I don’t know which was more appealing to watch, the stick figures I was scribbling on the side of an old 2A notebook or the opposite neighbors playing in front of their house. I guess it was the latter.
I always wondered what their lives were like, the neighbors, I mean. Beyond the constant squabbling among the children, whose numbers were almost the size of a football team, and the games they played in front of their house, I wondered what it felt like to live unrestrained without a care in the world. Or at least, that was how their lives appeared to me.
I watched intently as five sweaty boys chased after an orange-sized ball, yelling as they did. I was not counting the scores, but now and then, I saw bursts of jubilations erupt whenever the ball crossed the goalpost, which was marked by two stones.
Their voices soon faded into echoes as my mind drifted. The longer I stared at the ugly-looking stick figures I was drawing, the more they started to look like real humans; only this time, I imagined that they were my siblings and me playing football in front of our house.
November 1st, 1999, started like every other day. We returned from school earlier than usual. I didn’t mind, and neither did Omoayena and Enesomi; It had been several weeks since her first day of school, and her tears had gradually turned into enthusiasm(and maybe even joy) every time we dropped her in her class.
I was startled out of my thoughts by a high-pitched voice coming from downstairs. I peeped and saw an old lady, probably in her early seventies. Her eyes looked tired, frail.
“Nwa doctor,” she beckoned, tilting her head backward.
I froze for a few seconds, partially thinking of how to respond. We were not allowed to say too many words to strangers aside from a polite greeting in English, whether they understood it or not.
“Good evening, ma. Seat down inside and wait for my daddy,” I finally mustered the courage to say, running briskly into the house before I could even finish saying the words. My dad ran a private medical practice, assisted by my mum, a nurse. A section of our house which we called ‘the consulting room’ was where he treated his patients.
I was back to my spot in no time, but this time with Omoayena, who was excitedly showing me the paper plane he had made. In the years that followed, he taught my sisters and me to make them too.
The rest of the evening before 7 PM was uneventful.
Omoayena and I sat quietly on the balcony, watching weary-looking children drag their dusty feet back home after a long day of playing in the sand; I could tell from their muddy stockings and unbuttoned shirts. They were days I returned from school looking the same way.
The evenings always gave us beautiful scenes to watch. It was like the whole village waited for the sun to go down to come alive. I savored every bit of it anytime I got the chance. Anytime before 5 PM, that is. We knew we couldn’t stay outside beyond that time, or in my mum’s words, the mosquitoes would bite us.
Everything changed after 7 PM on this day.
There was something warm yet tense about that evening.
We didn’t quite understand why my mum was pacing the floor. She had a calm and reassuring look on her face.
“We will come back with your brother…or sister,” My dad said, as they both stepped out, closing the door behind them. That was when it clicked. Our baby brother was finally coming. Omoayena, who wanted a brother, had done an excellent job convincing me that it was a boy. And maybe I believed him.
We sat eagerly looking at the brown door that led to the staircase. We stared at it long and hard as though we could see the other side of it. The minutes turned into hours. Impatience gradually settling in.
Finally, the doorknob turned, and there they were.
I remember the look on our faces as my mum came in holding a chubby baby wrapped in a cloth. We clutched around to see the baby. And behold, there she was. Ebhokasomi. A beautiful child.
The air smelled different, like soft scented fragrances. It smelled like a child.
My brother’s jaw dropped. Bittersweet for him, I guess. Although wishing it were a brother, overwhelmed by the joy of holding another sister in his hands.
When I was born, my dad said there was so much celebration. His friends and brothers had gone into the village in search of bush meat to keep the mouths of the guests moving. I don’t remember what it was like when Enesomi was born. I was too young to know.
But I was aware, very aware when Ebhokasomi was born.
It was the beginning of pure joy and happiness. Another baby sister to love and care for.
Present Day- February 2022
‘Hey Siri, what is the time?’ I asked, looking in the direction of my Ipad with a pause.
“It is 17:19,” Siri’ responded, her firm voice filling the room. I continued pacing the floor praying in the spirit.
Today was a special day.
I had experienced many ‘firsts’ with my sisters. First day of school, first steps, first haircut, you name it. And here it was. Another first. Today would be the first time I would consciously share the gospel with my sisters.
I wanted them to hear my voice. But not my words. I wanted them to hear the Holy Spirit speaking through me.
…
Chapter One- Nostalgia
