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SEVEN

Dr Jonas Frisen found out something a little while back, something Obi only recently learned of. That each cell in your body is replaced by a new cell every seven to ten years.

That could mean during that span, we become essentially new people. Our bodies renew themselves, and though there might be some more underlying science behind that, it meant hope to Obi. To people like him, and Fiyin—

—whose dreams were still haunted by that man in the car, two years back. If the myth was true, and if you actually become a new person every seven years, does that mean in due time, she would no longer recognize his lingering touch. Or that smell of burning cigarette from his lips. It meant hope.

Especially to Obi, who's always sort of hated his body his entire life. It's a beautiful idea, the cell stuff, but behind that hope, was the daunting reality—

—the question, if it actually happened that way?

But right now, he had bigger problems than the science, everything felt tumultuous on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.

Obi.

As he sat there, he couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror. He was shirtless, with a tank top laid across his bed, next to a syringe full of estrogen.

Hormones. Alot of thoughts flashed through his mind as he looked down on it. He'd realized he hadn't taken them since he heard of Jazzlyn's fate.

Neither had he been on his testosterone blockers.

He felt his hands quiver on his naked knees, below his boxers as he heaved a deep sigh. It could explain his mood changes the past few days, especially to Ola. There were more questions that haunted his mind on hearing of Jazzlyn—

—and he soon realized, that he was just like her.

And what he saw, reminded him what the world thought of people like him. What the world did to people like them. And the horrid repercussions.

And that, incited fear in his mind each time he stared at the needle or the bottle of pills.

It was why he couldn't look himself in the mirror, because he could feel the dysphoria treading back slowly into the back of his mind—

—i did say, Obi never gave his identity nor sexuality a thought for many years. Up until a year and a half ago, i mean he always hated his body.

The way he looked, the effeminate way he talked.

The way he walked, and the bullies didn't really help much. What he always thought was just body dysmorphia actually turned out to be more than just that. Something relating more to his gender.

His identity.

And it was only a conversation he had with two people, with Mira, and Jazzlyn.

Of course Mira did understand much, and her support was overwhelming. She was a drag queen, in the club she owned just below them.

The classic he/him by day, and she/her by night.

She had accustomed herself to that, to the way things had to be in places like this. So she might have been able to relate just a little.

It was a conversation they had when Obi clocked sixteen. He didn't just hate his body, he soon realized. He hated everything about him.

Hated that he was a boy. And it was then he slumped in the depths of depression. Choosing not to talk to anyone, Obi found himself in a dark place.

That dark place, he's slowly spiraling into once again. And then there was a stiff knock on his wooden door, the strobing lights of his LED flashing by the corner of his eyes. "What?" He said.

There was a crack in his voice, and also in the hinge of the door as it pulled away to reveal Mira. To people like Obi and i, she just went by she/her pronouns all the time.

We were the only ones that knew her pretty well.

"Hey" She said, in sort of whisper as Obi wiped the corner of his eyes. "How are you doing?" The lights highlighted her colorful silhouette in a ripped jeans skirt and netted leggings that went all the way up.

She had just a piece of neon green clothing across her flat chest, and a smile plastered to her lips. She was always so enthusiastic, and pretty. With chiseled jawline to die for, and Cher type of lips.

"I'm—" The words couldn't come out. The truth couldn't, so he settled on the lie. "I'm okay" His hands plummeted the syringe under his pillow as Mira took a seat. "Well i came to show you this skirt i got at the thrift store in Yaba" She chuckled.

Obi did too, in a way that cleared his nose.

"It is pretty" That was not a lie. "You're pretty" He acknowledged the eye liner thing she'd done by the side of her eyes, and the lip gloss that shimmered in the colorful lights. Mira made a sound like she did, when she blushed. She had a lot of spare time during the day to experiment with a lot of looks.

And personalities, without the construct of gender. And she could spend the remnant of time arguing about how things like makeup and clothings didn't even have gender. But that is within the walls of this building they lived in.

Not on the catastrophic streets of Lagos where you could get beaten for voicing an opinion of such.

"It's almost time for tonight's show" That explained why she was so richly dressed. She was a dancer, in one the secret drag queen led clubs in Lagos—

—the one just beneath where they lived.

With cryptic advertisements in the newspapers, the club managed to garner enough audience, ranging from closeted married men to cheating boyfriends who'd lived with the shame of their sexuality during the day, frustrated workaholic drunks, to experimenters. And undercover police sometimes.

But they were more than careful these days.

Mira didn't like to get herself involved with her morals and conscience that came after the job, especially after she'd sight some clients with their wives in public. She'd shunned that feeling after a while, it was their lives. Not hers—

—and it was the only way she could get money to cater for both her needs and Obi's. Nonetheless, the world was also unjustly cruel to people like her.

So why should she feel guilty, for just trying to make ends meet? Times like that, like these, she'd just succumb with her hands between her thighs.

Her confidence had deteriorated in a matter of seconds and it was Obi who moved close to her now. This was their relationship, codependent on each other in a world where they only had each other. "What is it, Mira?" Her name, felt like the word, mum, because it was who she was to Obi.

