₦airaland Forum

*****
The heat in the kitchen was suffocating.
Windows thrown wide open, but the air barely moved.
Sein stood at the stove in a crisp white kanzu, moving like he owned the place. Deo was at the counter, onions flying under his knife. Fast. Precise. He was watching.

Joke aside, Sein was dangerous in a kitchen. It was in his blood.
Deo had memorized every flick of his wrist, every pinch of spice. Simple moves. But they turned plain food into something people paid for. No wonder the high-end Muslim restaurant had snatched him up.

“Hey,”* Sein said over his shoulder, smiling. “What are we eating?”
“Dry fry. Ugali. And greens, if you want to pretend we’re healthy,” Deo shot back, grinning.
“Brace yourself,” Sein said, sliding the pan toward him. “You’re head chef today.”

Sein talked him through it. But Deo’s version lacked something.
“It’s close,” Sein said, tasting. “You just need more practice to get that edge.”

They ate in silence for a while. The clink of spoons was too loud.

Deo set his spoon down.
“Alright. Stop dodging. What happened with you and Bella? I thought you two were solid.”

Sein didn’t look up.
“Leave that ungrateful brat out of it.”

“Ungrateful how?” Deo pressed.
“She acts like a saint,” Sein scoffed. “Smart. Pick and choose. But selfish at the end of the day.”
He trailed off before he could say the rest.

Deo caught it.
“You mean she wouldn’t give in?”
He said it deliberately. He knew Sein didn’t keep secrets from him.

Sein finally met his eyes.
“Man, please. We were already past that.”
A lie. Deo knew Sein’s phone like the back of his palm. He’d seen the timestamps, the unsent drafts, the way Bella kept pulling back.

“Then why drop her?” Deo leaned back. “You two looked good together. I was already picturing it. You. Her. Years from now.”

For half a second, regret flickered across Sein’s face. Then it was gone.

Silence again. Heavy this time.
Deo exhaled slow.
“You know what? That’s your mess. Not mine.”
He paused. Let it hang.
“But since we’re being honest… when were you going to tell me about you and Zena have been f@#ckin? Or should I wait until after you sell my Kiwi project too?”

Sein choked.
Soup sprayed across the table. His eyes went wide.
He froze. Fork halfway to his mouth. Caught.

Sein knocked on the door with relentless urgency.
“Man, we’re going to be late!”

Deo had heard him from the first knock.
But he took his time. He needed to put on his mask. The one that had kept him safe for years.

He turned the key. The door clicked open. Sein slipped in immediately.
“Hope you charged my phone. We’re going to need it,” he said, already thumbing the power button. “Thank God you’re a lifesaver. Our line isn’t back yet. I’m glad I left it with you.”

He paused and studied Deo.
“You look—”
“Nothing,” Deo cut him off.

Before Sein could finish, Deo’s phone rang.
The screen flared to life: 'Sein's Honey Bunch'

The air in the room went still.

Deo held the phone out to him. His voice was even.
“Sorry. It’s for you.”

“Who is it?”
“You won’t know if you don’t answer,” Deo replied, dry.

Sein glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened.
“I thought I told you not to call me. Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it—”
His voice trailed off as he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him for privacy.

Deo stood there.
_Sein's Honey Bunch._
That was how Sein had saved her. Possessive. Tender. A lie.

The same Bella who had no idea she was sharing him.
Poor girl. She thought she was the only one.
She was holding back because she wanted it to mean something.
Sein had run out of patience.

Guilt flickered in his chest. He buried it.
_They did worse._

It had been a short night. After the 1 a.m. notifications, sleep never came. He’d read everything on that phone.

Sein came back in and tossed the phone to him.
“Here. Thanks. Delete that number and block it for me.”

“Easy, man. What happened to 'Honey Bunch'? I thought you two were lovey-dovey.”
“I’m done,” Sein said flatly.

His phone buzzed as they climbed into the matatu.
“Hey Firdaus,” he answered, his face shifting instantly. A practiced, easy smile.
His tone went soft. Flirtatious.

_Birds of the same feather,_ Deo thought.
From the snippets he caught, it was clear. They had a date tomorrow.

The matatu lurched forward. Deo stared out the window.

