Chapter 2 Welcome Home

Deja

"I'm about to board, Dakota. I'll text you during the flight." I inform her

"Okay do that. And I hope the entire process wasn't hectic?" She asks worriedly

I chuckle "No. I gotta go, babe, we'll talk soon." I wait for her goodbye before ending the call

Okay, this is it. I took the sign. I'm coming home Dad, just like you want.

Whatever reasons my father wants me home for, it better be good. Because there's no way in hell I'd forgive him if he made me up and leave for no good reason.

After I get on the plane I walk the aisle quickly, searching for my seat. I hear feet shuffling and luggage dragging on the floor around me but I'm too focused and stressed to be bothered about my surroundings. A few more searches and I sigh with relief when I find my seat. I lift my luggage and place it into the luggage compartment above my head.

I've always loved traveling. I don't travel as much as I'd like because of my job and other stuff, hopefully, one day I can.

The usual announcements are given and then the pilot announces for take off.

After we get in the air, I take my laptop out to try and distract myself from all the thoughts of what I'm going to face when I arrive in Nigeria.

There's a notification beside the WhatsApp icon on my laptop and I'm guessing it's my mother. I read through the long message, and as expected it's an epistle on how I need to listen to my father and not stress him. She goes on to inform me to let her know when I get to the airport.

So, nothing in here about the reason I left my life to travel home?

I text her back saying, there's no need to text them when I arrive at the Abuja airport. I'll let her know when I've gotten an Uber that will bring me home.

I don't know why the sudden change of heart. That's how It happened the last time I went back to Nigeria, years back.

I search my small bag for my phone and neck pillow for a minute. Before I finally find my phone, I start to get scared when I look around for my phone and don't find it. But then I remembered that I put it in the side pocket of the bag just to be safe.

I take my phone out and text Dakota so she knows we've taken off. A minute later I get her reply and like I expected she wants us to continue our discussion about Maverick Wolfe.

Dakota: "That's amazing. Also, I refuse to believe my friend doesn't have an eye to notice attractive men!"

Me: Dakota, honey. He spilled ice-cold coffee on my nice outfit AND proceeded to demand an apology from Me! Therefore he is hereby the ugliest and rudest human on earth" I text back with a proud smile across my face

My smile widens when I see that she's typing back. Dakota: I love you with all my life. But we seriously need to get you into a relationship. Or at least get laid!" My smile falters and my mind goes back to a dark memory that I've buried far away.

"Get up and Clean your tears! You can never tell anyone about this NEVER! Are you listening to me, Deja? No one can know that you've brought shame to this family"

The vibration of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts and I look down at it to see numerous texts from Dakota.

Dakota: "I'm sorry, D. I shouldn't have said that. My stupid brain always forgets how you get when I mention sexually related stuff. I'm so sorry Please forgive me"

It's not Dakota's fault, to be honest. I never told her what happened to me, she just noticed all on her own how uncomfortable I get at the mention of sex sometimes.

It's not like I've never had sex before, I have. I tried a lot of times to try and conquer what happened to me by facing it. But every time it happens, I just freeze all over again and I'm back to that room, that age, and beneath him again. Doesn't matter if it's another man touching me all I feel and see are his hands and face.

My phone vibrates again so I decide to text Dakota back.

Me: "I'll call you when I arrive at the airport. I need to get some rest. Talk later, babe."

I turn my Wi-Fi off before putting the pillow around my neck hoping to God I can fall asleep.

I'm not extremely worried about whatever reason my father desperately wants me back home. Personally, if it's news about him dying it would be doing all of us a favour. Especially my mother. That woman desperately needs to be freed from the bondage that is called Nigerian marriage.

As easy as divorce comes to these Oyinbo people, it has never been easy for Nigerians or other African countries I assume. I don't think it's even an option for women like my mother who have been chained down by marriage forever, to be honest.

I know it's a bit harsh to wish my father death, but he's been less of a father and more of a controlling stranger to my mother and I.

It's safe to say that not even an unknown sickness or reason can fix our damaged relationship. It's already too late and nothing can, absolutely nothing can fix it.

I just wish there was a way I could help my mother, even though she has her faults. Especially after what happened. I was told to stay quiet, and I did. But I have no idea why my mother was quiet. If it's because she was truly unaware or maybe she decided to pretend she truly had no idea.

I'm completely lost in thought that I don't notice when our pilot announces our arrival and to also brace ourselves for landing.

The plane lands smoothly and I don't miss what seems like a sigh of relief from the person beside me.

The door opens up and all the passengers start walking out the exit carefully.

I get to the plane's exit before making my way into the airport.

I take my phone out to check if my mother has replied to the text I sent about almost landing.

I see she's typing but then it stops and the next thing I know my phone starts ringing.

I chuckle "Mama mì, bawo ní?" I ask how she's doing in our mother tongue

"Oh! Deja omo mì!" She exclaims "It's so good to know that you're coming home. I've missed you so much, my daughter"

"Same here, Mum. But I've got to go. I need to order an Uber, I'll text you when I'm in it.

"Oh, no you don't have to. You have a ride waiting for you. Just walk out of the airport you'll see the driver waiting." She explains

Driver?

My brows furrow with confusion.

My parents were comfortable enough now with dad's new job, but not that comfortable to be to have a driver.

"Iya mì, what do you mean by driver?" I've gotten used to calling her mother in Yoruba, it just appears in any of our discussions very easily.

She sighs tiredly "Your father's coming! Just get in the car, Deja. We'll explain when you get home. Okay?" She explains hastily

"Wait! Mummy whose driver is -" The call ends and I'm left with unanswered questions. I walk out of the airport and don't bother calling her back, because I know she won't answer the phone.

I look around for the driver, and I'm left completely shocked when I see a white man holding a cardboard with my name written on it. I pause and look around and he seems to recognize me because the next thing I know he's calling for me.

My parents better have a good enough explanation for whatever this is.

I sigh defeatedly and think about my actions. I could pretend like I don't see him and just get an Uber or taxi on the other hand, this is a free ride. "Fuck it!" I mutter to myself. I muster the fakest smile I could give and make my way to the driver. He takes my luggage from me and helps me open the door.

So this is it, I guess.

Welcome back to Nigeria, Deja.