When We Speak of Nothing by Olumide Popoola

Author:Olumide Popoola [Olumide Popoola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781911115465
Publisher: CASSAVA REPUBLIC PRESS
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

No need mum. I can stay longer. Godfrey thinks it’s a good idea too. Easier to be away than to call all the time. My credit is almost gone. But will text you soon.

15

* * *

And always

things turn.

Upside down.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Abu’s mother shouted after him. He was standing at the door, keys in hand.

‘I just want to see my mates. I’ve been indoors since Saturday night.’

His mother stepped in front of him and put the chain on. Symbolic. She was good with her gestures, like with her looks. Abu defied her. Looked away but his body was clear; he wasn’t giving in, not this time. His face wasn’t just stubborn: there was hurt there. Something that everyone seemed to miss had bubbled up to the surface. You could smell it. You could even touch it. It was there. His mother studied his turned-away face. She pulled him into the living room. The TV was on. The same picture on repeat. A large building. In flames. The silhouette of a woman, captured mid-air, jumping to safety. From her flat. On the ground, people with outstretched hands, reaching for her. The fire ravaging the large carpet shop. Abu’s mother covered her mouth with her hand. He could hear her breathe before she pulled the twins close to her, one in each arm.

‘Watch this.’ She was looking at him.

The news of riots, sparking in Tottenham and quickly spreading across the capital. Abu got it, Karl’s missed calls. Six of them. Eight texts. tell me waz goin on. wtf?! News was not on his programme schedule. He had no clue whatsoever, had missed the whole thing like proper because he had been tired of his new mates, who weren’t really friends at all. And Karl, who had disappeared from his radar altogether. And the adults, who were supposed to be fair and shit, and not dump everything on him.

‘You’re not going out.’ His mother was all authority, and released her tight grip on the twins. Mother and son stared at each other.

‘You are not going out Abubakar, I mean it.’

The twins sat on the floor, eyes on their brother. His sister said, ‘Mom, why are you angry with Abu?’

Mama Abu shook her head. No reply. Eyes on Abu. This wasn’t even telepathic communication any more. It was clear and straight. She went back into the kitchen. Abu sat down and changed channels. The twins were up on him.

‘Why is mom angry with you?’

‘I don’t know.’

The footage was changing but showed the same. It was everywhere. Mark Duggan, a black man, had been shot by police in Tottenham. The circumstances seeming like usual – dodgy. White police, young black man. Dead. Days later, anger was all out of control. Spread and spread, first across the city, then across the country. The twins were glued to the pictures, couldn’t look away.

‘Abu, why is she jumping?’

‘She’s trying to be safe innit. The building is burning.’

‘But why is it burning?’

‘Someone put it on fire.’

‘But she’ll hurt herself, Abu, right?’

‘It’s more dangerous to stay inside.

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