Then his phone vibrated.
Bella: _hey_
Bella: _Hey Deo, I need your help._

His jaw tightened.

He opened it.
“Anything. Except playing referee between two people who’ve seen each other naked 😂”
Send.

Bella: _Lol! 😂 That’s not why I’m texting. Our DVD player is acting up. Need your expertise. Are you free?_

Deo: _Can’t today. Got a gig I have to do till evening._

Bella: _What about tomorrow?_

Deo: _I’ve got a physics paper to finish. School resumes in a week. Why don’t you ask Joska? He’ll sort you out._

Bella: _Please, Deo. That guy ruined our last TV. I don’t trust him. Here’s the deal: you fix the DVD and I’ll pay you double. Triple, even. And I’ll help you with physics and math. I’m good at them, I promise. I can send you proof from my last paper. Just say the word._

Deo stared at the screen.
“Deal. 8 a.m. tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
He sent it casually.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t do his own notes. He’d done it before. Missing classes for tuition had become normal for him.

Bella: _Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise. Noted: 8 a.m. Have a nice day, Deo._

He could hear the excitement in her text.
He exhaled and slid the phone back into his pocket.

“We’re here,” Sein said, suddenly bright again. He’d just ended his call with Firdaus.
Deo didn’t answer.
---

Zena couldn’t hide it.
Excitement lit her face. Her eyes were bright, her lips parted like she had words waiting but couldn’t let them out.

Her friends made it worse.

“Same for me!” one called from the back, grinning and nudging the other.

Sein smiled.
But it was thin. It didn’t reach his eyes.
Deo felt it before he saw it — a cold flicker that dropped straight into his stomach.

“You don’t want it ruined, do you?”Deo asked, keeping his voice even. His hands weren’t.
“Got a dryer?”

“One sec,” one of Zena’s friends said. She returned quickly with a small hair dryer.

Deo worked carefully. He dried the paste, peeled the edges he didn’t want, left the lines he did — darker, deeper, more baked. He finished with a light wrap so nothing would smudge.
His fingers kept coming close to Zena’s. He could feel the heat of her skin, the faint scent of henna.

When he was done, he stepped back.
That’s when the music changed.

Not wedding music. Not club music.
Something older. Heavier. It hit him in the chest first.

“Hey Deo,” Sein cut in, too loud, too casual. Phone in hand.
“Bella’s trying to reach me. My phone’s dead. Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure.”
Deo handed him the Nokia C1 without looking at him.

Sister Club took the floor.
The drums spoke. The singer answered. Her voice slid over the beat and the backup girls caught it and threw it back. Perfect timing. Perfect breath.

“That’s Sister Club,” Sein said when he returned the phone. His fingers lingered half a second too long.
“Your girl’s in there.”
“She’s not my girl,” Deo said.
“Not yet,” Sein grinned. That same almost-smile.

Deo didn’t answer. He was watching.
He didn’t understand the words. But he understood the way their bodies moved with them. Every pause. Every rest. It was art down to the bone.

“Wida leads them,” Sein added. “Soloist. My guy’s wife.”
Deo knew the husband. He had no idea she could do _that_.

Then the beat flipped.
Fast. Sharp. Whistles cut through.
A line of women stepped into the circle. Feet hit the ground as one. Hips, shoulders, hands — moving like they shared one heartbeat.

Deo exhaled. _Damn._

“Sabala?” Sein asked, eyes already on the circle.
“What’s that?”
“Come see.”

Sein gathered the guys. Same number as the women. They marched in and matched the rhythm. Mirrored it. Like antennas, they locked in.

And Deo watched Sein drift closer to Zena.
Too close. Laughing. His hand almost brushing her waist.

Jealousy hit hot and fast.

When the group broke to regroup, Deo stepped forward before Sein could.

“Wanna join?” Sein asked.
“Why not.”

Sein’s eyebrows lifted.
Good.

Deo made sure of his partner.
Every move pulled him closer to Zena. A brush of arms. The heat of her. The smell of sweat and something sweet he couldn’t name.
His heart was loud. His feet were following hers before his head caught up.

When the music cut, he was wrecked.
Sweat on his neck. Chest heaving. Grinning like he had no right to.

