Bola has always been… different. Even as a child in her bustling neighborhood in Lagos, people noticed her. Aunties would lean over their market stalls, watching her with wary eyes, muttering as she passed by. “That girl… she’s carrying something inside her,” they’d whisper, making small signs with their fingers to ward off whatever they thought she held. This was always followed by Auntie Ada’s exclamation of “tufiakwa!”—a vehement “God forbid” in Igbo.
Whenever Bola acted out of character, her mother would only shake her head and sigh, “This one, ehn, she was born with three spirits fighting inside her.”
But even her mother didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know about Tolu, Lola, or Titi. She didn’t know how they woke up within Bola at the oddest times, threading their voices into hers, pushing her forward, pulling her back. Each spirit was strong in its own way.
Tolu, with fierce laughter and a voice sharp as a cutlass, always ready to pick a fight, caring little for what anyone thought. Lola, soft and tender-hearted, who would tear up at a memory so faint it would leave Bola breathless with emotion. And Titi—the darkest of them all. Cold and watchful, she rarely surfaced, but when she did, she left an icy shadow that clung to Bola for days. Titi spoke only in truths, and her truths were sometimes too hard for Bola to bear.
On this particular Saturday, Bola was at the market. Rows of stalls stretched beneath the scorching Lagos sun, piled high with goods that beckoned with bright colours and sweet scents. People milled around, haggling, laughing, voices overlapping in a music of familiar chaos.
Bola adjusted the wrapper tied snugly around her waist, wiping sweat from her brow as she scanned her list. She needed the ingredients for her mom’s famous jollof rice. Today was special: a celebration for her admission into the University of Nigeria. For once, Bola felt proud and almost hopeful that her life was finally taking shape.
But as she moved through the crowd, clutching her list, she spotted them—the women from her neighbourhood. Four of them, in matching iro (wrappers) and white buba- (top), laughing and chatting as they picked out yams from a vendor's stall. Their eyes landed on Bola, and in an instant their laughter died. They turned to each other, whispering, their glances tinged with curiosity and caution.
Bola took a deep breath, holding her head high, but tension simmered under her skin, familiar and unwelcome. She knew what they said about her: the girl with “split souls.” But before she could step away, Aunty Bose, known for her sharp tongue, called out.
“Ah, Bola, my dear! Buying things for your mother’s paaarty, ehn?” A tight smile, stretched like thin fabric, hovered on her lips. The kind of smile that didn't reached her eyes.
“Yes, ma. Just a few things left,” Bola replied, willing her voice to stay steady.
''Her paaarty you mean?!'' One of the women cut in, laying emphasis on "PARTY!"
''True, at least something good has finally come her way" Aunty Bose said in low tones. But Bola heard and tried to control her alters.
Her heart was already racing, and with it, she felt a surge within her.
Tolu's voice sliced through. “What exactly do you want, Aunty Bose?” The words slipped out, smooth but edged with defiance.
The women’s eyes widened, caught off guard by Tolu’s biting tone. Bola felt the familiar thrill—a mixture of fear and exhilaration—as she struggled to push Tolu back.
Aunty Bose sniffed, lifting her chin. “We just wanted to greet you, my dear. People say you’ve been… keeping to yourself,” she said, each word carefully chosen to remind Bola of her difference, of how she didn’t quite fit.
Tolu snapped back, light and scornful, “Ah, so people don’t mind their business now? Just because I don’t greet every person in Lagos doesn’t mean I’m hiding.”
The market air thickened, a charged silence falling over the women. Then, as quickly as she’d surfaced, Tolu retreated, leaving a hollow space. Lola rose, gentle and remorseful, her voice trembling. “I… I’m sorry, Aunty,” she said, fingers worrying at the edge of her wrapper. “People don’t always understand me.”
The women exchanged uncertain glances. One reached out, touching Aunty Bose’s arm. “Let’s go,” she whispered. They turned, leaving Bola with the heat of embarrassment prickling her skin.
She sighed, shifting her focus to the next stall, but the sting of judgment clung to her. Just as she took a breath to calm herself, a chill traced down her spine. Titi stirred, her presence a shadow in the corners of Bola’s mind.
“Why do you keep trying to please them?” Titi’s voice whispered, cold and steady. “They will never accept what you are. To them, you are a stranger, something they will never understand.”
“Not today, Titi,” Bola whispered, jaw tightening as she moved. “I just want to buy things in peace.”
“Peace?” Titi’s words were a dark echo. “Why pretend? They will only ever see you as ‘other.’”
The truth stung. Bola had spent her life balancing the pieces of herself, suppressing the voices, straining to blend into a world that only judged. But today, something shifted inside her. The market, the vibrant stalls, the chaos of colors and sounds—it all seemed to blend into one clear moment of realization. Tolu’s defiance, Lola’s empathy, Titi’s unyielding strength—they were hers, woven into her as tightly as the wrapper around her waist.
Bola exhaled slowly, the tension loosening. She walked to the next stall, this time with a quiet power that made those around her take notice. The vendors smiled as she approached, and the customers glanced her way, curious, as if sensing something they couldn’t name. She didn’t shrink under their gazes or hurry away from their judgment. She simply existed—whole and unapologetic.
When she reached her house, her arms laden with bags of tomatoes rice, and spices, her cousins rushed to help. Their laughter filled the compound, buoyant and warm. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, Bola felt at peace. She was Bola, yes, but she was also Tolu, Lola, and Titi. Each voice, each spirit, woven into her being.
As the evening unfolded, the laughter of her family ringing around her, Bola felt her heart settle, no longer pulled in different directions. She didn’t know if the world would ever understand her, but at that moment, surrounded by love, she knew one thing: she was enough.
