How To Steal From Your Big Brother:

In Fifteen Lines.

Inside the house, Sir is in his room sitting on the grey arm chair made from plastic. He is bent over his phone.

His younger brother left him a message that read, “You dey house?”. He didn't bother to reply. Sir had been out of the house for three hours, and away from his phone. He had left it on his bed.

Simi also left a message, one missed call and several knocks on his unlocked door. He later asked her why she hadn’t pushed the door down. What if he was inside and dead? The door was not even locked.

He replies to her messages and wonders why she had come at all to him this Sunday. 

“Hi are you home? I want to talk to you about something?”. The text had made him feel important, and he also felt wanted enough for her to want his opinion about a decision.

The door to his room opens, and his brother swaggers inside.

“Where you go?”, he asks in pidgin.

“You don find me before?” Sir fires back with a question. A typical Nigerian.

His brother shrugs the question off, since he didn’t get a direct answer why does he owe Sir a proper answer? A shrug will do. Shrug off what was and what is about to come. 

He starts to take his clothes off. Any time his brother comes around, he is either hungry, wants to use his older brother’s toilet for a shit or wash his body that constantly reeks of weed.

The important question is, doesn’t his brother have a place of his own? He does. Then, doesn’t he have running water? Or a toilet? Well, that’s between him and God.

Then Sir noticed the debit on his Gtbank account. “Who withdrew cash from my account?”. He asks loudly to no one. This time he forgets to speak pidgin. If he could curse in Ijaw that would have been perfect. His language failed him and English came to the tip of his tongue. His brother comes out of the bathroom in his boxers with an air of genuine concern, “Weytin Sup??”. Sir tells him.

How did he allow this to happen? How? Sir questions himself.  Is it a crime to leave the door to his room unlocked? Can’t he feel safe in his own house? The money isn’t for him and now he has to return it from his own account. Sad.

***

I remember his expression, which is to say I am solving this mystery. Because someone had locked a cat inside of a bag and erected a home out of denial and now I am doing the same each time I see my brother and think of what he has become, think of my ATM card, the withdrawal, betrayal. I remember the splash of water, the sound of music, his deep baritone singing in my bathroom, the other times he stole from me, from my table, from my bag. I remember checking his pockets and was not surprised to find the exact amount missing from my account. I didn’t take it out, because I understood that sometimes we steal out of need. Likewise, the language I use to tell this story is not mine. It is a stolen form of expression. It is not ours.

***

I remember my brother’s entitlement and seeing a scatter of a broken family dynamic: the issues left unaddressed. The pidgin language of toxicity. I remember thinking everyone I have ever loved comes back to bite me. I remember tracing the lines on my palms with my ATM card. Line to line as if to trace the genesis of this until I ended up with an answer as foolish as my brother thinks I am. The soft and stupid big bro. I remember studying my brother’s expression and also staring into the wall.

***

It went more like this: I gave you the key, Bro - which is to say I handed you my cat, gave it to you when we still made canoe boats out of used cartons, dug shallow pools at the backyard in Abuja and sang songs from Barnie. The cat out of restlessness meows and pants, it must be stuffy in that bag. How I tried to confront you but did not have the language you would understand because you are hardly reasonable. Do you understand ?

I, Sir, I am the opening of our Mother’s womb and you were four years behind me daring and asking, What can you do? What can you do Bro?

I remember looking at you for the first time at Kiladejo hospital in Lagos after you were born and, because I was five, I thought I could protect you from everything if I held you long enough. And even now, I can’t protect you from yourself.

The day you stole from me, I remember sleeping off like that, calmed. My trust for you totally crushed and the cat, still in your bag, is panting.

I text you after you leave, “Like that, make you no ever beg me for Moni again”.

***

This is how you steal from your Big Bro and get away with it in fifteen lines:

1. Because you know his pin, enter his unlocked room when he his out, and take out his ATM card.

2. Withdraw the amount you need.

3. Divide the stolen cash into two and hide each half in your left and right pocket respectively.

4. Swagger back to his room, and ask him, “Niggur, where you go?”.

5. Lay out your clothes neatly on his bed as though the stolen cash is not in your pocket to avoid suspicion. Pappy can’t search your pocket can he? No, he won’t.

6. Enter his bathroom to shit and bathe.

7. Come out of the bathroom in your boxers when he starts to shout for his money.

8. Feign surprise. After all, you know nothing about it.

9. Don’t forget to ask him where he put his ATM card. The Mumu is forgetful; he surely won’t remember.

10. Make him feel like he is saying rubbish when he shows you the debit alert.

11. Then shout at him. Raise your voice over his doubt and over your guilt so he would understand that he is a big olodo.

12. Connect your phone to his Bluetooth speaker, play some celebration Gbedu, go back to shit and shower. You have won.

13. Come out, and dress up quietly.

14. Disconnect your phone from his speaker.

15. Hold his secrets in your hand, and swagger out on him without saying goodbye. That is how he gets his thank you because you are a snitch and still the keeper of panting cats.

This is how to steal from your Big Brother and get away with it.

I hope you find these tips useful, have you ever tried them before or you intend to? Do you know someone who would need these tips? Why not share this with them?

See you next week Sunday! And I always love to hear from you here in the comments and on Instagram. Thank you so much for reading.

Sir,

Cheers!