My Brother, J.

Three days ago, J stopped going to play. I thought he hurt his back again so I bought him a special balm for the pain.

I have a little brother and his name is J. J loves playing football. He wants to be a footballer. His best player is Cristiano Ronaldo. There is a football pitch not so far from our house. J goes there every morning and returns for lunch. Mama stopped making him breakfast when she realized he’d never be home early enough to have it.

 

Three days ago, J stopped going to play. I thought he hurt his back again so I bought him a special balm for the pain – while the footballing dream might be his, we know that his success would be ours. J refused to use the balm and stayed in bed. Mama and I had an inkling that something may have gone wrong at training so we went to speak with his coach but his coach would not speak to us; the security told us that the Nigerian National team had been sending scouts to recruit boys for the under-17 tourney so the coach didn’t have so much time to chat.

 

Mama and I hurried back home. This was J’s dream. We didn’t understand why he stayed away. I pulled the bed sheets off and shook him vigorously ‘What are you doing, J? Do you want to be like F who quit the team for nothing?!’ I shouted, angry my brother may be turning out like his friend down the street who one day stopped training and was onto drugs. J pushed me off and covered himself with the sheets. Mama walked into the room, her hands akimbo. She had never picked a fight with J over missing practice as her heart was torn in between school and football but today she was ready for war. ‘J, you don forget say you promise your Papa say you go take care of us when you start to dey earn pounds abi?’ She started, ‘Wetin dey do you nau? You no wan play ball again?’

 

‘I no wan play ball again,’ J replied, dumping the sheets in my face. ‘F didn’t quit for nothing! I no wan make my coach force me touch him thing again. I no wan make my coach dey use him thing chook me for yansh when I dey shower again!’ he shouted. ‘I no do again,’ he added tiredly.

 

Mama screamed in shock as she held her head. I stood up and left the house without another word. I walked for three hours thinking about everything my little brother had said. I eventually found myself at his Coach’s house. He was back from training, enjoying the cool of the evening as he peeled oranges with a knife. I walked up to him, grabbed the knife from him and stabbed him in the chest.

 

This is my statement.

J’s brother, K.