Unfinished Conversations

A story by UFUOMA BAKPORHE

My fear of exams began the day my father smacked my head with my hardback Idodo Umeh Biology textbook for failing Mathematics and Biology in SS1. That evening, Chief Oliver De Coque’s Identity played from the CD player, and its lively tune was at odds with the ringing in my ears. 

I had returned from school, proud of myself for earning sixty-eight per cent in the exams. It had been one of the tougher ones as I had just transitioned from junior to senior secondary school. After spending the entire holidays studying and attending extra lessons with no time for leisure, a B was an achievement to me. 

But my father saw things differently.

I handed him the report card, excited, though in hindsight, I wonder why I thought he would be proud. He had always made it clear that anything less than an A was as good as failure. I stood there, waiting patiently as his eyes scanned through the report from top to bottom. He closed the report card and looked at me in a way that I could not read what his mind was saying. 

That was when it happened. 

I heard the bang first, followed by my mother’s yell of, “Dim, stop it!” before I felt the pain at the side of my head and the ringing in my ears. As I clutched the throbbing spot, I saw the weapon which had been laying on the coffee table. 

“You buffoon! What is this? Cs in Mathematics and Biology! If it were only Biology, maybe I would have overlooked it. Mathematics! Then you end up with a B-grade in total. Is this what I’m paying your school fees for?”

I stood there, head lowered, while a silent battle took place between my eyes and the will not to cry. 

My younger siblings stood behind the curtains, watching the drama unfold. Our father hurled the report card at me and stormed off to the bedroom as our mother pressed her palms together in a pleading ndo before hurrying after him. My eyes gave way, and the tears won. 

On the morning of my Post-UME exams, the one where I met Alex, he drove me to the university. As we pulled up in the car park, he looked at me sternly. 

“Make sure your name gets on that admission list.” 

I nodded, knowing I had no other choice. I must pass the examination in one sitting or find another home.

*

The classroom was long and narrow. As I stepped inside, my eyes swept over the wide expanse of people, a sea of heads bobbing with movement. The noise hit me all at once. Scattered conversations and rustling papers. Whispers and occasional laughs. Watching the other candidates–some chatting, some arranging their writing materials, others absorbed in last-minute readings–I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with unease. I just wanted to be done with the exam and out of here. 

Slowly, I made my way to a seat at the back. I pulled out my writing materials and a Post-UME past questions book. No one sat beside me. That wasn’t unusual. People usually avoided the nerdy guy buried in books. The noise in the room pressed in on me, growing louder with each passing moment. Two girls seated two rows in front of me laughed at something one said. Another boy was scratching his pen against the desk two rows behind. A girl thanked her friend for handing her a book. 

Seeking solitude, I reached for my AirPods. I slipped them on and pressed play on a familiar, soothing track from my favourites on Spotify. The music softened the clamour around me, offering a quiet space of my own.

I loved the quiet. Because home was never quiet. It was always filled with my father’s chastisement and the clashing of my parents’ voices. Their arguments spilt from room to room, and the harshness of their words collided like cymbals in a never-ending clash. I wondered why two people who were sworn enemies chose each other for something as serious and committing as marriage.

School was no different. Not because of the noise, but the deliberate silence around me. My classmates traded jokes and secrets among themselves while I sat with my books, pretending I didn’t notice that no one ever pulled a chair beside me, even when I wanted so badly for them to. 

I underlined key points in my book, nodding along to my music, occasionally glancing at my wristwatch. After a while, I looked up to check if an invigilator had arrived. But instead of an invigilator, it was Alex, in cornrows, a tee and a baggy pair of joggers, six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, commanding presence, walking into the room. Heads turned. Girls murmured and exchanged whispers. Even the boys looked at him with awe. I didn’t need to ask; I already knew the kind of person he was. Some people just carried themselves like the world made room for them. Like they were the best thing since Kendrick Lamar. He was one of them. 

Our eyes met, and I quickly averted mine. He made a beeline for the seat next to me, or rather, the one after the empty space left between us for the exam. As he sat, I turned to look at him, and he gave a courteous nod. I returned it before lowering my gaze back to my book. He settled in, taking out his writing materials. 

