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About five kilometers away from our house lived Chief Adegoroye, a respected old man whose fame spread beyond our village. His son, Doctor Badmus, was a big politician in the city — the type whose name alone could open doors. It was during one of the big village festivals that Doctor Badmus returned home with his gorgeous granddaughter, Eniola — a girl so fine that if beauty were water, she would be an ocean.
Eniola wasn't impressed by our dusty village at first. Her eyes darted around like she was checking if malaria was flying in the air. But she smiled when she saw her grandfather, and you could tell that was why she agreed to come at all.
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Three days before the festival, I was dragging my legs home from school. Since nobody liked pairing up with me, I walked alone, kicking small stones to entertain myself. It was a childish habit, but it made the long road feel shorter.
As I reached a wooden bridge, I noticed a figure ahead — a girl with skin that almost glowed, standing there like she owned the bridge. My mind did a slow dance. I had never seen someone so polished.
Just then — crack! The wooden plank she stepped on gave way, and she fell into the water. She screamed, arms flailing like a confused chicken. The other students nearby stood frozen. Some held their heads, probably calculating if they would survive the rescue better than she would.
I didn't even know how I entered that river. Maybe it was my legs that loved wahala. All I knew was that the cold wrapped me up like a wet wrapper. I grabbed her cloth tight with one hand, and with the other I tried to hold a big stone by the riverbank to steady us. But that stone was slippery, covered with that green water moss that grows in many African streams — the moment my palm touched it, it slid right off. Maybe that's what betrayed us, making us slip deeper into the water. Then — darkness.
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When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on a small bamboo mat inside a mud hut. Two men with worried faces hovered over me. They seemed relieved to see me awake.
First Man: smiling broadly "Ah! Thank God. He has finally woken up. This life ehn."
Second Man: nodding with a small laugh "Yes o. You people nearly went to meet your ancestors together."
I tried to sit up, my head still spinning like someone who drank burukutu on an empty stomach.
First Man: "Stand up small-small. Here, eat some mango fruit. Your sister is also awake. You'll see her soon."
My sister? They must have thought that since they found us tangled together in the river, we were brother and sister.
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Just then, a young woman entered with Eniola, holding her gently by the hand. Eniola's eyes were still red, her hair clinging to her damp face. She looked at me, then quickly looked away.
Young Woman: smiling "See your sister is fine too. Both of you are lucky o."
The men turned to me, satisfied, as if they had tied up the whole story nicely.
First Man: "So what is your name, boy?"
I only scratched my head and kept quiet.
They looked at each other, shook their heads and sighed.
Second Man: "Just thank God one of us caught you inside that water, else by now your people would have been planning burial."
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Not long after, Eniola's people came rushing with her father, her grandfather Chief Adegoroye, and some elders. They already knew that Eniola had fallen into the river, and that a boy tried to save her. But when they arrived, their attention was only on Eniola. They checked her head, her arms, her breathing — without even glancing properly at me, the half-dead boy on the mat.
They carried her away quickly, still fussing over her, as if I was just one small log of wood pulled from the river along with her.
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It was later, after they had gone, maybe when they were halfway home or even that night, that Chief Adegoroye and Doctor Badmus realized their mistake. It must have struck them that they didn't even thank the strange boy who risked his life for their daughter. By then, the whole village already knew the story — how Eniola was almost claimed by the river, and how another child went after her like goat following palm fronds.
Twenty minutes later, my own parents arrived and carried me home, fussing over me like I was an egg about to crack.
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End of Chapter 2