@pexelsHmmm! Curiosity is in his DNA—like stardust in his soul. My brother Chima's wonder dances through every gasp and every gleam in his eyes. They chime with questions, searching for mysteries, hungry to know, thirsty to find, seeking to see. Curiosity is in his blood.
Growing up as the only girl among five boys was like living inside a noisy marketplace. Voices clashed, toys flew, and arguments sparked over everything from who got the last piece of meat to who ran the fastest. In the middle of the chaos, my safe place was with my immediate senior brother, Chima.
Chima was not just my brother; he was my best friend, my partner in crime, my playmate, and sometimes even my rival. We liked the same things—both of us could draw for hours, sketching everything from superheroes to imagined cities. We sang together too, laughing and arguing over who hit the highest notes. We ate together, fought over pencils, shared secrets, and dreamed big dreams. People often called us twins because of how inseparable we were.
However, the major difference between us is that I was the careful one while Chima was the curious one.
I like to plan before trying anything new, but Chima? He would jump in headfirst just to see what would happen. It was almost like he could not help it— If something caught his eye, he had to explore it, no matter the risk. Our mother often warn Chima saying, "Curiosity Killed the cat, you hear me? Too much poking around can land you in unexpected problems." Mama warned seriously.
Of course, Chima would always laugh it off. To him, curiosity was not dangerous—It was just a simple and harmless adventure.
Chima was known throughout the compound as the boy who could not keep his nose out of anything. Our neighbor, Mama Ijeoma, often warned him just like our mother did, "One day, your curiosity will land you in a big wahala."
"Relax, Mama Ijeoma," Chima would laugh, flashing his mischievous grin. "Without curiosity, there'd be no discoveries!" he would say.
One Sunday afternoon, Chima and I went to our neighbor's house, Mama Ijeoma. She always liked having us around; I guess our presence helped her forget the fact that she had no child after the death of her only child, Ijeoma. We were basically free to touch anything. We both lay on the cool floor of her tiny parlor when we immediately caught sight of an old, huge book named, Treasure Island. Chima started flipping through the battered pages; he was so intrigued that he wanted to make his own discovery.
Suddenly, he heard it—we both heard it—a metallic clatter from the abandoned flat at the end of the building. Everyone insinuated that that particular flat was cursed; even the last occupant, who happened to be a reclusive welder, had disappeared one rainy night two years ago. Since then, no one dared go near that flat, let alone rent it. It has been empty and deserted for a long time.
Chima sat up immediately, his eyes widened in excitement as he looked back in the direction from which the metallic clatter came.
"Did you hear that?" he asked me while I was still laying down, flipping through the pages of the 'Treasure Island' book.
"Hear what?" I asked, pretending that I didn't hear the sound and barely looking up.
"A sound from the old flat!" Chima replied wide-eyed, already on his feet and pulling my hand.
I dug my heels into the floor. "Leave it alone, Chima. You know what mother and Mama Ijeoma say— Curiosity killed the cat. You might get into trouble or even get hurt in the process. Please, just leave the sound alone. Chima, I beg you."
"Satisfaction brought back the cat! Nothing is going to happen. Just calm down," he retorted, winking.
Dragging my reluctant self behind him, Chima crept down the narrow corridor toward the forbidden door. Dust floated with every step we took in the sunlight slicing through the broken windows. The air smelled of rust and damp wood.
The door to the flat creaked ominously as Chima slowly kicked it open with his foot.
Inside the room was dark except for a shaft of light that was slanting across the floor from broken windows. Broken furniture lay in piles scattered in the corner of the room, and everywhere, cobwebs draped from the ceiling, almost reaching the floor like ghostly banners. However, what caught Chima's eye was a large, padlocked trunk in the corner of the room.
I gasped. "Let's go, please! It's not safe."
Chima shook his head. "Don't you want to know what's inside the trunk?" he grinned.
Chima found a rusty metal around the room and snapped the trunk open. Inside it were tools of various kinds—strange, heavy tools—and a small gift box, wrapped with a light sage green ribbon. Chima reached for the box, carefully carried it, and brushed away layers of dust on it.
We both drew the ribbons, and the box opened. Inside were rolls of yellowed paper, wrapped around something hard and glittering. Chima unrolled it and found a thick gold bracelet, encrusted with tiny, colorful stones.
"Wow! This is really beautiful," Chima exclaimed excitedly, holding it up and down in his gaze. Then passing it to me.
My eyes widened. "Jewelry? Real gold?" I chuckled quietly.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed in the door way, and a gruff voice barked, "What are you doing here?!"
Gripped by fear, I quickly held Chima, we both turned and saw Baba Sanni, the compound's oldest resident. His weathered face was twisted in anger.
"Give that to me," Baba Sanni ordered, stepping into the room with his palm stretched out.
Chima and I froze. Chima clutched the bracelet tightly in his palm.
"I said give it to me!" Baba Sanni shouted still twisting his scary face.
The curious Chima fled, terrified, leaving me behind and dropping the bracelet. It clattered to the floor. Baba Sanni caught sight of it, snatched it up, and stuffed it into his pocket.
Baba Sanni caught Chima, and reaching for me, he dragged me up, saying, "You think you're clever, ehn? Children these days!" he muttered, dragging Chima and me out by our ears.
Chima had dreamt of adventures and hidden treasures like the one he had recently found, but he had not imagined it could end in fear and shame. That night, lying on his cozy bed under the whirring ceiling fan, he promised himself that the next time curiosity whispered, he would listen—but definitely not without thinking first.
THANKS ALOT FOR READING