Chapter Three

08:30 am

Kogi State.

As Eniiyi slammed the door closed she looked around her in disgust. Okay, it wasn't anything she had expected. The street directly in front of where the car was parked stretched untarred into the distance. The surrounding houses were of different state and quality, ranging from old, mud, small to new, plastered, big. Some were painted in colours which looked horrible to her. She wondered if she'd have to face this eyesore everyday for one month.

The closing of a door made her turn around. An ample woman who looked to be in her sixties came down the porch steps, a look of surprise on her face. Her short hair braided in shuku had streaks of gray here and there.

Daddy was the first to go forward to meet her. He went down prostrate on the floor in front of her, his palms and the tips of his shoes touching the ground, and Eniiyi pitied his light-blue T-shirt.

'Ẹ káàárọ̀ mà,' he said in greeting

The woman bent to touch his head. 'Káàárọ̀, Olúmìídé.'

Mommy also went to join, curtseying very low. 'Ẹ káàrọ̀ mà.'

'Káàrọ̀ ọmọọ̀mi, óyá dìde nílè.' She gestured for Daddy to stand up.

'Adekunbi,' Mommy called to her from the other side of the car where she was still sulking.

She trudged forward, reluctantly, suddenly shy to meet the woman she'd now guessed to be her grandmother.

'Why the sudden visit, you didn't even give me a call.'

'I called your number many times this morning but it wasn't going through,' Daddy explained.

'Network problems,' G.ma said. 'But all the same it's a pleasant surprise.' Her eyes were trained on the girl walking slowly towards her. 'Olumide, is that not Eniiyi?'

'You're right, ma,' Eartha said, frowning at the girl to walk faster.

'Chai, ọmọ òkìn pẹ́ dàgbà o. She's grown since the last time I saw her, o.'

Eniiyi mentally rolled her eyes as she reached them, what had she expected?

'Good morning, ma,' she said, going down onto her knees as was customary to greet an elder.

'Good morning, Eniiyi, Enieye. Ṣé daada la bayín o?' She was brought to a hug. Eniiyi found her face in an ample bosom and she tried not to squirm, she wouldn't mind death by asphyxiation, anyways, it'd take her away from all these horrors. 

'Ṣé kògbọ́ Yorùbá ni?' Her grandmother wanted to know.

'Em . . . ógbọ́, but, kò kọ̀ lè sọ́ ni,' Daddy explained.

Grandma shook her head in pity and pulled the girl back to examine her more. 'Ogbọ́, you can't speak Yoruba?'

Eniiyi sputtered, not sure what the woman wanted to hear. She gently extricated herself from the older woman without seeming rude.

'It's okay, Mother,' Eartha said and winked at her daughter who glared back and stomped back to the car.

'Ṣé kò sí?' Olumide's mother wanted to know why they'd come visiting.

Daddy and Mommy started to explain to her but Eniiyi wasn't listening. She was blind with anger as she hauled the heavy holdall out and then made for the boot. So she was really going to stay, they were actually going to leave her behind in this middle-of-nowhere she didn't know the name. Though she had known coming here was inevitable, she'd rather hoped for a miracle that'd interrupt it. But now here she was, doomed like a rabbit in a corner. She was pained to tears but didn't cry, instead, she cussed at her parents work inside. The work that never allowed them to have time for her, the  work that mandated it be put first before her, same work that now required her to be in this place for a whole month now.

She gnashed her teeth and tried to haul out the travel bag but it barely moved from its position.

Mide came by her side and lifted it out with one hand. He pat her head and helped her to drag it unto the porch. She carried the holdall after him. Grandma was standing to one side with worry etched on her forehead, probably from what she'd been told. 

Her parents were now going towards the car, Grandma trailing after them with prayers in Yoruba, for their safe journey. Probably — she didn't understand a thing of what she was saying.

A few busybodies were now hanging around, she noticed, mostly scruffy looking children and a few adults. This infuriated her the more. Was she actually going to live with these kind of people everyday?

'Adekunbi, won't you come say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy?' Eartha gestured with her hands with a smile on her face, as if what they were doing was perfectly okay with her.

