This would be a coming-of-age story, except for one thing. It would be a story about coming to terms with being gay, except for what happens. It is a story about best friends even though they are from different cultures. It is a story about how you should not listen to best friends, especially if they are from a different culture. It is a story about how that can lead to disaster.
The house is calm and has been since we came back from Nigeria. My father doesn't say much beyond questions that require single word answers. Are you hungry? Yes. Have you eaten? No. Did your mother cook? Yes. Will you eat? No. Your homework nko? Done. It is as if he considers it his duty to make sure all my vital functions are under control, but beyond that for now is too much.