Chapter 2 Memories in the Sand

Folakemi woke to the sound of gentle waves lapping against wooden pylons and the distant rhythm of drums drifting through the morning breeze. Even before opening her eyes, she knew the village was stirring to life - Aiyetoro never truly slept.

Pushing back her light wrapper, she rose and crossed to the window. Outside, fishing boats bobbed against their moorings as mist clung to the shoreline. Smoke from cooking fires spiralled upward, carrying with it the scent of roasted fish and peppers.

And, faintly, there was music - a familiar, upbeat melody that tugged at her heart.

Today would have been Maami's favourite day of the year: the preparations for the Sea Festival.

Smiling, Folakemi dressed quickly and padded downstairs, the wooden floorboards cool under her feet. Billy was already waiting for her at the front door, tail thumping eagerly.

"Alright, boy," she laughed, ruffling his ears as she slipped on her sandals. "Let's see what this village looks like this morning."

The salty morning air embraced her as she stepped outside. Sea Whisper Inn glowed softly in the early light, its whitewashed walls bright against the green mangroves beyond.

Folakemi felt a flutter of excitement.

This was exactly why she'd come home - to breathe life into this place again, to reconnect with the village and all its traditions.

"Folakemi!"

A familiar voice pulled her attention up the lane. Sade Balogun waved energetically from her boutique porch. Dressed in a light blue buba and iro, Sade hurried over, her face lighting up.

"You're just in time," Sade exclaimed. "The committee for the Sea Festival is meeting at Mrs. Alade's compound this morning. Wale is there too - come join us!"

Folakemi felt a thrill at the mention of Wale.

"Sounds perfect," she replied, and the two of them fell into easy step together, Billy prancing at their heels.

As they walked, Folakemi drank in the village's familiar sounds and sights - children skipping rope beneath the almond trees, men mending nets under palm-leaf shelters, women balancing baskets of bright peppers and cassava flour.

Here and decorations were going up - strips of colourful fabric tied to wooden poles, lanterns and ribbons glimmering in the gentle breeze.

And all around was that low, infectious sound of drumming - someone already practising the festival rhythms.

When they reached Mrs. Alade's compound, the place was alive with activity. Women sat around peeling yams and stirring big pots of palm oil stew; Chidi Okeke was perched on a ladder tying flags to the gate; and Mrs. Alade herself presided like a queen, hands dusted with flour and a broad smile on her face.

"Ah-ah, omo mi! Folakemi, you're finally home," Mrs. Alade sang out, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Your Maami must be dancing in the skies to see you back!"

Folakemi's eyes misted, and she laughed softly. "Thank you, Mama Alade. It feels so good to be home."

"Ehen! And we have plenty of work for you," Mrs. Alade winked, gesturing toward a group arranging baskets of hibiscus and hibiscus-infused palm wine.

Before Folakemi could reply, she heard a familiar chuckle behind her.

"Don't scare her off already," came Wale's warm voice.

Folakemi spun around to face him.

He stood leaning casually against a wooden post, sleeves rolled up and hands dusted with sawdust - clearly just back from some repair work at the jetty.

"Morning," he greeted, his green eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Morning," she replied, feeling a sudden warmth rise to her cheeks.

Wale gestured at the scene around them - the strings of dried palm fronds, the big cooking pots, the woven mats laid out on the ground.

"You picked a perfect week to come back," he said, voice low and friendly. "The Sea Festival is one of our most special traditions. Everyone pitches in, from making food to decorating boats. This year, we also want to honour Maami. Mrs. Alade suggested we hang one of her favourite lanterns on the festival arch."

Folakemi felt a lump in her throat.

"That would mean a lot," she whispered.

"You mean a lot to this village," Wale replied simply.

And in that moment - surrounded by the hum of joyful activity, the scents of palm oil and smoked fish, the rhythm of distant drums - Folakemi felt a profound sense of belonging.

This was where she was meant to be.

"Come," Wale urged gently, nodding toward a stack of bamboo poles. "Chidi needs help rigging the festival arch before sunset. Maybe you'd like to lend a hand?"

Together, they crossed the compound, laughing as Chidi waved them over.

"Finally!" Chidi boomed. "The boss lady is back to put us to work!"

And work they did.

For the next few hours, Folakemi lost herself in the gentle rhythm of the village - wrapping palm fronds around wooden frames, fixing lanterns carefully so they'd catch the light at dusk, pausing only to drink cool water Mrs. Alade brought them.

As they worked, Wale kept close, their hands brushing now and then as they tied knots or held a frame steady. Every glance shared between them was warm and familiar, filled with a hundred unspoken memories - racing through mangroves as children, chasing crabs along the shore, sharing whispered stories under Maami's almond tree.

By the time the sun began to sink toward the ocean, the Sea Festival arch was complete. Its woven palm and bright ribbons gleamed in the dusky light like a promise of joy to come.

Folakemi paused, hands on her hips, to admire their work.

"You did your Maami proud," Wale said softly at her side.

She smiled, feeling the breeze in her hair and the sound of distant drumming in her ears.

"I hope so," she replied.

And as they stood together, surrounded by the hum of preparations and the scent of roasted yams drifting up the lane, Folakemi felt it settle in her heart - the gentle tug of home, the strength of community, and the quiet joy of knowing that, at last, she belonged.