This further infuriated the young girl. She planted her fists on her waist and glared at them both. 'No! Leave and forget me here, is that not what you're so good at? I hate the two of you. I don't know why you didn't just give me up for adoption when you knew you wouldn't have time to actually take care of a child. I hate you over and over and I hope to never see you again! You'll see, you're going to come back and regret ever leaving me here!'

With that she turned on her heels, not bothering to see the effects of her blind anger on her parents and dragged her luggage inside.

'God, that's very rude! Eniiyi come back here this instant and apologize to your parents!' G.ma shouted after her but she made no indication of hearing as she slammed the door shut.

She balled and unballed her fists trying to calm herself down. Taking a look around she realized she was in a lounge room. The furniture comprised of three cream sofas, a long black settee, and, two chocolate-brown loveseats forming a crude semi-square around a round, wooden coffee table which had a huge radio sitting on it. A small plasma TV was hung on the wall on the open side of the square. The floor was tiled flat and the walls painted a garish colour — yellow. Eniiyi shuddered at this.

She made for a seat just in time to hear her Mommy's car honk. There was a wide window to the side, above a loveseat, she climbed unto the chair loveseat and pulled aside the curtains in time to see their car disappear into the distance. She slid back unto the chair and palmed her face.

There was really no way she was going back now. She sighed, already missing her tablet, it was just her luck that she had workaholics for parents. Despite all the things she'd said to them before they left she still kind of hoped they'd turn back and come for her. But that, Eniiyi thought, was as possible as a vampire going sunbathing.

'No shoes on the sofa!'

She jerked her head up, surprised.

The woman who was her grandmother was standing arms akimbo with a slight frown on her face. 

'Huh . . .' Eniiyi hadn't heard what she said.

'I said,' said Grandma, 'no shoes on the sofa. In fact, no shoes in the house, you take them off outside.'

Eniiyi stretched out her legs from beneath her to the ground, slightly embarrassed.

'Help her to drag in her luggage, Lastborn,' Grandma said.

It was at that moment she noticed that a light-skin boy who looked about her age was standing timorously beside her grandmother, his body slightly obstructed by G.ma's.

In spite of her situation Eniiyi couldn't control the laughter that came bubbling out of her. It was this laughter that lighted up from her core and slowly made it's way up till it extinguished itself out. And why wouldn't she laugh, really, what could've come over a parent to name their own child Lastborn. Maybe this doomed 'holiday' wouldn't be so doomed after all.

Or maybe it was a nickname, the thought crept through the laughter into her mind. She quit laughing immediately.

Her audience were staring at her, wearing the confused look of child who wasn't sure if the penguin just talked to him or not.

Eniiyi coughed in mortification wishing the ground would have mercy on her and open up to swallow her whole.

'This is your cousin, Lastborn.' Grandma gently pushed the embarrassed boy forward.

10:17 am

Abuja, F.C.T.

'It's okay,' Eartha said, as her husband veered into the long-term parking. But it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

Mide was humming softly as he went down the parking garage.

She punched him lightly in the arm.

'Yes, Raspberry Ripple?' he turned to her as he pulled into a parking spot.

'Mide!' She sounded petulant. 'Aren't you even worried?'

Mide's sigh could have easily launched a ship. 'She'll be fine, come on.'

'I'm just worried, she's never been to somewhere like that before. And she seemed pretty riled up about it. We should have at least gone back for the tablet, what if she needed us?'

'And miss our flight? Babes, she's just mad at us, which is natural. And she's in the safest hands there, nothing could possibly harm her there.'  He got out of the car and made for the boot. 'C'mon, we've got about an hour to spare, let's go to the duty-free.'

But Eartha wasn't as convinced, she still had a bad feeling about leaving her daughter in the village, even after forty minutes of shopping and chatting with strangers she was still ill at ease. 

On the long journey all that was on her mind was guilt.

12:35 pm, September 3,

Kogi State.

Eniiyi walked as slowly as possible. She was still sulking since four days she'd been here. Counting the days sure did not help but it's not like there was something else to do.

