Chapter 2 - ADE | When Love Is A Silent Song

Ade was not a believer in stereotypes, so instead, he smiled, taking that as a compliment. Ekong smiled back, the angels undoubtedly fluttering about in that heavenly smile.

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‘What do you think?’ The barber asks, jolting Ade’s thoughts back into the saloon.

When Ade looks up into the mirror, he sees that the young man is done with the shave. A very low cut with clean, sharp lines along the hairline, married with neatly trimmed edges stare back at him. The blackness of his hair, magnified by the hair dye probably applied earlier when Ade was lost in his thoughts, gives it a fuller look. Ade knows it is a thing—almost a cultural thing—in Lagos, where people ask their hair to be dyed black after each shave, but he had no idea they do it in Ghana too. He immediately resolves that he still has a lot to learn about his new environment.

The barber looks at Ade with ardor, his eyes glinting with pride. He looks like he wants a pat on his back.

‘So?’

‘It looks alright,’ Ade says.

The barber smiles. That smile!

Ade watches as he strides to the other side of the saloon to drop something. His steps, he confirms, are intentional. Like he wants Ade to notice him. He is definitely flirting with me.

With the barber out of sight, Ade looks at himself in the mirror again. This time, he examines his reflection intently, as if searching for something in those sunken eyes that stare back at him, probing for the meaning of something he isn’t quite sure of.

‘You know what? Shave it all,’ Ade calls out when the barber returns. He looks back in the mirror in time to catch the swift change on the barber’s face–a careful meander of surprise, intrigue and disbelief.

‘Yes. Shave everything, please.’

The barber stands, transfixed, almost confused. Ade nods a confirmation. Hesitantly, the barber picks up the clipper, buzzes it on and digs into what remains of Ade’s hair.

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‘What do you think about home service?’ Ade asks the barber as he observes his new look, satisfied. His scalp is smooth and even. No hair, just pronounced contours of the head with a soft sheen from the harsh light above.

‘I haven’t done it before, but I can try for you, sir,’ the barber answers.

‘Give me your contact, then. I get busy, so I will call you in for that sometimes.’

Ade stretches out his hand, offering the phone to the barber. Their eyes meet, a brief moment, charged and quiet. Ade smiles. The barber smiles too.

Yes, there is a resemblance in how the barber smiles, too, Ade thinks. Or is this one of those motivated perceptions people talk about?

‘What's your name?’ He asks as the barber hands the phone back.

‘Nii Okai.’

The name sounds very exotic to Ade’s ears. Since moving to Accra a few weeks ago, he has heard some of the most atrocious combinations of names—pleasant to hear, but tricky to pronounce. Still, this one might be the toughest yet.

‘Nee. Oka-ye,’ he tries to pronounce it. The barber laughs out loud, snorting mid-laugh. Ade gets the clue. He doesn’t attempt another pronunciation. Instead, he pulls out his wallet and brings out a new fifty-cedi note and hands it to Nii Okai.

Outside, as Ade walks down the bustling stretch of Oxford Street, the sun beats down overhead, scorching his gleaming scalp. The street roars to life around him—honking from weary, frustrated drivers and hawkers darting past, shouting for attention. In the middle of it all, he thinks of endings and beginnings—how strangely and suddenly one phase of life can morph into another, ushering in both an ending and a beginning unexpectedly.

It has been fifteen years since his friendship with Ekong ended. Whenever thoughts of him resurface, Ade finds himself wishing Ekong well, wherever he is. No, not wherever; Ade knows exactly where.

About five years ago, during what he still insists was a very non-stalking search on Facebook, he caught a glimpse of Ekong’s life. At the time, Ekong was studying Pharmacy at King’s College in London, while Ade was reading Law at the University of Ilorin. Both were pursuing their dreams just as they used to discuss on those red dusty roads on their way back from school most afternoons.

Ekong had a girlfriend, or so Ade assumed. There was one Oyibo lady in nearly all his pictures, and she was always in very intimate positions with Ekong—hugging here, holding hands there, that sort of thing. It took every fibre of Ade’s being not to send him a friend request or a ‘Hi, long time.’ But later, Ade appreciated the restraint.

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The first time Ade met Ekong, it was the start of a new term — their first year in Junior High School. It was also Ekong’s first day in the class. The year was 2004, around the same time a state of emergency was declared in central Plateau State. Ade still remembers it because it was all over the news that morning.

This is the latest news: Over 200 Muslims have been killed in Yelwa following attacks by a Christian militia. In response, Muslim youths have launched retaliatory attacks in Kano. Authorities have declared a state of emergency in Plateau State.

The newsreader on the radio, with her calm, yet authoritative tone and measured pacing, had delivered the news.

