My Brother or My Enemy

MY BROTHER OR MY ENEMY? I remember when Chris-my older brother by a year and a half- got a scholarship to study at
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, we were all happy. Mother rolled on the floor for two minutes as
She praised God. Father, a much more reserved man smiled and said nothing, I did not know what to do, so I just stared at Chris in admiration and in a brand new light. My brother was going to America to study Robotic Engineering, and I was proud of him.

I remember Mother spontaneously announcing it to us like we did not know whenever we had meals, or
When we were watching TV. We did not even dare telling our neighbours and other family
Members, they would be jealous and do something evil to my brother. I remember the day he left us, that morning Mother cried even more than the way she cried when
Granpapa died three years ago, Father was talking to Chris all the time and even when we on our way to the airport. I remember wanting to talk to him as well, to ask him when next we would play video games
Together, when next we would go down the street to get suya meat, what I should do to the next boy that would ask me out. I wanted to tell him I would miss him. I remember when he left us at last, Mother crying, Father smiling sadly, me staring at my brothers
Retreating form like a heartless mannequin, I was so pained and hurt that my face was totally blank and
Void of emotions. His last gift to me was Timothy Findley's Stones, now I think my brother had planned everything that happened after then.

My brother came home after eight years, we had not heard from him in three. He was different. He had a large,beard,darker eyes and unsmiling lips, he had big, hefty muscles and a fit body, he had an earring in
His left ear and his teeth were no longer sparkling. Alcohol had discoloured his teeth. We all knew
Something was wrong, but no one dared discuss it, either with or without him, he did not follow us to
Church anymore, he went out late and slept all day, sometimes he did not even return home. He
Drank, smoked and used drugs, my brother had become a gangster, a thug, everything he promised not to
Become. Mother cried to herself whenever Father was not home, Father never said a thing; his son had become a stranger to him.

I though, had nothing to do or to say, no more was I going to have close discussions with Chris, he had scary scars all over his body, he swore on the phone, Mother told me to avoid him if I could, she said because I was a young boy. My brother had changed, he had become something else, I cannot even call it a shadow of his former self, for his former self was much better.
I cannot even call my brother my brother.
Now, he is just Chris.

FALEYIMU OMAREMI
ENGLISH JOURNAL
PROFESSOR WOODS