It was midnight.
The longest he’d ever stayed out.
Fatigue dragged at him.
Sein dropped his dead phone into Deo’s hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Deo looked for him. Every corner. Nothing.
Then voices. Low. Familiar.

“Do you think he knows?”
“I don’t think so. And if he does — do you care?”
A laugh.

His stomach dropped.

“He’s my best friend. We can’t—”

“Sein? Is that you?”
Silence.

Play it cool.

“C’mon bro, 10:30. Home.”
“Relax. Your sweetheart was looking for you. To say bye.”
Casual. But the voice shook.
Behind it, Deo saw it. Panic. Guilt.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Deo said.
He turned and walked.

Footsteps behind him. Fast.
“Bro, it’s late.”
“It’s barely a mile.”

He almost smiled.
But the words were still ringing.
Heavier than the drums.
Heavier than the night.

He had survived worse than this.
Worse rejections. Crueler words. Abuse that came in every form — from the people who should have protected him, and from those who called themselves friends.
He was only 17. Yet he had learned to carry it all with a smile.

“Hey Deo. So how was it?”
Sein’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Deo didn’t answer immediately.
Inside, the question he wanted to ask burned: _Cut the crap. What is going on between you and Zena?_

Instead, he smiled.
“I don’t regret coming. It was incredible.”

_Incredible, because now I know what you’re hiding._
The thought flared hot in his chest. But he swallowed it. Kept his face calm.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Sein believed him. And he did.
Deo watched the tension drain from Sein’s shoulders like he’d set down something heavy.

Deo had grown up between relatives and family friends. He’d heard things said to him that could have broken a man with twice his years.
He wasn’t innocent. But he had seen worse. Heard worse.
So forcing a real smile now wasn’t difficult.
“What’s with the smile?” Sein asked, studying him.
“You thinking about Zena?”

_Irony._
Deo let his grin widen.

Relief flickered across Sein’s face. He smiled back, easy and grateful.

_You won’t be smiling when I’m finished._
_God help me, let me be wrong about this._
Still, Deo returned the smile.

“Dude,” Sein said, changing the subject. “I’ve got a gig this weekend. You free?”
“What’s the cut?”
“Two thousand. I’ll cover transport and lunch.” Sein’s smile was bright. “So? What do you say?”
“Definitely.”
Deo smiled too. For all the right reasons, and all the wrong ones.

He locked the gate behind them. The padlock clicked.
Final. Heavy.

The night swallowed the sound.

****

--

It was 1 a.m.
Music still poured from scattered doorsteps along the street. Different genres, different rooms, but somehow they found harmony in the night. It was soothing.
Deo wasn’t listening.

His hands trembled.
He fished out his bunch of keys and fumbled. They slipped through his fingers and hit the concrete. As he bent to retrieve them, the tremor in his hands was more pronounced.
A storm of emotions moved through him. But beneath it all was a single, sharp urgency.

He slid his hand into the inner pocket of his blazer and withdrew a sleek HTC. Aqua blue.
_So that was why he chose money over school._
_No wonder he had a way of moving in the working class._
It was an elegant phone to own. Deo wasn’t surprised it made him a regular target for thieves.
An interesting device.
But not nearly as interesting as the information it contained.

He still couldn’t believe Sein had forgotten it was in his possession.

Deo exhaled and checked the battery. It was charging.
He pressed and held the power button, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips.
At ten percent, the screen lit up.

He knew Sein. Knew the way he constructed passwords.
It took only a moment.
*Bella90*

The phone unlocked.

WhatsApp opened automatically. Vibe was installed too, though it hadn’t been used in a while. Deo knew Sein preferred WhatsApp to the purple app, but he tapped Vibe anyway.
_Chambers of secrets,_ he thought.

He didn’t need to open the conversations. The previews were enough.
“I love you.”
“I miss you.”
“I had fun…”
An endless scroll of them.
_No wonder he hid it,_ Deo thought. _I taught him how._

Then a notification slid in at the top of the screen.
*“Hey love, are you home safe?”*

He should have ignored it.
But the profile picture was achingly familiar.

His thumb moved before he could stop it.
He tapped.

*Zena.*

His heart skipped.

