Warrior........ A Story (Part 1)

 Hey Lovelies! Been a while I wrote a story and this one is an ode to my late friend Oluwanishola Orimoloye Tiamiyu. Keep resting in power baby girl. I'll forever love you. Happy Post Humous Birthday

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“Wura… we lost Temitope.” Well find her, she thought.

“Wura, you need to listen… she didn’t make it, but the baby did.”

Her vision blurred for what felt like three whole minutes before the biggest wail erupted from somewhere deep within her.

B knew Wura hadn’t heard. He broke the news as simply, as factually, and as compassionately as he could.

For days afterwards, Wura drifted through what she would later call the “Tope-Daze.”

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"She has sickle cell? why didn't you tell me?" Mrs O yelled, her voice thick with astonishment.

Wura stood there, completely confused by the outburst.

She had left Temitope at Mrs O’s house while she went for choreography practice. The plan was simple: Temitope would meet her around school afterwards, and together they’d head for drama rehearsals.

Gathering herself, Wura replied,

“She doesn’t like people knowing she’s SS, ma. What happened?”

If looks could bury people alive, Wura would have been six feet under already.

Mrs O, being the quintessential Nigerian mummy, gave her the kind of stare that immediately lets you know you’ve committed an unforgivable offence.

“You left here without telling me she was SS! If I had known, I wouldn’t have allowed her help with the house cleaning. She was sweeping behind the television when she started coughing and nearly fainted.”

Wura couldn’t help but laugh. If only Mrs O knew what a warrior Tope truly was, she probably wouldn’t have raised so much alarm.

Wura sighed in relief.

“But… did she faint, ma?”

“No.”

“Then why are you worried, ma?”

Considering the distance between them, Wura never saw the slipper coming until it landed squarely on the back of her head.

“Ouch! Ma, at this rate, I’ll be the one fainting for real o!” she laughed.

The deadly Nigerian mummy stare returned.

Wura, completely unfazed, teased even more. “Ma… did you do Shot Put or Javelin in secondary school?”

Mrs O, now fully charged and thoroughly rage-baited, lunged after Wura, who took off running while laughing uncontrollably.

Rage-baiting African mums and aunties was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Eventually, Wura found Temitope in the little “books” room.

First day in the house, and somehow she had already found Wura’s favourite spot just from its description.

The room was overflowing with books—arranged, disarranged, stacked and scattered—but somehow still spacious enough to fit a single bed, a standing fan and a mini fridge.

Without question, it was the best room in Mrs O’s expansive bungalow.

In true Ayo warrior fashion, she looked exhausted, yet wore the bravest smile.

“So… when are we going for drama rehearsals?” she asked, deliberately ignoring the worry written all over Wura’s face.

“Are you okay? Have you eaten? Did you bring your medications?”

Temitope answered yes to every question. 

“Good. Then who sent you to carry heavy things? Why did you overwork yourself? Do you want another hospital admission? We only got discharged three days ago.”

Temitope opened her mouth to defend herself.

Wura wasn’t finished.

“You are so stubborn. Do you want me to call Daddy again? Do you want him driving all the way from Lagos to Ilishan because of you?”

She had gotten her.

At the mention of her father, Temitope melted like butter.

She knew her dad would abandon everything and make that journey, even in the middle of the night.

He had done it before.

“I’m sorry.” Temitope finally surrendered.

“Sorry for yourself.” The most Nigerian response imaginable.

Now Wura had to decide whether Temitope was truly fit enough for rehearsals.

The chapel’s major production was approaching. The entire drama team would be waiting, especially because both of them had major roles, and Wura, as Assistant Drama Coordinator, couldn’t afford delays.

Her mind drifted back to the day they first met.

She and IBK, the Drama Coordinator, had organised auditions.

After several performances that ranged from underwhelming to merely okay, in walked this tall, lanky, beautiful young lady.

The audition script was simple.

A wife receives a phone call informing her that her husband has been involved in a ghastly accident.

No one could have predicted what happened next.

Temitope picked up the phone……

and gbam!

The entire 5’8” of her collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

Wura and IBK rushed over to help her up, dust her off and make sure she was alright.

She got the role immediately.

How could anyone have guessed she was an SS warrior?

That audition marked the beginning of an instant friendship, made even sweeter when they discovered they were studying the same course.

The memory dissolved, gently pulling Wura back to the present.

“Tope…”

Wura called softly.

“Do you really think you can make rehearsals?”

“Yes.”

Temitope answered without hesitation.

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