Kunle's Favourite Person

 Kunle, my younger brother, went missing last month.

And everyone suspects that I was the one who took him.

This was probably because I usually fought with Kunle though he's only nine years of age.

My malice with Kunle began three months ago, on a Friday evening.

That evening, Kunle and I had a huge fight over the person who would wash the dirty plates in our sink.

After the fight, I was left with a black eye, a shaky tooth, and bleeding lips.

Because of the injuries I had sustained in the fight, I swore to Kunle that I wouldn't leave him until I made sure he sustains injuries far worse than the ones he inflicted on me.

That same day, Kunle woke up at midnight, only to see me standing beside his bed with our sharp kitchen knife.

The scream that came from his mouth echoed through the house, rousing my parents and other siblings from sleep.

They dashed into Kunle's room, and when they saw me with the knife, they began to reprimand me, asking if I wanted to kîll my younger brother.

Barely a week later, my mother and Kunle were dressed and ready to go out to meet some people.

I stumbled and poured a dirty bucket of water on Kunle, drenching the new clothes he had been anticipating to wear.

"I know you did that on purpose, you wicked idîot," Kunle had yelled as he stewed in anger.

"No, I didn't. I'm so sorry," I had said, but immediately my mom's eyes were off of me, I smiled at Kunle and whispered, "Yes, I did. I deliberately poured water on your new clothes."

This amplified Kunle's anger and he cursed at me. He was so angry that even when our mother asked him to change into another clothe so they would go out, he refused.

Some days later, Kunle's school went on a midterm break. They were to stay at home for three days.

Kunle hoped to call his friends over these three days he would be alone at home, to game, play and party with them after we had left the house in the morning.

Unfortunately for Kunle, I fell ill during that three days even though our mother said I looked fine, so I had to stay at home, too. 

Kunle knew that once I was at home, I wouldn't allow his friends into the house. This infuriated Kunle as he believed that I deliberately said I was sick so I would stay at home.

"Why would you accuse me of such?" I asked Kunle to everyone hearing. "Can't you see the way I look? Can't you see that my body temperature is higher? Why would I stay at home just to haunt you?"

But immediately everyone left the house, I jumped off of my bed, and dashed to Kunle's room to tell him that I wasn't sick, that I just faked everything so I would be at home with him, to prevent him from enjoying with his friends.

Soon, Kunle began to see me as a wicked sibling, and he even told our neighbors and some of his friends that I hated him with passion

And as if to prove his notion, I pushed Kunle off from our balcony the next week.

He and our father were planning to visit one of our uncles that day, and when I saw that Kunle busied himself by leaning on and then looking off from the rail in our balcony as be waited for our father, I sneaked up behind him, and in one swift moment, I lifted him up and threw him over the balcony.

He landed on the hard ground with a loud pop, followed by a terrible screech as he cried in pain.

My parents and my siblings rushed out of the house to see Kunle on the ground, with his leg popping out In an awkward position.

They rushed Kunle to the hospital where the doctors confirmed that Kunle had broken his leg and suffered minor concussion.

They prescribed immediate scan and treatment on him, and also confined him to bed rest.

When Kunle woke hours later, with his legs bandaged, yet sore and hurting, he told everyone that I had pushed him over the balcony.

I denied this, and told him that he must have jumped over the balcony in excitement, and he must have imagined everything.

Everyone believed me, except Kunle. He knew I did it, and the smile I gave him just before I left the hospital room proved this.

After Kunle was discharged from the hospital, the doctor said that he had to stay at home for two months for his leg to heal properly.

I volunteered to stay at home to help Kunle after everyone was gone, after all, he would still need someone to do some certain things for him. Things like – helping him into the toilet and bathroom, bringing him food, making sure he did the easy exercises the doctor asked him to do.

Kunle refused that I should be the one to stay with him, but none of our other siblings were willing, and our parents were engaged with work so our father barked at him, telling him that he had to manage.

To help Kunle, I had to stop going to school. I stayed at home, and surprisingly, I did it without any issue.

After a month had passed, my mother thought it was time for me to return to school, to catch up with the things I've missed, after all, Kunle's legs was good now, and he could navigate through the house by himself.

I began school the next week, leaving Kunle to stay at home by himself for one more month.

And it was during this month that Kunle went missing.

We – my parents, my siblings and I – returned home one evening to find the door of our house broken and battered.

We rushed into Kunle's room, and the only evidence that he had been there was the clutches he used while walking.

We searched Inside the house, but Kunle was no where to be found.

We searched and called for him outside yet nothing.

We knocked at our neighbors house to ask if Kunle was with them, but they all shook their head.

We went to report to the police that Kunle was missing, we feared that he had been kidnapped.

A week after the report, Kunle was still missing. The police had searched and done their best but to no avail. We went and made announcements on radio and TV stations, asking noble citizens to report to us if they see Kunle, that we will give them a prize. We even told, on the stations, that if he had been kidnapped, that the kidnapped shouldn't hurt him for we were ready to pay any ransom.

Eventually, the people in our area announced a local search for Kunle. Hundreds of people volunteered to search for Kunle.

They searched houses, combed burrows, combed through bushes and dredged rivers yet there was no sign of Kunle.

After every search, they would return to our house in the evening, where my mother, though stricken with deep sorrow, would cook and serve them with rice, meat and soft drinks. It was the little she could do to thank and inspire them for searching for Kunle.

After many weeks of not finding Kunle, people assumed that he was dèad. And many of our neighbors whispered and pointed fingers at me, saying I had something to do with his disappearance.

But how will I open my mouth to tell them that Kunle was kidnapped and kîlled by his favorite person in the world?

How will I tell them that I fought Kunle that night, and went into his room with the knife after I overheard his favorite person calling people to come into the house to kîdnap him so the would kîll him for their secret society ritual?

How will I tell them that I had poured water on Kunle that day he wanted to go out, to prevent him from being taken by his favorite person in a staged kîdnap?

How will I tell them that I stayed at home with Kunle during his midterm break because I overheard his favorite person calling people to tell them that only Kunle would be at home.

How will I tell them that I pushed Kunle off of the balcony to prevent him from leaving the house because his favorite person had planned a broad day kidnap so he would be taken and slaughtered?

How will I tell them that I stayed home with Kunle after he got back from the hospital to prevent further attacks from his favorite person?

How will I tell them that his favorite person used that month he would be alone to kidnap him for the ritual demanded by the secret society?

How will I tell them that his favorite person is our mother?

And how will I tell them that Kunle's missing case would have been solved by now if only the people searching for him asked my mother where she got the meat she used in preparing the food she gave to them?

© Desmond Ben