Though he never said it out loud, he felt that way.

"It's just— It's just i came here, asking how you'd been, meanwhile i dont even know how to answer that question myself" She turned to Obi, always truthful, unlike him.

"I mean, it's you. You're strong, nothing like me who's affected by Jazzlyn's death" She whispered and his hands wrapped around her shoulders.

"We all are, Mira" Came a truthful whisper this time. "But it's going to be okay. It will be" He said the words he wished he was told, now or even twelve years ago when his father had died, and his mum left. "Mira, it's okay—"

"We're going to pull through as a community" He was sure, some of the other transvestites were already downstairs by now. They weren't alone on some nights. And Mira scoffed with a smile.

The only thing that was different between these two was that Obi started taking hormones a little over a year ago, while Mira never did. She only loved to dress elaborately as a female in drag and though she didn't have a preferred pronoun, she didn't take offense to any either.

She was all of it. Genderqueer.

"I should be the one protecting you, comforting you" She felt guilty as she pulled away. "No, Mira. We can both do that" Obi nodded, standing up, and doing everything within his power not to look in the mirror. "I don't know how you do it, be strong—"

"It's what i saw in you that day i took you home. I saw who i wanted to be, when i was your age. If only i had the courage" Mira stood too.

Though it's unclear if maybe at some point in her life, she wanted to be trans, take the hormones. But in her defense, she didn't think. It was barely a thing then, and it isn't even now.

Obi heaved a deep breath. He knew he had anything but courage. Not to his bullies, nor to himself.

"I'll be up before twelve with cake. Don't sleep so early" She chimed, walking to the door. On nights like these, he'd spend vibing to the music that came from downstairs while attempting his math home work. Or he'd have his head buried in his laptop—

—watching youtube, all those stories about finding oneself, and also the articles. Because he was still on this journey, he didn't even know what he was. Or who he was. And this whole hormone thing, was just to test if maybe he'd hate his body a little less.

It was from youtube he'd learned of it, a popular arab influencer. And after a conversation with Mira and one of the queens that worked as a pharmacist by day, he got his hands on some estrogen to start.

A lower dose, perhaps to let things progress more slowly and he had a journal to document the littlest change, like his skin becoming thinner, and dry—

—how sensitive it became to certain roughness, and he sweat less. His changed across his chest and the tenderness around his nipples. He didn't know how to feel, between the pain and numbness. But that was all, he'd barely had a growth. Not on his arms either, instead he lost his weight, drastically then.

One thing he was glad about, was the reduction in his body hair which he hated, alongside his acne and slender figure now. He always questioned if this was exactly what he wanted—

—to transition into a woman.

Stopping the hormones gave him room to think, not that he did anyways. He'd rather look at the stories and bury his head in a laptop, all night. And during the days, it was the hell called school.

As Mira closed the door behind her, he shoved the syringe back in this box and closed the drawers. He hefted his chin to the mirror, looking down at his skin and picking at it with his fingers.

"Ugh" He groaned, folding it down his waist. It was just another casual night, of self loathe. But instead of doing his homework, he retired to his laptop where he just swiped open this new app he had, to find more friends. Friends that were like him.

Queer.

Which deep down he knew, but never said aloud.

And after a couple of swipes, his eyes met a familiar face, from Hillway High. "No way" He'd comforted himself with this new revelation.

4km away.

"Abdul" He muttered under his breath and that was all he remembered, before slouching into his bed, after a rough hassle in his mind.

"Happy birthday, Obi" Came screams that shut through his ears, waking him up not long after. His eyes met the dim light of his laptop in front of him before he recognized Mira with a cake in her hands.

He jolted up, palming his face. "You know—"

"Know you don't like celebrating your birthday, but it's your eighteenth" She halted what seemed to be a little trumpet sound as she walked closer.

"It's your eighteenth, Obi. Things change now"

"I hope not" He couldn't hide his sarcasm, if even it was. Perhaps it was a genuine hope, that his teenage years weren't almost over. Or a prayer, even.

"Alright get some sleep. I'll keep the cake till morning. I also have to sleep after a long night, and i have to see Jazzlyn's mother tomorrow also"

"That's— Why?" Obi asked. "I don't know. She was like our friend, just to see how she's doing. So it's not as though we've forgotten about her, and the justice she deserves" Mira nodded.

"I'm thinking of going to police with some friends, but with her mother's permission. Nothing to concern yourself with" She huffed a smile.

"Happy legal" She whispered with so much confidence as if it were even a thing. "Happy fortieth" Obi teased back.

If she enjoyed making me feel old, he'd return the favor even though she was barely even thirty five.

She rolled her eyes, before slamming the door and he fell back in his bed. His eyes falling on the clock that said five minutes past twelve am, he already begun to wish the day would be over.

Among the things he hated, don't add the fact that he saw his friend on a queer app, well, a friend. But you can add his birthdays, which is a close second.

To be continued…

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