---

*Chapter 2: BELLA*


Life had never been easy for him.
Deo grew up without a father. His mother had tried twice — two marriages, two promises of stability — and both collapsed. After that, she carried the weight alone.

There was also Luna.
His little sister. Fourteen years younger. From the second family.
The three of them shared one room. Cramped. Loud. The kind of place where privacy was a luxury and silence never lasted past midnight.

Then, in his third year of high school, things shifted.
Deo got a cube. Small, but his. Right beside his mother’s house.
The floor was bare cement. The roof leaked when it rained.
But it had a door he could lock. A bed that belonged to him. For the first time, he had space.


It all started with Sein.
Sein knew a guy through Deo’s aunty — the neighbor next to his mother’s house.
One morning the man showed up with work. “There’s money to be made,” he said.

It wasn’t glamorous.
Four hours hauling water. Wheelbarrows stacked with jerricans, dragged all the way to the bream.
The cans were heavier than Deo. His arms trembled. His back ached.
But with Sein beside him, it turned into a competition. Who could move faster. Who could laugh louder between trips.

The pay was decent. Enough to cover his share of the rent.
His roommate barely showed up, so the burden fell mostly on him anyway.

When they returned the wheelbarrow, sweat still dripping, Sein turned to him.
*“Deo. What are you doing after lunch? Let’s hit the market. Get you something nice. There’s a wedding tonight.”*

Deo shrugged. He had no plans.
*“Sure. Why not.”*
*“What about the wedding?”*

He hated night events. Crowds. Noise. Strangers.
Before he could refuse, Sein grinned.
*“Come on, man. Zena will be there.”*

That name stopped him.
He didn’t know the hosts. Didn’t care for weddings.
But Sein wouldn’t let it go. And then Sein bought him a pair of rubber sneakers.

So Deo said yes.
For the shoes. For Sein. For the emptiness of the day.
He had no idea that a simple walk to the market would end at a wedding.


Saturday evenings were always loud. But weekends were worse.
No duty on Sunday meant the whole estate came alive. Music spilling from every doorway.

Deo could barely hear the knock over the noise.
He was digging through his things for the Timberlands his step-brother left him. The single bulb above him flickered, barely cutting through the dark.

*“Weeeh! Deo! You want me to break the door or what!?”*
Then — blackout. The lights died.

A beat of silence. Then Sein’s voice, lower now, edged with disappointment:
*“Deo, come on. Don’t bail on me last minute. We had a deal.”*

*“Chill, Sein. I’m looking for my boots,”* Deo answered, uneasy.

*“To hell with the power. It’s dark,”* he muttered, but Sein caught it.

*“Boots? I thought we were wearing those rubbers we got today.”*
_Damn. He remembered._

*“We’ll miss the best part,”* Sein pressed.

Deo sighed and pulled on the rubber shoes instead.
Before he could even lock the door, Sein was already halfway down the path.

*“Wait up! It’s barely a mile—”*
*“Hurry up, dude,”* Sein called back, impatient.



Out of the slum, after crossing the railway tracks, Deo could still hear it.
The music bled through the blackout. Heavy. Alive.

It wasn’t hip-hop. Wasn’t jazz.
It was raw. A live voice riding a drum that hit his chest more than his ears.
He didn’t know the name for it. But his body did. His feet wanted to move.
All those lonely nights with earphones and junior high music club — they’d trained him for this and he didn’t even know.

“Damn! See man, I told you we’d be late! Doluka’s already started!!”
Sein sounded almost hurt by it.

*“Doluka? What the hell is Doluka?”* Deo asked, keeping pace.
*“The traditional music. That’s Doluka.”*

_Doluka,_ Deo rolled the word in his head. _Felt good on the tongue._

The gates opened and the smell hit him first — roast meat, perfume, incense, and something sweet he couldn’t name.

_So this is a Nubian wedding,_ he thought.
Class. It dripped from everything.
Women glided in grubabas that caught the fairy lights and threw them back. Gold at the wrists. Henna on their hands.
Men in crisp white kanzus and embroidered caps.
He’d never seen anything like it. Felt underdressed in his jeans and rubber shoes.

The music cut the second they stepped in.
A few familiar faces from the estate nodded at him. “Hi.” That was it.
Then one guy grabbed Sein’s arm, whispered something fast, and jerked his head toward the center.
“Come.”

