Chapter two

A woeful month after mum passed on, I summoned up courage to ransack through her little treasure, she had earlier informed me to only access it after her death.

One of her last wishes.

Dragging the dust infested, frail and battered looking parcel out of the hole she hid it in, I sneezed uncontrollably.

Only God knows how many years she had kept it hidden.

With trembling hands, I opened it and for no reason, felt my heart skipping faster than it should. I didn't bother checking for a way to open it, I tore at it hurriedly, anxious to know what was inside.

I am sure if mum were here, she would have smacked me hard on the head for being destructive which she rarely did. She was such a calm woman only using the rod when I acted too foolish.

Inside mum's treasure chest, I found some of her precious clothes, some jewelry, a picture, an envelope and lastly, two thousand naira notes. I wondered where she got it from when we didn't even have the money to treat her illness.

I snatched the picture and my heart skipped a bit. My eyes bored into the face of the beautiful woman. My mum. Staring with her wide smile.

How I missed that smile.

Beside her in the picture, stood a dark handsome man towering over her, who I presumed to be my dad.

I never met him but mum told me he died before I was born. In the picture, he wore a smirk on his face looking lovingly at my mum. They loved each other, I guess.

Sighing, I realized I had been staring at the picture for a long time. I dropped it and picked up the other thing of interest to me, the envelope. I ripped it open and found a letter mum had scribbled on. I adored her handwriting not that mine was bad but, hers were more beautiful.

Anjolaoluwami.

That was the name she fondly called me.

Omo mi, I hope this letter doesn't cross your eyes at a young age.

Oh, mum didn't want to die either.

I immediately felt guilty for thinking she was callous  leaving me behind.

Well if it does, I would like you to know that I cherish you and I want the best for you. I also want you to understand that I want you to succeed, and perhaps see you succeed but the cold hand of death just wouldn't allow that.

I wiped the tears off my face.

I miss you just the same way you do.

It was such a voluminous letter taking up four pages of an A4 sheet telling me to always stand for what is right, stay natural and focused, so as to achieve my dream of becoming a neurosurgeon, and not compromise.

Remember the child of whom you are, do not follow bad friends, make your father and I proud. Believe in God and do not miss programs for any reason.

I wasn't really a spiritual person, mum was the one who pushed me to church anyways.

The most fascinating part of the letter was the mention of a younger brother of hers who lives in Lagos, stating that she wants me to go live with him.

It was surprising. If someone had told me mum had a relative in Lagos, I would have argued with the person. I never knew she had a relative talk less of one living in a city we considered as the white man's land in my village.

Affixed to the letter, was the address of her brother's house, stating that the two thousand naira notes was for my transportation to the place.

So she was saving the money we could have used to save her life for my transportation to Lagos? How caring she was, risking her life for me.

Ending the letter, she wrote in her last paragraph that I shouldn't forget all the advice she had previously given me while she was alive. She sternly advised me to abstain from men as they only wanted what was between my legs. She ended her letter with a short prayer of success for me and my oriki.

I folded the now wet paper and kept it under the pillow, a thoughtless thing to do because when I woke up the next morning, it was almost tattered making me angry at myself, I had promised never to lose it.

I rushed outside, splashed my tear stained swollen face with water and rushed back into the house for fear of Mama Chinosom, I wasn't in the mood for useless banter or the stupid stares she had been giving me lately.

Getting into the house, I sat down to my now cold food of watery egusi and garri without meat, the only thing I could afford. I realized I had lost appetite so I just sat there brooding.

How does this uncle of mine look? Is he married? How do I find my way to the address mum gave in the letter? I had never left my village. What if he doesn't accept me? Would he send me to school?

My little brain was tired from all the stress I had gone through earlier. My eyes were also heavy from the tears I shed and from lack of sleep. I had been waiting in fear for the return of the landlady. I had not seen her around since the last time she came to warn me of throwing my luggage outside.

I stretched and yawned, making a mental calculation of some of my mum's belongings I would either throw away, sell or give out. They weren't even much anyways.

______________________________________________

''Pass me the scapula. Give me the surgical blade. I need a sterilizer,'' I wiped sweat from my head.

''Doctor Ben, I'll need you to move this lobe to the next room as soon as I dissect it so you can start work on it immediately,'' I ordered.

''Yes ma."

Knock! Knock !! Knock!!!

Who could be knocking on an ICU door while a surgery as important as this is taking place?

''Doctor Ben, please check who is at the door and inform them that a surgery is taking place and they can't be attended to at the moment!!'' I screeched.

Gbam! Gbam!! Gbam!!! The sound came louder.

I jolted from my bed, realizing I had been dreaming all along.

Who could that be at this time of the night?

''If you do not open this door in the next two minutes, I am going to break it down!''

Gbam! Gbam!!

The sound could wake the dead.

''Oh my God! Isn't that the landlady?'' I muttered. Stealing a glance at the squeaking wall clock, I realized it was ten minutes past nine.

Abi this clock has started its madness again.

''I am coming ma,'' I shouted.

I hurriedly opened the door and was almost blinded by the shining, slightly scorching morning sun.

''Good morning ma"

''What is so good about the morning?!" she interrupted.

''You call this morning good abi? Why wouldn't the morning be good when the one week grace I gave you has elapsed into a month? You think your charm has worked abi?!! Well, if you know what is good for you, I am leaving this place now and I am giving you an hour to vacate this room. By the time I come back, I don't want to see even a pin in this house or else!

Mo ti so temi o," she said, dragging her ears.

''Please ma. I don't have anywhere to go from here. Please ma, I beg of you, have mercy on me. Please just give me time, I promise to do something about the payment," I pleaded in tears.

She was adamant and I kept begging until an aged woman who lived in the compound decided to plead with me.

''OK then, I'll give you till tomorrow. By tomorrow, if I meet you in this house, you'll have yourself to blame. If not for mama ehn, you would have gone today,'' she said and left immediately hissing and cursing.

''Are you still standing there? Are you not supposed to go and start parking your things?'' Mama Chinonso blurted out mockingly.

I didn't even realise I was still standing by the door shaking like a jelly fish.

Completely ignoring her, I muttered a "Thank you ma" to the already retreating figure of my God sent and moved inside to start packing as she said.

Having sorted through all our belongings, it didn't take me time as we do not have a lot of things to boast of. I retreated to lie down on the bed.

Where do I go from here? Who do I know? Lord please help me. What about mother's younger brother in the city, uncle Bolarin? Can't I go to him? Or isn't that what mother said?

I hurriedly rushed to where I kept the remains of the letter.

But I have never left Itasha before. How then do I get to Lagos? Thoughts kept running through my mind even as I went to discard the unwanted items and deposit the still useful ones to the orphanage.

Night came faster than usual, the long shadows of the evening dissolved into the gathering darkness of night time, the air cooled and the crickets sang, the banana tree behind the window whistled silently.

I couldn't help but look longingly at the sky. The stars glowed brightly tonight, each trying to outshine the other, promising life in darkness. I wished to join the yard children singing happily outside but I couldn't. I needed all the rest I could get tonight for tomorrow's journey to the city.

I was ecstatic. I was finally going to the city, at last I would be allowed access to a better education my village couldn't offer. I would see a lot of delightful things my classmates who had gone to Lagos always boasted about.

I kept thinking until I got carried away in the bliss of sleep.

Omo mi: my child.

Oriki : a Yoruba word used to sing praises.

Gbam: a sound

Abi : a slang for 'right'

Mo ti so temi : I have said my own

Ehn: a yoruba slang