…at the very least, cordial. And you will be heading back to school together. Do not forget your teachings and your prayers. God is always with you and for you. Please, be safe.” A chorused response rose and gently died down. Mama Rufus offered a prayer for them and bade the...

The walk down the ‘nice path,’ as Mena had called it, was not quite as nice as she had made it sound. The path narrowed quickly, swallowed by overgrown shrubs that brushed against their arms as they walked. Dry leaves crunched beneath their feet, while stubborn roots rose from the earth like quiet warnings. Yet, there was life everywhere; wild, untamed, and quietly beautiful. Ziba smiled as she watched Mena and Amena playfully push one another near a cherry tree, its branches heavy with small, red fruit. She felt a warmth settle in her chest, a warmth that seldom came, and even more rarely stayed. “What’s going on in your mind, Ziba? Walk faster.” Ziba hastened her steps and joined the two girls. … Friends?  She smiled to herself. The path, though bushy, was rich with life. They passed clusters of cherries, soft hibiscus blooms swaying gently in the breeze, and rows of leafy vegetables stretching toward the light. It was as though the earth here refused to hold back its goodness. M...

“I remember you saying you don’t stay too far, so I decided to visit. It was actually Amena’s idea.” Mena stared at the two beautiful ladies standing at her doorway and could only mumble in embarrassment. “I’m surprised you have no reply,” Amena said with a smile as she studied Mena’s shocked countenance. Mena was still wrapped in a faded sleeping scarf that struggled to contain her sharp-edged 4C puff. A toothbrush hung awkwardly from the corner of her mouth, white foam of toothpaste betraying the rush in which she had opened the door. Behind her, Papa burst into laughter. Mena instantly knew he was part of the setup. She finally gathered enough courage to step aside and let them in. She flashed Papa a knowing smile as he gently excused himself from the parlour after exchanging pleasantries with the ladies. She had been a constant ringtone in Papa’s ears lately, complaining about how bored and unhappy she felt. She had no idea how Papa arranged this surprise visit, but she was gratefu...

A concrete bungalow with a zinc roof, potted plants on the porch, a roughed-up bicycle leaning against the wall, a swept dirt path with patches of green grass, all of it told her she was standing in the place she now called home. Ziba was grateful for the holiday break and already knew she would stay shut in her room. But knowing Mama Yola, and now Amena, that would never be possible. Amena had kept things light on their first day of meeting, and Ziba appreciated that. But she knew the doggedness of Mama Yola, and she also knew there was a strength still coming, one not yet revealed. Amena had asked to see her again a day before she travelled. Ziba kept wondering why Amena was keeping it so cordial, as though they wouldn’t cross paths again in the village. “I have to pack up. It’s a long break, after all,” she said, looking at Mena, who had continued to disturb the waiter for another banana bread crust. “Please, I just need two hours to discuss some personal matters. Mama Yola is only ...

Mena poked suspiciously at Amena’s phone as it beeped on the cafeteria table for the umpteenth time and asked, for the umpteenth time, "w hy aren’t you picking Bro. Chima’s calls?” Ziba smiled awkwardly at Amena and mouthed a quiet, “I’m sorry." When Ziba had agreed to lunch before travelling in two days’ time, she had failed to mention that Mena would tag along. Ziba had invited Mena as a common ground. Th ough she hadn’t told Mena why she wanted her to come along, Mena was more than happy. For her, it was confirmation of acceptance into a friendship with Ziba. Mena had been surprised when she received the text:  “Hey, it’s Ziba. I’m meeting up with someone. It’s uncomfortable for me, but necessary. I would appreciate the emotional support. Thanks." Ziba didn’t add, “ …emotional support from a friend ,” but Mena felt the unspoken. A s she dressed, she chose a floral, mid-length pinafore gown. Her radiant, medium-deep brown skin glowed beneath the burgundy fabric. Her fu...

Ziba left as soon as assignments were dished out and attendance was taken by the class rep. She sighed at the sight of the road leading into the University of Tenja. It was always busy. Dust hung lightly in the air, stirred up by motorcycles, old cars, and the constant movement of people going in and out of the campus.  On both sides of the road, small wooden stalls were arranged closely together, selling fruits, vegetables, grains, and everyday household items. Traders called out to passersby, their voices blending into the noise of engines, footsteps, and conversation. Motorcycles moved in and out of traffic, carrying students, traders, and workers. An old green car pushed forward slowly, its horn sounding as it tried to make space through the crowd. Students walked in groups, some in uniforms, others in casual clothes, talking as they made their way toward the campus. In the distance, the semi-new buildings of the University of Tenja stood clearly. The halls were still fresh wit...

