Ever since I can remember I’ve been told to keep quiet. When I was an infant, I wasn’t allowed to cry, scream, or wail, but I did so anyway. My brother, Kaliq, told me once that when I was younger and at the park, a kid took my toy from me. I started to cry for it, kicking and waving my arms around like a helicopter. Weird description right? Well, that’s how he described it.  

In seconds, my mom scooped me up in her arms and ran home. She pressed her hands firmly on my mouth, to muffle the noise I was making, but it was still audible. Everyone around was giving us weird looks as if toddlers aren’t supposed to cry. Kaliq told me that at this point the skies became darker. The clouds began to move and it looked as if the sky was making room for a hand to reach in, grab me, and discipline me for making such a disturbance in the town. I just think it was probably showing signs of rain. 

Kaliq tried his best to catch up with Mom who seemed to be running thirty miles per hour. His little five-year-old self was stumbling along the path as Mom was sprinting home with two-and-a-half-year-old me. I, on the other hand, was busy trying to claw her hands off of my face. 

When we got home, I was still screaming and crying. Kaliq said I was practically whining, for my toy back. Sometimes I wish I was the older one who could retell his embarrassing baby and toddler memories back to him. Kaliq soon went into his room because he knew what was coming next.

“Kiko Njoku,” my mom scolded me in her Nigerian accent. “You cannot always have your way.” 

“B-but my dolly. He take it from me,” I sniffled. 

“It doesn’t matter. I told you we have to be quiet, abi? Do you want something bad to happen?” 

“No. B-but,”  I started, but suddenly, my dad came in. He wasn’t as patient with me as mom was. 

“Kiko, if I hear that you were screaming in public again, you wouldn’t like what I would do to you,” my dad says. He ends by kissing his teeth. When Kaliq was retelling that part of the story, he made sure to pause and do so.

I didn’t say anything after that. I assume it’s because I couldn’t argue with Dad. He instilled this fear in me that prevented me from disagreeing with him or doing anything that he deemed as “bad”. Part of it is because of his extreme parenting solutions, but the majority of it was because of his personality. He was never a person who would joke around or play a prank or anything. All my life, I’ve known him as strict, no fun, and rule-following. 

~~~

Now, twelve years later, I’m still a little loud, emotional, and, according to Kaliq, melodramatic. I still try to respect my parents' wishes, though, and don’t make noise in public. At home, however, that’s a different story. 

“Kiko, we’re going to be late for school!” Kaliq yells from down the hall. 

“Coming!” I scream back. I look around my room to see if I’m about to forget anything. I quickly cross off September 21st off my calendar.  I stuff my things into my backpack and rush out of my bedroom door. 

“Women. They always take so long getting ready,” Kaliq sighs when I enter the kitchen. 

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Shut it, loser,” I say while bonking him in the head with my lunch bag. I then head over to the fridge to find something for lunch. 

“Ahh now respect your elders,” he says in his Nigerian accent. 

“Abeg-” I start, but I’m interrupted by my mother who suddenly enters the kitchen.

“Morning you two. Sometimes I’m glad this house is soundproof, you guys are always so loud in the morning.” She ties her nightgown robe around herself tightly.  

“Morning Mom,” we say in unison. 

“Do you want me to drive you or will you guys walk?” 

“Walking is fine,” Kaliq says at the same time I ask if Mom can drive us. 

“You need the exercise, Kiko,” Kaliq says, glancing at my lunch box. I packed a plate of jollof rice, chicken, and some other snacks. 

“I’m a growing child,” I reply back. 

“Sure,” Kaliq says, drawing out the end of the word. 

“Kaliq, weren’t you yelling about being late?” Mom asks him, washing the dishes we used for breakfast.

“Oh right. C'mon Kiko let’s go,” Kaliq says, putting an end to our brother-sister teasing. 

We’re about to head out the door, when mom quickly adds, “Make sure to be quiet out there!” 

“Yes, mom,” I reply. She says it mostly for me. 

We walk out the door and are met with complete silence. We don’t hear birds chirping or dogs barking, just utter silence. To be fair, it is six in the morning, but even in the middle of the day it’s soundless. I say soundless instead of peaceful because the absence of noise is more eerie than anything.   

“Do you ever wish sometimes that we didn’t have to be quiet?” I whisper. 

“Sometimes. But I’d rather have some silence than be kidnapped by a giant,” Kaliq replies. 

Giants. That’s the story we were told as kids. If we’re not quiet the magical giants would get angry and pluck us off the earth. Well, not really earth since technically our kind no longer lives there. My dad told me that humans moved to this planet because of pollution and global warming, whatever that’s supposed to mean. He also said that the giants that live in the clouds kindly let us live on this planet if we respect their only rule: to be quiet. It honestly sounds like some messed up Grimm's Brother fairy tale, and even though it came from Dad, I don’t see myself believing it.

“Do you really believe in that stuff? Like don’t you sometimes think that maybe they’re all wrong and there are no giants?” I ask him.

“I mean…” Kaliq starts, but then he suddenly snaps at me and starts firing questions at me,  “Kiko, we are not supposed to think like that. Why’re you so curious all of a sudden? Who’s putting all these ideas in your head? Are you hanging out with Ronin and his little troop of radicals?” He shout-whispers all this because we’re outside.

“No, of course not! I was just thinking,” I reply. 

Sometimes I forget Kaliq is a lot older than me. He’s almost an adult and I just entered the world of being a teenager. I also believe Kaliq is brainwashed. I kind of think this whole town is brainwashed. Like am I the only one finding the concept of giants a little weird? It just doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve been trying to get Kaliq to contemplate this, but every time he either doesn’t take the hint or tries to shut me down.

One day after Kaliq told me the story of the screaming toddler, aka me, I went to my mom and asked if that sort of thing ever happened to Kaliq.

“Oh no, Kaliq was a very quiet baby. No wahala. He hardly ever cried and… oh he was just an angel,” Mom said recalling his first moments. That of course didn’t make me feel better about the whole thing and then my mom went on to talk about how I, on the other hand, was so loud and needy.

“You were a rebel, Kiko. No Oga could hold you down. You wanted to break every rule…”

So, Kaliq and I have been different since birth. He was the good child and I was the not so good one. Despite our behavior and different beliefs; we’re super close.