There it was. A big basin on the ground.
Thick, dark paste. From far it looked like mud. Up close the smell was intense. Sweet. Herbal. Choking, but not bad.
Just... potent.

Sein and the others plunged their hands in without thinking.
Deo hung back.

*“We don’t have all night,”* Sein urged.
*“I’m good,”* Deo shook his head.

*“C’mon, it’s just ENA. No harm.”*
*“I think—”*

He didn’t get to finish.

Because then he saw her.

Zena.
Standing near the cake table in a deep maroon grubaba. The fabric hugged her shoulders, then fell in soft waves.
Her edges were laid perfectly. Her skin glowed under the powder. Her eyebrows — sharp enough to cut.
She looked like she belonged on a magazine, not in this tent with plastic chairs.

And she was looking right at him.

*“Hey! Deo, you came! I didn’t believe Sein when he said you’d show.”*
Her voice was soft. Too soft. It did things to his stomach.

*“Yeah. I’m here,”* he managed. His ears were hot.
*“Need help with ENA?”* She nodded toward the basin, eyes dancing. She’d seen him hesitate.

*“Eh—”*
*“I’m a good artist, you know,”* she cut in, smiling. Not cocky. Just sure.

He nodded. Couldn’t speak.

They had history. Three interschool art competitions. He’d lost twice before he finally beat her last year.
He’d spent those competitions watching her hands more than the judges.
Husna, her cousin and his classmate, had to basically drag them to the same picnic with “plus ones” for Sein to figure out Deo was gone for Zena.

*“Here,”* she said, pulling him from the memory.
She held out her palm.
In dark, perfect ENA: *LOVE DEO*. Old English caps. Clean lines. Elegant.
She lifted his hand to the light so he could see it better. Her fingers were cool against his.

*“Magical, right?”*
Her eyes didn’t leave his.
*“Your turn.”*

She pressed the ENA cone into his hand. Small. New.
Paper underneath. Paste that smelled like earth and flowers.

Challenge accepted.

He couldn’t mess this up. Not in front of her.
3 minutes. Steady hand. Final dot with a toothpick to give it that 3D pop.

When he was done, he kept his eyes down. Trying to play it cool.
But his voice gave him away — low, rough:
*“What do you think?”*

She didn’t answer right away.
She just looked. At the design. Then at him.

fix Chapter 1

---

*GENESIS*

*Early 90s. Takaungu. Midday.*
The sun was high and mean. It pressed down on the shamba until the red soil cracked under our feet. Flies circled. The air smelled of sweat, dust, and something sour I didn’t have a name for yet.

I was barely tall enough to reach the edge of the coffin when we gathered for the final photograph.
Saying goodbye to the man I knew as my father.

There were so many hands on the wood I couldn’t find space for my own. I stood on my toes, trying. At that age I didn’t understand it. Why were all these strangers crowding my father with just their hands?
Someone’s kitenge brushed my face. Someone else stepped on my sandal. No one noticed.

The moment came.
*My mother’s three cousins and her three elder brothers* lifted the coffin. The wood creaked. We walked in a slow line to the far end of the shamba, where the earth had been torn open.
A hole. More than 8 feet deep. Right on the boundary line, like they didn’t even want him in the middle.

The dirt around it was piled high. Fresh. It smelled wet and heavy.

One of his relatives stood at the edge, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He laughed.
"Let’s see if he can come out of this one."

From the back, another voice, impatient:
"Can we just finish this? Some of us have work."

No prayers. No last words.
Just the creak of rope and the scrape of wood.
They took the coffin end to end and dropped it.

_Thud._

The sound echoed off the walls of the grave and came back up. Dust jumped.
Then came the laughter. Dry, short.
They dusted their hands on their trousers and started walking away, like the job was done.

"Aren’t you going to cover it?"
An old woman’s voice cracked. Thin and tired.

"Calm your horse, mama," my father’s uncle — Kutosi — turned with a grin. Sweat cut lines through the dust on his face. "He’s not coming back. And even if he did, it’s 8 feet down. He’s only 6 feet."

The crowd laughed again. The sound felt wrong in the hot air.