She had kept up her end of the promise with the picture of Ziba her mother had given her, but time was running out. The holidays were coming up, and she knew she had let Mama Yola down. Their last conversation had left Mama Yola sad and bothered, while she had reassured her that God would not forget His own. She took a shortcut from the Agriculture Department to get to Life Science and then turned abruptly to cross the road. A car blared in anger, and she raised her hand to apologise as it sped past. Her focus shifted back to the road as her shoulder gently brushed against another lady.  She hurried to the other side and continued brooding. She hated disappointing her mum, but she also felt a knot of worry, what if Ziba rejected her offering of sisterhood? Amena sighed as she entered her borrowed course hall, the last one before the school holidays commenced. Deep down, she also didn’t want to extend the friendship; she was already known by a lot of people she hadn’t planned for. “...

  Did I ever tell my Sunny Wednesdays and Vessel Blog readers that I’m an ambivert? I am. And it was actually my husband who helped me understand the word while we were courting. An ambivert is someone who naturally balances traits of both introverts and extroverts, comfortable in social spaces, and equally comfortable in solitude. So last Saturday, I decided to step out of my comfort zone, put on my slay corporate mama style, and attend: ELEVATE 1.0 – RESTED, RICH & RESTORED: A Modern Woman’s Guide to Balance. It was held both onsite and online, and I was privileged to be among the 25 physical women selected to attend the live event. The Slay Before the Slay 😌 The convener, Mrs. Adetutu Ogunsanwo (Boss Lady Global), a full slay yummy mummy had us in a community group. I was thanking God there was no dress code… only to be shocked 😭 She didn’t just pick a dress code, she also shared style inspiration pictures. As the non-slay community babe that I am daily trying to escape f...

The University of Tenja was made up mostly of children from neighbouring villages, with only a handful of students who had travelled in from faraway places. Amena often wondered what would make anyone journey so far from civilisation just to attend the University of Tenja. For people like her, children of the surrounding villages, Gumba Village and Tenja had always been their only access to education. Now that Gumba Village lay in ruins, the younger children had been left without a place to receive even their most basic schooling. She knew her mother would already be searching for solutions, thinking of ways to help the villages secure a place where the children could read, learn, and write. That burden was no small feat, and it made Mama Yola even more recognisable, so recognisable that Amena found it impossible to blend into a school she had hoped to quietly disappear into. Questions followed her everywhere. “You look like Mama Yola. Are you Mama Yola’s daughter?” “Are you from the R...

Mena remembered the exact moment Ziba went stone-cold during Prof. Linda’s History class. T he memory returned as she rubbed face cream into her skin, standing before the mirror, preparing for bed.  Apart from Papa—who she was always on calls with, Ziba was the only second person she truly connected with. Papa used to say, “Choose your friends first before they choose you.” I wish the part where Ziba chooses me comes sooner, she thought. S he wondered why Ziba had reacted that way to a historical event. It had felt personal, or so she thought.  Shrugging off the thought, she reminded herself that she and Ziba were not on that level of friendship to ask such questions. She heaved a sigh, finished her night routine, whispered her prayers, and let the night breeze do its quiet magic. Ziba did not have the luxury of quiet. S he fumed in her room, hurling her textbooks at the wall. She needed somewhere to pour her anger, and for now, her books bore the weight of it. Her phone ...

 “God is always faithful. I am glad I know He can be trusted,” Felicia smiled, revealing that charming gap tooth that had caught Bro. Wale’s attention from the start. “If Bro. Wale catch that smile, ehen?” Amena laughed, watching Felicia’s cheeks bloom into a bright, warm colour. She always knew how to make her friend shine. “Leave me joor. Will I see you at the next fellowship meeting?” Felicia asked, joy radiating as she held Amena’s hand. “Sure,” Amena replied softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. Felicia beamed, her energy infectious. Amena watched her, quietly fascinated by how the love for fellowship seemed to fill Felicia with life. They were neighbours in what they jokingly called the best off-campus building. Their bond had grown from shared frustrations; no water, flickering lights, the struggle for transport to the university, but more importantly, they were united in their love for God. Amena knew Felicia genuinely believed she was deeply rooted in Christ. What Fe...

“These texts are brutal. I wonder how you do it,”  she said, her eyes holding a trace of amusement at how her friend calmly worked through the tons of ‘little’ assignments, as Prof. Wale liked to call them. Ziba smiled. “I’m not a bookworm, oh. I just dedicate myself to it, that’s all. It keeps my mind engaged.” She had noticed how Mena had gradually infused herself into her life, too smoothly, too easily. Ziba hated it, yet she did not know how to gently wade her off. Over the next couple of days, she deliberately sat far off in class, but Mena always managed to fish her out. Today was one of those days. “When will you agree to have lunch with me, na? I know a nice buka on campus,” Mena smiled. She was genuinely intrigued by the dedication Ziba gave to her studies, and she knew she needed a fraction of that discipline to ace her grades. Ziba smiled back. “Soon. I will agree soon.” Mena had a sixth sense, she knew she wasn’t entirely welcome in Ziba’s space, but she also wasn’t com...