I didn't know it was the last normal day....
Like... how would I?
Tuesday. So hot. Onitsha was Onitshaing. You know how it is? Horns that never stop, bikes weaving like they have 9 lives, people shouting "oga park well". Sweat just sitting on your skin.
Mama shouted from the kitchen. "Chinwe, go buy bread and eggs."
Same bread. Same eggs. Same road. I'd walked that road like 400 times. From our street to Aunty Ngozi's stand by the junction. 10 minutes there, 10 minutes back. Nothing new.
I was 17. Had Chemistry tomorrow and I didn't even open book. Not one page.
My plan was simple: buy bread, come back, drop bag, pretend to read for like 30mins, then sleep.
Normal. Boring. Safe.
The sun was punishing. My slippers were making that slap-slap sound on the hot tar. I was thinking about that Chemistry formula I didn't know. Something about moles. Who even uses moles outside lab?
Aunty Ngozi at the bread stand was fanning herself with cardboard. She saw me and already started wrapping.
"My chemist," she said and laughed. "Come."
She added extra meatpie to the nylon. Like always.
"For your brain o," she said and winked. "Read well o. Make us proud."
I laughed. There were crumbs on my white shirt.... I didn't bother to brush them. Why would I? I'll just come back and change anyway.
We gist for like 2 minutes. About NEPA. About how bread price went up again. Normal gist.
"Go o," she said. "Before Mama vex."
I walked home slowly. Kicked a stone. Counted potholes. Same boring Tuesday.
Got home and Papa's shoes weren't by the door.
Okay that's normal. He comes late sometimes from bank. Sometimes 9pm, sometimes 10pm. Bank people and stress.
But Mama was in the kitchen and the radio was off.
That one was weird. Mama never turns off radio. From 6am to 10pm, there was always that Naija music or pastor preaching in background. Silence in our kitchen felt... wrong.
"Where's Papa?" I dropped the bread on the table. The nylon made that plastic sound.
She turned. Slowly.
Her eyes... they were red. Not like crying red. The other kind. The kind you see before tears decide if they want to fall.
"The bank called," she said. Her voice was flat. Like she practiced it. "There was... an accident."
I stood there. The bread was still in my hand. Warm.
"What kind of accident?" I asked. Dumb question. But what else do you ask?
She didn't answer. She just walked to the living room and sat down there.. Didn't turn on TV. Didn't turn on radio. Just sat.
My phone buzzed. Group chat. "Guys Chemistry tomorrow o. Who read?"
I didn't reply.
That night, nobody slept. Neighbors were coming. Whispering. "Eh ya." "God." "So young."
The bread went stale on the table. Nobody ate. The meatpie Aunty Ngozi gave me for "brain" sat there getting hard.
The next morning, there was no Chemistry exam for me. School called. Said "take your time."
Take my time to do what? Read moles?
Funny thing is, I kept the shirt. The white one with crumbs. Mama wanted to wash it. I said no.
"Leave it," I said. "It's fine.🫠🫠🫠🫠"
Weeks passed. Months. Life moved but not really.
I stopped worrying about Chemistry. Stopped worrying about a lot of things.
That Tuesday was the last day I worried about Chemistry.
The last day bread came with free meatpie and a wink.
The last day I thought "normal" was forever. That it was a promise.
Now I'm older. I still buy bread on Tuesdays. Same Aunty Ngozi is still there. Older too. She still asks "how's school?" and I just smile.
I still don't brush the crumbs off my shirt immediately.
People think I'm messy..... Maybe I am.
But some days, life doesn't warn you.
It doesn't knock. It doesn't send text.
You just get bread.
And then you don't.
And you're left holding warm nylon, standing in a kitchen that's too quiet, wondering when normal became past tense.
*IMAGE IS AI GENERATED"