I kept stealing glances at him. Unlike myself and most others who sat stiff-backed, gripping our pens like lifelines, he lounged in his seat as though the desk were a café table. His shoulders slouched, one leg stretched far into the aisle. He twirled his pen idly between his fingers, pausing now and then to tap it against his chin. He glanced at his watch occasionally, not with the panic of someone running out of time, but with the lazy curiosity of one waiting for their food order. He looked too relaxed for someone writing a university entrance exam. As though failure had never once crossed his mind, or worse, that it wouldn’t matter if it did.

Catching my glance, he smiled. “Last-minute preparations? I know how that can be. I just like to relax and do what I can.”  I almost looked behind to see if he meant someone else. I removed one of my AirPods and placed it in its case, but before I could respond, he continued. “How many Post-UME have you written? Or is this your first?”

 I nodded. 

“Ah, ah, I see,” he said, letting out a small chuckle.

I turned back to my book, but it was clear that he wasn’t done talking.

“So, why this university?”

I shot him an exasperated look. I didn’t understand why he kept talking to me. Most people spoke to me only when they needed notes or a question about an assignment. Yet, here he was, asking questions like he actually wanted to know the answers.

He laughed. “I’m sorry. I like getting to know people when I meet them. It’s always nice.”

“How many Post-UMEs have you written?” I finally asked.

“This is my fourth. Second, this year. I tried last year but didn’t pass.”

I raised an eyebrow. You didn’t pass, yet you’re not even reading? 

And as if he could hear my thoughts, he responded, “Yes, I know. I should be reading.”

I was suddenly self-conscious and a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He grinned, watching me with amusement. “No, but you were thinking it.”

He was enjoying the way I fumbled over my words. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, even more embarrassed. He laughed and after a half-second, I joined him. 

“I’m Alex,” he said, placing a hand on his chest.

“Francis.”

“Nice to meet you, Francis.”

I nodded. 

“You don’t like to talk much,” he said matter-of-factly.

I sighed, removed my second AirPod and placed it in the case, shaking my head. 

“But why?” he pressed. “Talking is good.”

“People can be too loud.”

He tilted his head, considering my words. “Well, that’s true. But being loud isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, you have to dominate a room.”

I peered intently at him. “Is that what you were trying to do walking in?”

Alex’s lips curled into a proud smile. “When I walked in here, you tried not to look my way and focused on your book, but I could see that you wanted to talk to me. Why didn’t you?”

I hesitated, unsure whether to answer. He nudged me with his eyes, urging me on. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” I finally said. “I thought you’d like some time to prepare before the exams began.”

“But I spoke to you first. Was that me disturbing you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” Then, as an afterthought, “Yes.”

“But you didn’t stop me.”

I frowned, confused by the direction of the conversation and what he was trying to prove. He didn’t know me, and I wondered what gave him the audacity to make assumptions like he did.

“What is this really about?” I asked.

“That’s what you should have asked me,” he replied, with a smirk.

“I’m asking now.” 

At this point, I wanted to pack up my books and leave for another seat.

“Life isn’t hard, my brother. You shouldn’t always wear your troubles on your face,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying my face was giving away too much.”

“Exactly.” 

I laughed. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Alex glanced at his wristwatch. “They never start these exams on time. Just wait and see, someone will come in and tell us that we won’t be starting for another thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes ke. I’m sure they’ll start soon,” I countered. 

Alex did not argue. He simply let me wait. A chubby woman in a grey skirt suit and a funny wig that looked like they were pulled straight out of Madea’s closet entered the hall. The classroom fell silent, everyone anticipating the start of the paper.

“Students, how are we doing?” she asked.

Murmured responses filled the class. The woman adjusted her glasses, pinching it on her nose, and continued with her announcement. 

“Thank you for your interest in joining this great institution. The exam should be starting now, but we are experiencing a small delay. We will start in thirty minutes. God bless you and I wish you the best.” 

Alex turned to me and gave me an I told you so look. 

“Fine, you win,” I muttered. I looked at him, wondering how he knew so much when we were about the same age.

“Now we have time to talk,” Alex said. But I had already flicked open the case of my AirPods. “Or you want to continue listening to music?”