'Walk faster.' Lastborn pulled at her elbow. It was obvious it was all the boy could do not to break into a run. 'Eniiyi now,' he whined when her velocity seemed to have reduced instead of increase.

'Stop whining,' she snapped, annoyed and then pulled up her headphones to cover her ears. 'It's not like I wanted to go, anyways. I just wanted to see the babies, that's why I'm following you.'

Lastborn rolled his eyes. 'Duh.'

Eniiyi saw him mouth it. 'Duh, to you, too,' she shot back and frowned. Lastborn was starting to annoy her. 

It turned out Grandma had only said he was her cousin. By thorough querying, she'd found out herself that he was the son of G.ma's late brother's daughter— her distant aunt's child. In other words her cousin, once removed. A fact that actually thrilled her sometimes when she was not annoyed with the boy. It felt nice to have another cousin.

But the ten-year-old boy could be pretty annoying sometimes. He always showed her off to his friends, whenever he got the chance, proud to tell anyone that they shared the same — although thin — blood.

He'd come all the way from their house, which was far, to wake her up from her midday nap to go with him to her own near neighbour's house. The woman had given birth to twins overnight and had just arrived home from the local hospital.

Eniiyi hadn't wanted to get up from the bed, until he'd mentioned she'd probably get to carry the babies. There had been power outage for the whole of yesterday and the poor girl had had to go fetch water at the borehole when their water supply finished. Not that she'd fetched for long, after fetching two small buckets she'd faked a fainting spell and that's had put an end to fetching water for her. All the water drums had been filled to the young girl's delight when she woke up this morning.

'I'm hungry,' she suddenly said. That wasn't meant to come out but she'd unconsciously voiced her thoughts.

'Oh, stop, jàre, didn't you finish a whole plate of àmàlà* yesterday night?'

'Yeah, right. That was because I fainted and then I needed my strength back.' And then I couldn't sleep half of the night because of a full tummy, she added but didn't say that out. Lastborn had been with her when she'd pulled the fainting act, so maybe he must have followed her home, too, because she couldn't remember seeing him later after.

'Ah, finally, we're almost there!' Lastborn threw up his hands. 'With the rate at which we were walking, I'd accepted the fact that the ìjàpá would reach there before us.'

Eniiyi rolled her eyes at his comment then frowned. 'Who . . . what is ìjàpá?'

'Ìjàpá,' he corrected. 'It's kpí, not p.'

'What is it? A slow being?' she hazarded a guess.

'Close. Ìjàpá means tortoise. Have you seen one before?'

Eniiyi stuck her chin out. 'Of course, I have, at the zoo.'

'Wow! I've never been to a zoo before. Did your parents take you there? There's no zoo in the village and Father won't let me leave the village for anything.' He sighed. 'I guess I'd have to wait till I get to senior school.'

'School field trip,' she replied, immediately, appalled he'd assume it was her parents. But then it was the normal thing to assume. Eniiyi snorted. Her parents didn't fit into the personality of taking a child to the zoo. She could count on one hand and still have fingers left the number of times the three of them had gone out together on an outing that wasn't company or estate party. 

Lastborn was the, well, lastborn of two children, his elder sister by seven years having gone to university in Lagos, on scholarship . He lived alone with his father — his mother passed away when he was still a toddler. Eniiyi had only met the man once, when she went over to his house and he wasn't a nice person, in the least, he enjoyed cuffing the young boy or beating him up. That disgusted her to no end. He was just a useless, good for nothing lumpheaded alcoholic, who needed a good beating from his mate to know he was nothing but an idiot.

When Eniiyi had had enough of it, the outspoken girl told him exactly what she thought of him and threatened to call her parents when he made to hit her and she'd felt proud of herself. The euphoria hadn't lasted though, he'd thrown the impudent girl out on her ears, but not before she'd spat in his face.

'Eniiyi?' Lastborn waved a hand in her face which she reflexively swat away.

She pulled down her headphones. 'What?'

'We're here.'

* A thick paste made from yam skin, eaten chiefly in Yoruba cuisine.