FREEWILL
Home, for most, is a structure—perhaps a house painted in beige, warm tones, or cheerful splashes of pink and yellow. For some, it’s the confidence that a living, breathing soul awaits them on the other side, a candle burning softly, waiting for their return.
For Oyinkan, home is the sound of Mama’s laughter—loud, boisterous, and full of life as she dances around the house in her colorful ankara wrapper. Her curls sway with each movement as she leans to the left and right, her joy infectious. Home is also the raspy sound of her laughter during the harmattan when her asthma kicks in, but she laughs anyway, determined to find joy in even the harshest of seasons.
But today, home is in a hospital bed, surrounded by the cold beeping of machines. Mama’s once rich brown skin has dulled, tubes and wires replacing the energy she once radiated. Her laughter has faded, replaced by labored breaths and silence.
Oyinkan stares at her, helpless, wondering if this is what destiny looks like: to sit and watch the light of his life fade away. Was this what the universe had written for him and his twin—to be prisoners of circumstance, unable to change their fate? Always on the other end of the stick, stuck and lost. In the part of town where they are from, hope is a gift, and there’s usually no light, talkless of a matchstick, at the end of the tunnel.
TWO YEARS AGO
Two years ago, Mama—who had once been as strong and unwavering as an iroko tree—was brought low by the cruel hands of cancer. On that fateful Thursday evening, Oyinkan had just come back from a stressful day at the laboratory, conducting experiments on the drug resistance of various bacteria strains. He had always been fascinated by medicine, captivated by the power of drugs and their ability to heal. It was no surprise that he had chosen to study pharmacy at the University of Benin. Meanwhile, his twin brother, Oyinloluwa, had opted for law at Obafemi Awolowo University.
When Oyinkan finally reached his hostel that evening, all he wanted was to relax and binge-watch Suits. As he settled in, his phone blared with Adele’s “Hello”—the ringtone signaling an incoming call. It was Oyinloluwa. Irritated, Oyinkan declined the call. Twins, people say, are a blessing—connected, unique, inseparable. But Oyinkan wasn’t so sure anymore. In the early years of their childhood, they had been close, the pride of their community. Until things changed.
Oyinkan often wondered if this was fate—if their broken bond, their diverging paths, were all part of some cosmic plan. Some universal joke, maybe. He used to believe that destiny had crafted their lives like two threads intricately woven together, but now, those threads had unraveled. What was left of them?
Their bond had begun to erode the moment their father—the man they referred to as their sperm donor—had reappeared in their lives. His arrival was always loud, dramatic, and predictable. He would shout their mother’s name for the entire neighborhood to hear.
“Nkechi! Where is this goat? Come out o! If you know what is good for you and those useless boys, come out now!”
Their mother, resigned to his outbursts, would give him money—whatever she could spare from her periwinkle and vegetable sales at the market—to get him to leave them in peace. If she was too slow, he would escalate, throwing stones at their door until she relented.
Oyinkan never saw him sober. Their father’s drunken tirades made them the talk of the town, alongside the numerous scandals Oyinloluwa often found himself entangled in. The day their lives changed forever, Oyinkan heard his mother’s screams in the dead of the night. He and Oyinloluwa rushed into her bedroom to find their father on top of her, trying to pin her down with his zipper undone. Blood trickled from her mouth as she struggled beneath him.
In a blind rage, Oyinkan grabbed a pestle from the kitchen and slammed it down on their father’s back. The man crumpled to the floor, and Mama stood trembling, naked and ashamed. Oyinloluwa helped her to the living room while Oyinkan stood over their father, pestle in hand, ready to strike again. But Mama’s voice broke through his fury.
“Chimo! My son, please leave him. Bia, come here. Ndo!” she cried. “Let’s leave justice to God!”
Oyinkan’s hands shook as he dropped the pestle, his heart racing, blood pumping in his ears. Was this justice? Was this fate, that his own mother would stop him from taking control of a life that had been so cruel to them? He had been willing to defy everything he knew—law, morality, even God—to protect her, but she had refused him the one thing he had power over: choice. Can’t she see that this man is a monster? Someone whose existence is nothing but a mere waste of space.