In class that morning, Ade was getting through the final chapter of Oliver Twist. He had borrowed a copy from the library during the Christmas holidays but couldn't finish it. Or more accurately, decided not to finish it, deliberately putting it off, dreading the sunshine that awaited him at the end. For some reason, the darkness in the book offered him comfort. He didn’t like how it was going to end (he had, in the past, overheard others discuss the ending—Oliver living happily in the country with his adopted father, Mr Brownlow, and his aunt, Rose Maylie). Ade was never the one for happy endings. Even as young as he was, he saw the real world as too cruel for that. Someone like him couldn’t let himself hope for happy endings.

‘Is anyone sitting here?’

Ade, not appreciating the interruption, tilted his head back awkwardly—half still looking at his book, half at the stranger standing before him. He hadn’t seen this boy before. A stranger. An intruder. Then, something caught his eye. The boy was handsome. A handsome stranger-intruder. Ade closed the book, now genuinely interested. He shook his head in response to the earlier question and shifted to the side. The boy slipped past him, making his home next to Ade.

After the boy had sat down, searching for something in his bag, Ade managed to have a proper look at him, mostly stealing glances. He was young. Same age, Ade assumed. Marked by those boyish quirks that most boys had—slouched, awkward posture; unable to sit still, right leg bouncing rhythmically under the table, a restless energy that seems impossible to contain. But fourteen favoured him. An early bloomer. Hairy. Fit with broad shoulders. Tall. Dark. The most gracious dark skin Ade had seen on someone. And he wore it so well. Every part of him came together to form a wholesome wholeness. He was very opposite in looks to Ade. Ade had fair skin, which appeared smooth but too delicate. His face retained a boyish roundness with scattering freckles across his nose. His frame was slight and narrow, his shoulders barely broadening.

‘You could just ask, you know?’ he said, startling Ade.

‘Huh?’

‘Instead of staring? You can just ask.’

‘I am not…,’

The boy turned to face Ade. As if to properly position himself to catch Ade in his lies. Ade knew not to go with the lie. The boy laughed. Or smiled. Or just showed his teeth. Ade was too distracted by how heavenly he looked with that laughing-smiling-teeth-showing action to determine which one it was.

‘Ekong. Yes, I am new. Transferred from a school in Kano. Because of the whole…you know, wahala there.’

‘I am Ade. And one to avoid.’

‘Why?’ Ekong laughed. ‘Avoid the smartest person in the class? No, thank you,’ he added.

Ade didn’t bother to ask how Ekong knew he could potentially be smart.

Ade was the stereotypical nerd you read about in books and saw being pushed against walls in movies. Head always stitched in a book. Oversized, thick-rimmed Glasses. Well-ironed uniforms. Always by himself.

Ade was not a believer in stereotypes, so instead, he smiled, taking that as a compliment. Ekong smiled back, the angels undoubtedly fluttering about in that heavenly smile. That was when Ade felt it for the first time. That alien feeling that jumps awake in you for others. The feeling that makes you in want of air, yet a look at them makes your lungs full of it. Those thumping and kicking, and jumping of the heart. The hustling of blood, which made you lightheaded. All those swoon-worthy things he rolled his eyes at when he read them in books. Ade couldn’t believe they were happening to him. What was worse, for another boy! A boy he had just met. Trying to mask his unease and fear, Ade smiled. Ekong smiled back. The angels began to sing.

↭

Ade’s walk from the barbershop leads him to the beach. As the waves crash forcefully against the shore, a flood of memories of Ekong overwhelms him. He diverts his thoughts, focusing on redemption instead. He acknowledges the shame that’s lingered for years, the weight of everything that happened fifteen years ago. But now, he realizes: one cannot be content with not being content. Everyone deserves happiness, and if you put in the work, you will find that you can make yourself happy. Even if it is just briefly. It would be a work in progress, but it would be something.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Ade flips the lock open and swipes, searching for something. After a few moments, he finds it —the Facebook app. He opens it, clicks on the search bar, and types: Ekong Unwana.

A few seconds later, there it is—a Facebook account.

Without thinking, Ade clicks the ‘Add Friend’ button. Right next to it is the ‘Message’ button. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He clicks it and types the message:

Hey, Long time. This is Ade.

Ade stares at it, his breath steadying as a storm of emotions brews inside him. It is done. No turning back. He thinks.

In a quick, careless motion, Ade pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it. His pants follow, kicked off hastily, leaving his bare body exposed to the open air. The sea breeze, soft and cool, sweeps around him. He runs, dashing into the lukewarm water, the waves crashing against his skin. The tide rolls gently around him as he swims. Floating on his back, the water cradles him. His limbs outstretched as if surrendering to the power of the sea, something in him takes flight.

Above, the sky burns with the colours of the twilight—streaks of orange hues, bleeding into the horizon, beckoning the end of the day.

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Thank you for reading this chapter!

Chapter 3 drops next Friday.

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Should Ade have messaged Ekong after all these years?

What would you have done in his shoes?

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