I hesitated, then put the AirPods away. “No, it’s fine. Let’s talk.”

“What were you listening to?”

“Oliver De Coque. My dad plays it a lot.”

“I see,” he looked around the hall. “Are your friends also coming to this school?”

I shook my head. I did not have any friends. Perhaps, if I was lucky, he would be the first one I made. I had always been the guy no one liked in class–the one who kept to himself, always buried in books with no time for easy friendships to form. With a father like mine, I placed an enormous pressure on myself, convinced that I had to be a pacesetter for my siblings. He would nag endlessly if I brought home a poor report card, ranting about how he slaved night and day just to put food on the table, only for his son to be a failure. And with such nagging down my throat, making friends was the last thing on my mind. And even if someone wanted to be friends with me, where would they come to? My house, where my father’s temper could turn a quiet evening into a battlefield?

“Are you always this quiet?” Alex asked, now genuinely curious.

“Are you always this talkative?” I shot back.

He laughed. “You have small fire inside you after all.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“It’s fine.”

I watched him with eyes full of admiration. 

“You’re really cool,” I admitted.

“I know,” he responded proudly.

“Do you have a lot of friends?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

I moved to the seat between us. 

“Are they also coming here?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

“How do you make friends?”

I really wanted to know. Perhaps, there were one or two things I could learn about the art of friendship.

“I just talk to people. Maybe it’s because I grew up with my mother and her sisters. They taught me to be that way,” he said, with a huge smile.

I was curious about him now. He was broad-shouldered, towering over most people at such a tall height, yet his face lit up when he talked about his mother and aunties. 

“No siblings?” I asked.

Alex shook his head. “Only child to a single mum. Sometimes I think it’s a good thing, other times I don’t.”

It was surprising that he was not reluctant to give any information about himself. 

“Why do you think it’s not a good thing?” I asked. 

Alex shrugged. “Maybe because I don’t have anyone to play games with or talk to about stuff, like girls. I’ve always wanted a brother.” 

He let out a nervous chuckle, a sliver of uncertainty breaking through his confidence. For the first time in our conversation, he sounded vulnerable. I had never even spoken to a girl before, yet I found it fascinating that this big guy needed someone to talk to about such matters.

“I have a brother, but he’s younger, so we don’t really talk about those kinds of things. And my dad isn’t the easiest to talk to, so I guess we are in the same boat. I don’t have anyone to talk to about girls too!” I chuckled lightly. 

Alex looked at me, sensing the weight beneath my words. 

“Your dad sounds intense.” 

“That’s why I have to get this admission.” I paused, then glanced at him. “Did your mother think you were a failure when you didn’t pass last year?”

He shook his head. 

“Lucky you. One time, I failed in SS1 and my father hit my head with a textbook. Since that day, I’ve never failed again.”

“I’m sure you aced WAEC.”

“I did. Affliction shall not arise a second time.” 

For the first time since we started talking, I laughed a full belly-deep laugh. Alex grinned, watching me like a proud older brother. 

The woman with the Madea suit returned. The classroom fell silent again, everyone bracing themselves for the exams. 

“What do you think will come out?” Alex whispered.

“I don’t know. Just hoping it’s heavy with these,” I replied, tapping my past questions.

He shrugged, then leaned in, his tone serious. “Look, whatever it is with your dad, don’t let it define you. You’re an adult now, about to enter university.”

I let the words settle, then sighed. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good luck. Not that I think you need it, bookworm.”

I smiled. “You too.”

Alex adjusted his writing materials, neatly placing them in front of him. 

The woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and scanned the room. Her eyes landed on Alex and me who were still smiling and whispering. I quickly moved back to my seat, the space between us empty again. 

“You,” she called, pointing at Alex. “Stand up, take your things and come here.”

He sighed and turned to me. “Formation scattered.”

I giggled. “See you after the paper?” 

He nodded. “Sure thing.”

I set aside my past questions and arranged my writing materials while Alex moved a few rows ahead of me, swapping places with another candidate. My eyes stayed on him even as the examination instructions were given. The exam was important, but now, so was getting to know my newly-found friend. 

