“If any of those boys come near you, I’ll beat them senseless” you would always say. Of course I’d laugh it off, to you every boy had an ulterior motive. I was barely 12 years old, all sticks and bones, why would any boy want to come near me?
Now I’m 14, and in SS1, little fleshy

mounds growing on my chest, my hips flaring out and my body slowly shaping into that curvy nubile form every female wants. And I am currently dragging you off my boyfriend. “Dayo please, shey you want to kill him ni?!” I kept screaming. You were a senior in SS3, the labor prefect

and one of your friends, Ifeanyi, who had been trying to get me to date him secretly behind your back, snitched to you out of spite because I rejected him. Now you and your bullheaded friends are trying to kill the love of my life!
“Please don’t tell mom” you furiously begged, I

eyed senior Toyosi as she hurriedly adjusted her skirt without meeting my eyes. I thought of how you almost killed my boyfriend earlier that week and I almost snitched on you. Almost. I bet you were just doing it. Iya Dayo would definitely behead you. I thought of how now, my

boyfriend earlier that week and I almost snitched on you. Almost. I bet you were just doing it. Iya Dayo would definitely behead you. I thought of how now, my boyfriend won’t even speak to me anymore and is always with Anita in class. But I walked away, to me it never happened.

I didn’t see you hurriedly drag your hand from inside senior Toyosi’s shirt. I didn’t see her hurriedly push your dick back in your pants. Nah I didn’t see any of that cuz I’m the better sibling. God help her, let her or any of her friends try to punish me for anything.
Now

you’re visiting from Uni and I am preparing for my WAEC exams, you had this new swagger about you, you seemed cooler and won’t shut up about how you can’t wait to have me in UNILAG with you so you can keep those “boys” away from me. I vowed there and then to go as far as

physically possible from UNILAG. You kept making mom smile, ah Iya Dayo sure has missed her son. Her charming handsome boy, the one she has always loved and doted on.
The one she always claims will buy her a big house and a big car and take her to see the world. The one she

calls her little husband, the big husband died in a car accident when I was a baby. “Oko mi, shey I should add more rice?” She would ask, I would laugh because you have barely finished the one that’s currently on your plate. Her doting on you took all the attention off me so I

was not complaining, in fact, I rather enjoy watching you squirm as she babies you. Her son whom she claims to be the exact replica of our dad, even though I’ve spent ages in front of dad’s portraits and the resemblance isn’t anything spectacular. Her son who was graduating from

UNILAG in a matter of months and has because of that began to call herself “mama doctor” to all our neighbors.
My brother who defiantly insisted on checking my books for me on open day and filled in for mom because she was sick. Even though he was just a student himself, he

fought my teacher and won so I don’t feel left out.
My brother who came to my faculty (yes I ended up in UNILAG) to beat up Tijani Yusuf because he pushed me after I turned down his advances and refused to be his flavor of the week.
My brother who fought the portals to enter my

medications for my cramps and see for himself that I’ll be okay.
My brother who spent his entire life filling in for my dad. Iya Dayo’s only son, my only brother.
Egbon mi. Dead.
I stood there staring like I was in a trance, watching my brother’s beat up lifeless body. My

doctor to be, my hero, my mother's Oko mi. I looked at the SARS official that most likely called us to come and carry our yahoo yahoo son. The same one that watched you die. They stopped you in your Uber on your way to school and asked you to confess to fraudulent acts you didn’t

commit. Of course you refused and they proceeded to beat the crap out of you. They insisted you were a yahoo boy because how else can you afford an iPhone, then they took you to the nearest ATM and when they saw you didn’t have a lot in your account, they beat you up some more

and locked you in an airtight van with other unfortunate people like you. My asthmatic brother. You begged to be let out for air but they said you were acting drama and watched you die.
Egbon mi. Iya Dayo’s Oko mi. Our doctor. Gone.
End

I wrote this story high for the #EndSARS campaign back then. It is completely fictional but let’s never forget this is somebody’s reality.