'What is your name?' Smelly boy asked in a voice that certainly looked like him – toneless and unsophisticated.

'I beg your pardon?' I had heard him but I didn't understand why he felt the need to address me at all.

'You deaf?' He said. 'Wetin be your name?'

'Chuka.' I answered.

'Chuka,' he repeated savouring the name. 'You are Ibo. Just like me. That is cool. We will be friends then. My name is Jovi.'

He spoke so fast that the words rolled out in quick successive torrents. He wasn't looking at me any longer but was curiously checking my things. He removed the brooms from one bucket, looked inside the bucket and quickly lost interest and was fishing inside the second bucket. He withdrew a cutlass and wooden hoe from inside. He replaced the hoe but studied the cutlass with more interest.

'You should keep this machete safely,' Jovi said shrewdly.

'Cutlass.' I said defiantly. 'It is a cutlass. That was what my admission letter stated.'

'Whatever!' Jovi sighed. 'Cutlass o, machete o, it's all the same. Keep it well. They steal stuff here and this machete will come in handy when the time comes.'

'What does that mean?' I asked. His last statement had been said with a hint of intrigue.

'Soon you will see.' He said knowingly.

A silence followed, which I welcomed. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone. I kept thinking he was going to steal something from me. His eyes seemed to hover hungrily over my belongings.

'Why are you joining us at this time?' He asked. 'School started four weeks ago.'

'My letter didn't come on time.' I answered reluctantly.

'Why did you choose to come to 'Hope' of all colleges?' Jovi asked. 'Why not King's College?'

'My father chose it for me.'

'Why?' He asked. He was sitting on the pavement and had plucked one of the bananas in a bunch, which I had in one of my bags without asking my consent. I hated that, but I didn't complain. I ignored it.

'My father says Hope College is going to be a model college for the blue print of what Nigeria would be in the near future.'

'What else did your father say?' Jovi said sarcastically.

'He says,' I answered stupidly and in a low voice. 'We would be the leaders of tomorrow and that King's College has lost its edge on being the best school.'

At that, he bowled over and laughed a scratchy-hiccupy kind of laugh and bits of banana dropped from the corner of his mouth as thin trails of tears rolled down his cheeks. I wondered what was so funny to make him laugh so hard.

'Why are you laughing?' I asked.

'You,' he said. 'Do you always live your life according to what your father tells you?'

I was confused by his words. This was what good children did; listen to their fathers. Why did his question make me feel foolish and weak?

'No.' I answered. 'I don't always do what my father wants.' This was a lie but I had to let him think that I was as tough as he was acting.

'Really,' Jovi said testily. 'Prove it. When was the last time you defied your father?'

His question threw me off guard. I had not anticipated that he would call my bluff and hard as I tried I could not think of a single episode when I went against my father's wish. I caught his eyes for an instant and saw clearly that they mocked me. I went hot with embarrassment.

'I didn't think so.' He said with some satisfaction.

'Like you defy your father.' I added boldly. How dare he judge me, I thought.

'I don't have any father.' He simply said. 'I never knew him anyway. He didn't stick around long enough for me to know him, but even if he had I am sure I would do as I pleased regardless of what he says.'

He didn't have a father, no wonder he was so uncouth and rude and common. We could never be friends. His type was trouble.

He looked at me funny as if assessing me once again.

'Your father is not rich.' He said.

'What do you mean?' I asked in embarrassment.

'I can tell that you are not rich.' He simply answered. 'You don't look like a been-to even though you talk funny – through your nose. Fake phu-ney!'

            'What is that?' I asked. 'Phu-ney.'