Tunde and I were always together. You couldn’t tell one of us apart from the other. Born four minutes apart, we grew up in the same mess, while breathing the same struggles. Our mother died giving birth to our little sister, Tosin. From then onwards, our father became our world, a police officer trying to balance duty with single fatherhood.
But the world was a wicked place. When we were fourteen, our father got shot while protecting government money from armed robbers. He died on duty, but the government he served forgot us like yesterday’s news. No compensation, no help. Just three children and an old man who was too weak to provide more than stories and prayers.
Grandpa did what he could, but hunger doesn’t listen to advice. It just tells you to survive. We did anything to feed ourselves and Tosin. We did small jobs by day, and when those jobs didn’t come, we did what survival demanded, grab-and-run thefts at marketplaces and other crowded places at night, running off to hiding from the people we’d just stolen from.
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We blamed the system for everything. Maybe it was easier than admitting we were just two broken boys trying to survive.
By the time we were twenty three, the lines between right and wrong had blurred, but I was getting tired. I wanted to stop but Tunde didn’t. He said I was getting soft.
After a while, he started hanging out with some new guys, with tattoos, flashy rides, and that kind of confidence you only get from dirty money. They called themselves businessmen. Nobody really knew what they did, but people kept their distance, like they could smell that something about those guys wasn’t clean.
I begged Tunde to stay away. “Bro, we’ve risked our lives for scraps,” he said. “If we must risk it, let it be something worth risking our lives for.”
The night before his first mission with the boys, he told me about it. "Just a quick run into the city bank, no killings." That was what he said, but I could see it in his eyes, he was lying to himself.
I didn’t sleep that night. The thought of Tunde with a gun in his hand burned through me. We’d lost too much already. First, it was our mother, then our father, then our peace. I couldn’t lose him too. The first two weren't our fault, but it was left to us to make good use of what's left which is, ourselves.
At dawn, I made the hardest decision of my life. I went to the police.
They didn’t believe me at first. “A twin ratting out his brother?” one officer sneered, but I kept talking with a trembling voice, and a sinking heart. I told them everything, names, the occasion, even the plan. I didn’t care about the law that day. I just wanted to save my brother, even if it meant losing him.
Hours later, the city broke into chaos. News spread like wildfire, armed men attacking the City Bank. There were gunshots and sirens everywhere, people running and shouting. My stomach twisted as I prayed Tunde wasn’t there.
When the air finally settled, the robbers had vanished, and the police returned furious and empty handed. But they hadn’t forgotten my face. They kept me locked up with several questioning sessions in their station until evening.
Then, they took me to their truck and asked me to lead them to our house. By the time we got there our street was crawling with police trucks, flashing lights painting the night red and blue. Neighbours peeked through their windows. Grandpa sat by the door, shaking. He barely knew what was going on, he was too old to understand. Tosin stood beside him, tears rolling down her face. She knew who the police came for.
Then Tunde stepped out barefooted and shirtless, his eyes were red and lost. He didn’t even know what was happening until they grabbed him. He struggled and shouted, “What did I do?!” But the officers already had him cuffed. Then he saw me, sitting inside one of the police truck.
For a moment, our eyes locked. Everything stopped. He didn’t have to say a word. The look in his eyes said it all, he already knew.
The look on his face shattered me. First came confusion, then hurt, and finally that deep stare that only a brother can give, the kind that says, “I thought you were on my side.
I wanted to scream, to tell him it was to save him, that I’d rather have him hate me alive than love me dead. But the sirens drowned everything as they dragged him away like an animal.
The next morning, the papers said, “Police arrest key suspect in failed robbery attempt.” They never mentioned me. They never mentioned why.
A few weeks later, I went to see Tunde in the cell. His face had changed, he now looked harder and colder like all the warmth had drained out of him. I brought him food, but he just stared at it. “You did this to me,” he said, with a low voice I swallowed and said, “I know... but I did it because I love you.” He cuts through with a dry and empty laugh. “Love?” he said. “You call this love?” right there and then, he turned his back and walked back to his cell. And that was the last time we spoke.
Ever since then, the moment kept replaying. The look on his face and the silence that followed. Maybe one day he’ll get it, that I didn’t betray him to ruin him, but to hold on to the tiny part of him that still believed we could be better than this life.
But until then, I live with the echo of his eyes, my twin, my blood and my betrayal.