It's been 2 years and 6 months, and I still don't believe he's dead.

My mum had 7 children. I grew up to meet 4 siblings and myself. The other 2 died before I was born.

Today.. I'm gonna be telling you about my relationship with my favorite sibling (he's late now BTW)

We didn't grow up together. Matter of fact, we didn't spend up to 2 years with each other.

Reason: he grew up with my aunty and so did I.

Yunno this thing with parents of those years. They give their children out to people to help take care of them. Also, it happens when the parents are not financially buoyant to cater to all their children.

My mum's case was different though. My older brother and I grew up with our aunts (my mum's sisters)

The reason my aunt took me was because she liked me from birth. Fun fact: I was a very lazy child from birth, and apparently the only one that believed in me besides my parents was my aunty. So we connected from birth.

To this day, She's like my second mum. She calls me out for bullshit more than my mum does 😅😅

So that was why when I got to the age of being independent of my mum, she took me.

And then my older brother. Was taken by my other aunty. (My mum's older sister)

Her case was different because she struggled to get pregnant after she got married. So she spoke to her sister and they made that arrangement.

Fast forward to when we both stopped staying by our aunts and came back home for good. I loved him so much that I'd always want him to come home.

But he preferred to stay in the village with my dad than with us and my mum.

Reason is. He was a gang leader, and his gang required that he stay home. My brother was a typical example of what you call "rugged"

He had so much power and strength; besides all that, he was a good person to the core. He'd fight for you if he noticed that you were being bullied or anything of that sort.

But his fighting style is what most people don't like. He's brutal. He could keep coming for you for days. Like… beat you up today, and let you go treat yourself and recover, then he'd come back say like a week later and give you the second round. And let you recover, then come for the last round.

Yep. Brutal.

Some people Hated him for this, and others loved him for this. I on the other hand didn't care what he did or did not do. I loved him. He was my brother after all. No. That sounds wrong.. he is my brother. Even in death, he still is.

I always wanted to be around him. Even though our age difference was huge, (he was the first child of 5, and I was the fourth) he was at least 12 years older than me.

He has a nickname for me. When everyone else calls me Añuli, he calls me Alole. How could I not love him?

And did I mention I look exactly like him? I once was at a bank here in Abuja, and someone called me by his name. When I turned, it was someone from my village. And to think that my brother has never been to that part of the country.

The resemblance was hella much.

I have a million and one memories about my brother that I'd love to share, but that'd be a book-length. So I'm gonna draw a line here.

But here's something though.. It's been 2 years and 6 months, and I still don't believe he's dead. It feels like he's still alive, and would come back someday with his cocky smile slapped on his face, and yell "Surprise"

I haven't shed a tear since he died. Why would I cry when I feel he's still alive? It's stupid.

Forgive me cos I know this email is a mess. It wasn't supposed to take this angle, but.. Yunno, shit happens.

I'm gonna end it here though. And I'll see you in subsequent emails.

Remember, feel free to reply to any of my emails with anything. Question, suggestion, confusion, whatever.

I'll do well to try and help you out.

Okay. Bye.

CopyQueen.