As I stared at the exam questions in front of me, my mind drifted to him. His easy confidence, the way he saw right through me, the way he made me laugh without even trying. It was strange, this warmth settling in my chest, the realisation that maybe I didn’t have to go through this next phase of my life alone. I now had a friend who I could go through it with. I looked at him rows ahead, already scribbling away like he had no doubt in the world. I smiled and picked up my pen. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something I had to endure alone. It felt like something to look forward to. 

Time passed, and one by one, candidates began submitting their answer booklets. I watched as Alex stood up and made his way to the front of the class. Our eyes met briefly, and he gave me a small nod before walking out of the hall, leaving me behind.

Moments later, the bell rang, signalling the end of the exam. The invigilator moved around, collecting the remaining booklets. I hurriedly gathered my things and rushed outside, scanning the crowd for Alex.

I ran down the stairs, looking left and right. He was nowhere in sight. I wondered where he could have gone in such a short time. I looked at my phone, realising that I didn’t even get his last name or his social media handle. All I could do was wish to meet him again. 

*

Days passed, and I searched for Alex the way one searches for something that they’ve lost–desperate, knowing it might never return, but unwilling to let it go. Alex, only child. Alex, six-foot-two. Alex XXX University. On X. Instagram. TikTok. Facebook. Even YouTube. Each “Alex” I found was the wrong one. None had his cornrows, his easy grin, his way of looking right through me. Eventually, I gave up. He was gone. 

At home, my parents’ shouts still rattled the walls, rising and falling behind closed doors, but they no longer bothered me.

My father’s disapproving glances and sharp criticisms hadn’t changed. He still sighed when I walked past, still found ways to remind me that I wasn’t doing something right. Every time his words threatened to make me smaller, I thought of Alex, of his easy confidence, of the way he dominated the room that day. I started to believe that maybe I could be that bold too. 

Then the first admission list came out. My name wasn’t on it. 

That evening, I returned from the library. My father looked at the books in my hands and then at me. He let out a low, unimpressed scoff. I did not wait for whatever cutting remark was coming. I eyed him, fighting the urge to cuss at him. 

“A second list is coming,” I said, my own voice startling me. “If I’m not on it, you can send me out of your house.” 

My father’s eyes widened in shock. I was also surprised that the words came out of my mouth. They hung between us heavily. The shock in my father’s eyes morphed into something else. If I didn’t know him any better, I would say it was fear.

He snapped his fingers at me as I walked to my room with a proud smile on my lips. 

When the second admission list was released, my father praised me. I wondered if this was the same man who had called me a failure over the smallest things.

I wanted to call Alex. To tell him I got in and to ask if he did. But my heart sank when I remembered there was no way to reach him. I didn’t know if he had made it. Maybe he had and was in a different department, or maybe he had chosen the other university he applied to. I would never know.

*

On the first day of class, I stepped into the same long, narrow classroom where we had written our exams. A sea of students filled the room, but this time I held my head high with my chin up. I even waved at a few people who smiled at me. I, too, felt like the best thing since Kendrick Lamar. I took up enough space and I was not afraid to be seen. 

I got to a seat at the back and a lovely girl was seated there, AirPods in, nodding slightly to whatever she was listening to. 

“Can I sit here?” I asked.

She looked up, gave a small, polite smile and nodded.

I sat down and opened my textbook, but my mind wasn’t on the words. Every now and then, I stole a glance at her, curious about her. She nodded rhythmically to what she was listening to, just like I did before meeting Alex.

In that moment, I thought about him. About the way he pushed me to be more confident. Maybe this was my moment to do just that. I took a deep breath and turned slightly toward her. 

“Hi, my name is Francis.” My voice came out quieter than I intended.

She looked up. “Koso,” she said, before returning to her phone.

I hesitated. Uncertainty settled in, bringing with it the familiar urge to retreat. I swallowed and tried again. 

“So, what are you listening to, Koso?”

This time, Koso tilted her phone screen away from me, a small, almost imperceptible movement. The rejection sank into my chest.  

Then I heard her say, “Take a guess.”

I turned to her. She offered a small, welcoming smile as she took off an AirPod. I smiled back.