Before I Turned 20

The Things We Keep Quiet About

That afternoon, after the nurse came to treat her, Itunu lay quietly on the thin mat in the corner of the room. Her body felt lighter, but not whole. The kind of relief that comes after vomiting and pain only creates space to breathe; it does not take the pain away. She stared at the cracked wall, her mind drifting, trying not to think about the principal's office, the shame in her father's eyes, or the way her body had betrayed her.

By nightfall, she managed to sit up and eat a little. When her father returned, he stood at the doorway and looked at her.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied.

He watched her for a moment, then shook his head and walked away. No anger. No shouting. Just silence.

For the next one week, everything changed in a way that felt unnatural. No one scolded her. No one sent her on errands. No one even seemed to notice her. It was as if she had disappeared while still living inside the house. She moved quietly, spoke only when necessary, and stayed out of everyone's way.

When she finally returned to school, the principal handed her a document and told her it had to be signed by her father or a doctor to confirm she was fit to be back in school. Itunu took the paper home, placed it carefully under the DVD player, and waited.

It was never signed.

Days passed. Then weeks. Eventually, the paper disappeared, and no one ever spoke about it again.

Life returned to normal.

Or at least, what passed for normal in that house.

It was around that time, after her final term in JSS3, that Itunu started learning tailoring. She had begged her father until he reluctantly agreed to let her learn from a woman he knew. After school each day, she would go to the shop, watching, learning, and slowly finding something that felt like her own.

When she was to be registered into SS1, her stepmother took her to the school.

That day stayed with her.

The registrar looked up as they entered, his eyes scanning her from head to toe before settling on her hair.

"Why is her hair like this?" he asked sharply. "This is not neat. She cannot come to school like this. Ensure you cut it."

Itunu felt the words sink into her chest. It wasn't that the school did not allow students to make their hair. Other girls had neatly braided styles. But hers had grown out, thick and uneven, because no one cared enough to do anything about it.

Her stepmother nodded as though the man had said something perfectly reasonable. Once they got home, she repeated his words to her father.

"She has to cut the hair before she resumes," she said.

Her father agreed immediately. No one asked what Itunu wanted.

But something had already begun to change inside her.

The next day, her father gave her money to cut her hair and left the house.

Itunu held the money tightly in her hand for a long time. Then she walked to a call center and dialed his number.

Her heart pounded and her stomach in knots as she waited for him to pick up.

"Daddy..." she started, her voice small but steady. "I don't want to cut my hair."

There was silence on the other end.

"I want to start making my hair," she continued. "I will use my own money. I will save for it. You don't have to pay."