"Is that how you bury your own?" the old woman pressed, clutching her leso.
Kutosi cut her off.
"He should be grateful we even gave him land to rot in. If it were me, he’d be in the river. Or feed for the dogs."

They left.
The same men came back with spades. For 30 minutes all we heard was _shunk, shunk_ — soil hitting wood, then silence. Then more soil. The pile shrank. The sun didn’t move.

When they finished, they didn’t wash their hands. They just went to sit under the mango tree with the rest.

By then the compound had emptied. The heat made everything shimmer. Only women, children, and a few elders remained, sitting on benches with their heads down.

Kutosi stood up. Dust on his shoes.
"My name is Kutosi. I am the eldest here. I am the uncle to the deceased."
He looked around slowly, like he was counting.
"Let all the children and their mothers stand."

Three quarters of us stood. My mother’s hand was tight on my shoulder.

He smiled.
"I see. His reputation truly went before him."
The seated men chuckled.
"Since you are standing... we will be direct. The deceased left nothing. Not even a spoon. So take your children and go. The burial is done."

And just like that, he turned and walked away. The dust followed his shoes.

---

*Years later.*

The house was cooler now. Evening light came through the window and landed on the album in Deo’s lap.

"Deo! Deo!"
His mother’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Huh? Yes, Mum."

"Let me see that photo."

He handed it to her. It was old, edges curled and soft from being touched too much. His parents on a bed. His mother in his father’s arms, laughing. Her smile didn’t stop at her mouth. It was in her eyes.

She held it to her chest for a second. He could smell soap and cooking oil on her hands.
"You still remember your father, huh?"
She looked at him, then smiled wider.
"You’re his exact copy. Except for the gap in his teeth."

Deo grinned. "Mum, can I ask you something?"
"Anything, my son."

"Everyone said Dad had money. What happened to it?"

Her face changed. The evening light went out of it.
"Your father was an only child. He grew up in the city with his mother after his own father died young. He built everything there. He didn’t bring much home because his mother was there..."

She paused, swallowing.
"On his deathbed, he asked for me. He said, ‘Take care of me.’ And I did. Because I loved him."

Her voice dropped.
"The night he died, his uncle Kutosi and his first wife — his stepmother — went to the bank. To the plots. To everything. They took it all."

Then something shifted in her face. A small, sharp smile.
"Kutosi didn’t even see the next morning. Dropped dead. And the woman? Lost everything to a con a month later."

"Good," Deo said before he could stop himself.

He closed the album and handed it back to her. The cover was warm from his hands.
He had a hundred other questions. Where were his brothers and sisters? Why did his father have so many wives? Did it hurt her to share him? Did she ever regret him?
But he kept quiet. He didn’t want to open old wounds.

He went back outside to the VSAT dish on the roof. The sky was turning orange. It was theirs and the landlord’s. He maintained it for them in exchange for free internet. The metal was still warm from the sun.

From the doorway, his mother called after him.
"My genius son."
.

*Welcome.*
Thank you for opening these pages and stepping into this world with me.

This is my first story, and I’m honored to have you here for the first page of many.

I hope it makes you feel something.
I hope it stays with you.

Let’s begin.

Thanks for the update

bought false pretense not loading now...pl3ase assist

nice flow infant..
eager

Following+update+%3a)%0a

Nice++

am loving this infant do your magic

Glued+update+now+I+love+the+flow+

wow cant wait for the next chapter...

nice buddy updte now....

gOOD gIRL GONE BIAD...

keeep the fire burning...

waiting...

mmmmh loving it...

Debbietiyan:
Kusibe77, I had your correction in mind as I wrote this week's update. Thanks a bunch.

Princemozyk, Oya come and see and what happened.

am ikn stuck on the screen enjoying the flow...thumbs up for you..

enjoying every piece that pops in now and then..

loving the touch of the black mail ketp it coming....

Debbietiyan:
Aww. The story would be updated tomorrow. e hear?

paitently waiting..

Debbietiyan:
Welcome

am dying for the next scene.....

i love the flow...am glued on the screen till the next update....

Love it

Update

Keep the fire burning... Nice touch

love the flow update nuh....

Keep the fire burning....I am here to stay...updates needed.... Nice flow you got.....

Keep going following... And in love....

Waiting for another.... Slide am loving it..