Every eye was on Mr. John to see where he would direct Esther to sit. Sandra had just been transferred from another school to my school. She joined us in Primary 5.
After giving her the opportunity to introduce herself to the class, which she did in Queens English, Mr. John pointed to my seat for her to join me. Each seat is meant for two pupils, and my seat and two others had one occupant each before the arrival of Esther. Why must it be my seat? I murmured as Sandra took steps to join me.
I hated seeing students from the city join us, especially in my class. The last time it happened, the new pupil displaced me from my traditional first position in the class. Mike, the new pupil, became the best student while I was maintaining a distant second. With the composure and grammar coming out of Esther's mouth, I believed that she had what it took to relegate me to third place.
She dropped her bag in a drawer behind the class and joined me on the seat.
"Good morning," she greeted me with a contagious smile that revealed her unblemished teeth.
I mumbled through my nose in response.
I sat at the edge of the seat, giving her the maximum gap. Whatever Esther did was anything but impressive to me. I dislike someone overshadowing my shine. Mike did. And now Esther.
At the end of school for the day, we hopped on the school bus. Esther was the new bride for everyone. Other pupils were frolicking around her. Her accent in English was magnetic. I found nothing funny. All I wanted was to see Esther out of the competition for the best in the class.
The bus dropped other pupils across the town before heading to my estate as the last point of stoppage. Having Esther in the car to that point showed that we were living on the same estate. I alighted before Esther.
The relationship was anything but cordial on my end. All her efforts to strike up a conversation or come close to me in any way were rebuked.
Three weeks later, continuous assessment tests were conducted across all the subjects, and each teacher read out our performance in class.
"Esther Olotu, 19," the mathematics teacher announced her the highest scorer in my favorite subject.
I got 15. My eyes were red.
Esther was not only a queen of English; she was equally a genius in mathematics—in fact, in all other subjects. My prediction came to pass.
"I will make this class very uncomfortable for you," I whispered to her while returning home in the school bus.
"Why?" She asked with a shaky voice.
I uttered no further words.
A few hours after arriving home, I was lying down in my room when I heard someone asking in anger, "Where is that boy? Where is the boy who wants to make school uncomfortable for my daughter?"
I peeped through my window and saw Esther pointing a finger at my house while the mother trailed her from behind. She loses her wrapper and ties it many times.
From my bed, I could sense trouble. I rushed to the living room, where my mom was seated earlier. We went outside together.
We met Esther's mom ranting unstop. "Where are the boy and his mother? Let's do it woman to woman," she took position, depicting readiness for a fight.
"What is the problem, madam? Let's talk it out. We don't need to inherit children's fights," my mom responded.
Esther's mom went silent for some seconds, with her eyes fixated on my mom.
"Professor!" Esther's mom screamed.
"Bethel!" my mom screamed in return.
They hugged each other tightly while Esther and I looked on. "It has been a lot of years, Prof."
I was confused by the new title of professor for my mom. My mom was a practicing pharmacist and was not, in any way, a university teacher. The issue that brought Esther's mom, Bethel, was relegated to the back as the two secondary schoolmates walked hand in hand to our living room.
"How has life been with you?" Bethel asked my mom.
"I thank God for life," my mom began. "Two years after we departed, I enrolled at the university to study pharmacy. I have been practicing since I graduated and was inducted into the profession."
"You are not looking bad at all. You refused to allow the professor title to stick with you," Bethel responded while they laughed out loud.
"My boy," she called to me. "Your mom was the best student in our secondary school days. She was so good that we gave him the title of professor. She was the saving grace for many of us in mathematics and science."
"You still remember the good old days," my mom cuts in. "Since I lost contact with you, I have never been able to get another friend and confidant like you. But your face that I saw now isn't the same as the one that I knew. What did my son do to provoke you that much?"
"Your son said that he would make life uncomfortable for my daughter."
"The two of you are brothers and sisters. Fate has brought you to the same school just like we, your parents, schooled together." "John," my mom said to me. "I don't know when you started exhibiting such intolerance. Two of you should do things in unison."
"Do you have student power in your kitchen? Let's prepare formula 2 custard," Bethel requested.
My mother went to the kitchen to prepare Formula 2 custard. It is prepared from baked cassava flour. The baked flour is mixed with warm water in an appropriate proportion to arrive at a molten state.
Everyone was served, but Esther and I spit it out when we had a taste of it.
"What is this?" I screamed with a squeezed face.
"This was our regular morning delicacy whenever we ran out of provisions and money," my mom explained.
The nostalgic moments continued with the admiration from Esther and me.
My experience that day was enough for me to embrace Esther as my sister. I ceased to see her as a competitor but as a peer with whom I could achieve greater things.
The journey to creating nostalgic moments in the future began between the two of us.
