Ibadan, 2004 Taiwo's house smelled different. At twelve, Dayo did not know the name of the perfume Taiwo's mother wore. Years later, standing in a department store in Lagos, he would smell Diptyque Orphéon and be carried so abruptly back to that afternoon that he would have to put the tester down. Powder. Wood. Something warm and clean, like a room where nobody was afraid to speak. It was Taiwo's birthday. There were balloons taped badly to the wall and too many children in one sitting room. A tray of sausage rolls kept disappearing before the adults could place it properly. Somebody's younger brother cried because he had lost a game. Music played from large speakers in the corner. Dayo had been to birthday parties before. What changed him happened after most of the guests had left. Taiwo's father came into the dining room carrying disposable plates. “I said we should have ordered less food.” His wife looked at the leftovers. “And I said children eat like criminals when food is free.” “You ordered for a wedding.” “You invited half the school.” “I invited six boys.” “You told Taiwo he could invite six boys. Taiwo apparently runs a small government.” Taiwo groaned. “Mummy.” Dayo waited. He did not know he was waiting until nothing happened. Taiwo's father shook his head. “Next year, bread and water.” His wife laughed. “You will be the one explaining that to your son.” “I will tell him inflation.”
She threw a napkin at him. He caught it. The conversation ended. That was all. Dayo sat very still. Two adults had disagreed. One had criticized the other's decision. Nobody's voice had sharpened. Nobody had gone silent in the dangerous way. No plate had been placed carefully. No child had checked a doorway. The room had remained the same temperature. A few minutes later Taiwo's father returned with a broom. “Your mother says I invited half the school, so apparently I also invited all their crumbs.” Taiwo laughed. “Daddy, leave it.” “No. You people have destroyed my house.” His wife walked past and touched his shoulder as she went. The gesture was so casual Dayo nearly missed it. That was what unsettled him most. Not affection performed for visitors. Not a perfect family. Ease. Later upstairs, he said, “Your parents were arguing.” Taiwo shrugged. “About the food?” “Yes.” “They always argue about food after parties.” “And that's it?” “What else?” Dayo had no answer. Taiwo flopped onto his bed and opened a comic book. Within seconds, the disagreement downstairs had become irrelevant to him. Dayo stood by the window. Outside, Taiwo's father was carrying chairs into the house. His mother came out behind him and said something Dayo could not hear. The man laughed. Dayo felt betrayed by the scene.
Not by Taiwo. By the existence of it. He had believed every family contained the same machinery and some people were simply better at hiding it. That afternoon suggested otherwise. Before they left, Taiwo's mother pressed a foil-covered plate into Dayo's hands. “For your mother,” she said. Taiwo protested. “Mummy, that is my chicken.” “Your chicken has gone to another family.” His father called from the doorway, “This is what happens when you run a small government.” Everybody laughed again. Dayo smiled with them, but he kept studying the adults. Their ease was not the absence of disagreement. It was the absence of fear after disagreement. That difference followed him all the way to the car. On the drive home, his mother asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?” “Yes.” “You ate?” “Yes.” “What did they give you?” “Rice. Chicken. Cake. Sausage roll.” “Ah. You people went to eat the family's inheritance.” He smiled faintly. Then asked, “Mummy, do you and Daddy like each other?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Where did that question come from?” “Nowhere.” “Did something happen?” “No.” She drove another block before answering. “Your father and I love each other.”
Dayo watched the road. It was not the question he had asked. When they reached home, the gate was already open. His father was there. Dayo's body began calculating before he stepped out of the car. The lesson from Taiwo's house did not make him safer. It gave him a comparison. For a while, that was worse.