Shocked and frustrated, Oyinkan dropped the pestle, his anger still burning but now mingled with a deep sense of helplessness. The next day, he confided in Oyinloluwa, telling him of his plan to finish off their father with the help of some local thugs. But Oyinloluwa, to his surprise, opposed the idea vehemently. He threatened to inform Mama and swore that if Oyinkan laid a finger on their father again, he would intervene.
That argument escalated into a physical fight—their first. Fists flew, and the villagers gathered around to watch as the two brothers brawled, pinning each other to the ground. Mama came running to break them apart, her wrapper barely holding together as she screamed for them to stop. From that day on, the bond they had once shared was shattered, replaced by a cold, unspoken agreement: they would only speak to each other when absolutely necessary.
When Oyinloluwa called four more times that Thursday evening, Oyinkan finally picked up.
“What the hell do you wa—” he began, only to be interrupted by his brother’s quiet voice.
“It’s Mama,” Oyinloluwa whispered.
Oyinkan’s heart sank. “What happened to her?” he asked, fear like a taut rope tightening his chest.
He had spoken to her that morning. She had been in good spirits, even singing her favorite song, “Jehovah Chime, Jehovah Chime me la,” as they did every time they ended a call. He had joined in, just to hear her smile through the phone.
“She’s at the hospital,” Oyinloluwa said. “She’s been there for a week now. Mama Chigozie just told me. She’s at the teaching hospital in Owerri.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving Oyinkan stunned. How had he not noticed? Why had Mama hidden this from him?
Furious with himself for being so blind and angry with Mama for deceiving him, Oyinkan left Benin that evening with nothing but the clothes on his back. When he arrived at the hospital, the doctor’s words hit him like a sledgehammer: Mama had cancer, and treatment would cost 12 million naira.
“12 million naira.” He repeated like a mantra with blood roaring in his ear.
“What in God’s name is t–,” Oyinlolouwa was about to make matters worse with his complaints.
He chimed in while giving his twin a glare, “Of course, doctor. Thank you.”
Speechless, he gave Mama a tired smile as he scooted close to her bed.
AT PRESENT
Two years have passed since that day. With the help of the villagers and whatever odd jobs he and Oyinloluwa could find, they managed to start Mama’s treatment. But it wasn’t enough. After some months, Mama insisted on returning home, convinced that Jehovah would heal her. She refused further treatment. Oyinkan and Oyinloluwa took turns caring for her while trying to complete their studies, as Mama had insisted. But her condition worsened, and the doctors have now recommended that she be taken abroad for experimental treatment—treatment they cannot afford.
As he looks at Mama now, lying on the hospital bed, Oyinkan wonders whether freewill is just an illusion. Are his choices even his own? Or is he simply a puppet, dancing to the cruel tune of fate? He had always believed in science, in the ability to alter outcomes through knowledge and persistence. But science couldn’t save Mama. Faith couldn’t save her. And now, with time running out, he is left with one choice—one that goes against everything he once thought he believed in.
He glances at Oyinloluwa, who has withdrawn into himself, hiding behind the guise of not wanting to worry Mama. Oyinkan knows better. His twin is afraid—afraid to take control, afraid to get his hands dirty. This is ironic, how will the supposed controversial twin who is currently the sigma leader of the Red Dagger cult in his school. Mama is not aware of that, his twin isn’t aware that he’s been keeping abreast of his activities. Yet where he ought to step up, he chose to suddenly become moral and upright at the wrongest of times. The titles society has placed on them—the “bad one” and the “good one”—no longer matter. Oyinkan knows now that life is not as black and white as those labels would suggest.
It all boils down to freewill, to the power of choice, even when the choices are ugly, even when they seem futile. He has come to realize that destiny is not a fixed path but a winding road full of detours and crossroads. And sometimes, you have to take the road less traveled, even if it means going alone.
As he rises from his seat, the weight of his decision presses down on him like a heavy storm cloud. The next few steps will change everything. But for Mama, for the woman who gave him everything, it is a choice he is willing to make.
Melody 
