I Was Destined For You

Deja

"Dad, I already said I can't make it back anytime soon." I didn't mean to raise my tone, but my parents were being overly persistent right now- more than usual.

"Dejare! I am your father and I do not need a reason to bring you back home" He coughed aggressively at the end of his rant. I could hear my mother telling him to calm down in our native tongue, Yoruba.

Home? The word sounded almost foreign on my tongue. I had stopped referring to that place as home years ago. It just didn't feel right to call it home after what happened.

"E pele sir" I apologized in Yoruba

"Don't tell me sorry, Dejare! Just come home. I didn't send you to school abroad only for you to disrespect me. Or was that a mistake?" My father asked

One thing about my father, Adebayo Bamidele. He never failed to remind me that he made my education and stay in Canada possible.

I ignored the question. "I'll think about it, Dad. I have to go now." This conversation had to end now. It's a Saturday morning and I have places to be.

"Deja don't think about it! Just make sure you come ho-" I pressed the red button and immediately turned my mobile data off

My father's anger-filled rants can wait another day. Right now my favorite pastry shop just opened for the day and there's no way in hell I'm going to fall back on my duty as Dakota's first customer.

A smile appeared on my face as I crossed the street and Dakota's beautiful shop sign appeared in my line of view.

The Pearl had become almost like a second house to me. If I wasn't at work or home, I was here; eating Dakota's amazing meat pies, donuts, and spring rolls.

Dakota and I met during my second week at university. She was also new like me and lost too. When we finally found our right class, thirty minutes later the professor made us partners for the whole of the semester.

We walked to the nearest pastry shop together to brainstorm on the assignment.

Dakota had used half our time to smile lovingly at the shop and used the other half to tell me how, one day she wants to own a pastry shop just like this but better.

To be honest, I had no interest in her pastry shop story then and it's not like I could get rid of the strange talkative girl, I was stuck with her. So, I listened to her story and prayed to whoever is up there that maybe she'd finally let us do our work if I just listen to her plan.

She didn't.

I open the door and the wide smile on my face is suddenly wiped off when something hard collides with my front.

The wet and cold feeling of iced liquid registers in my head as it drips down my shirt. I'm still trying to get over the damage to my amazing blouse when the grating voice belonging to the culprit speaks.

Oh wow, he's tall, really tall but that doesn't matter because I'm beyond pissed. "Watch where you're bloody going!" He exclaims rudely

Me? He bumped into me!

"Are you blind? You bumped into me and also ruined my clothes!" I retort angrily

He looks at my face briefly before his eyes rake the damage but he doesn't utter the apology I was expecting. Instead, he looks me in the eye and then looks down at his trousers, then he proceeds to give me a pointed look.

I'm taken aback but I don't say a word "An apology would simply fix all this. You're the one who bumped into me. So, apologize" he replied

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not the one who was on my phone or has my head so far up my ass I can't tell when I'm wrong. Choke on the apology, idiot" I hiss and step to the side before walking off in the direction of the counter where Dakota is supposed to be but is not.

I can feel the piercing gaze of his eyes on the back of my but I don't bother turning around.

A second later, Dakota appears from the kitchen. A huge smile appears on her face when she sees me "There's my number one customer and favourite Nigerian!"

I'm the only Nigerian she knows.

I give her a small smile as she walks around the counter to come and hug me.

She comes to a quick halt in front of me and I drop my outstretched arms "I have to tell you though, as much as I hate it you were late today for the first time and someone took your spot as number one customer." She sounded genuinely sad. And knowing Dakota, she probably is.

Well judging from the time on my watch that says eight fifteen AM, and Dakota opens shop by eight AM. I'm guessing we all know who the spot thief is. The idiot who spilled coffee on me. And if not for my parent's call I'd have been the first person in here.

"Dako-" I proceed to inform her

"Woah! Is there a new fashion trend I'm unaware of again?" She asks jokingly while reaching for napkins to clean my blouse.

I mutter a thank you "That's what I was about to tell you about"

"Don't delay! Get on with it then." I roll my eyes at her and she laughs "Miss Deja, please proceed."

I chuckle "So, just minutes ago as I was about to enter, some idiot that was too focused on his phone bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my blouse. That's not the worst part. The worst part is, he was expecting me to apologize. So disrespectful. Anyway, that's how I ended up with this. I'm surprised you didn't hear, we were a bit loud." I picked the napkin up and tried to reduce the damage done to my shirt.

I raise my head to look at Dakota, she has been quiet for too long. She's not one to stay quiet, especially for gist like this. I squint my eyes while they're on her "You're quiet. Why?"

"Okay, two questions." I nod "Was this idiot by any chance a 6'6ft hunk? And why were you late today?"

"I don't know about hunk but the idiot was tall, very tall. And I was late because Mr. Bamidele wants me to come back to Nigeria for something 'important' " I air-quoted the last word to show how I felt about the information.

"We're going to Nigeria! When?" She asked with sheer excitement

"We? No honey, not yet. I'm supposed to go to Nigeria. Just me." I drop the napkin on the table

She sighs dramatically "Shit! When will I get to finally visit the motherland?"

"Soon my love, pele." I console her in my language

"Oshe." Dakota thanks me and then smiles with pride at her Yoruba progress. Even though her pronunciation is still shaky

"Ah! You go girl!" I lift my hands to high-five her

"Thank you, thank you." She flicks her hair with pride "Okay so, back to the man who spilled coffee on you, can you describe him?"

As much as I hate it, I go back to his topic "Very tall, blue eyes, black hair, expensive suit, and watch." I give her the perfect description. And yeah, I'm very attentive.

Dakota's eyes widen "Yeah, that was my first customer. Deja, that's Maverick Wolfe"

"Mav what? Am I supposed to know him?" I get up and make my way to the hot meat pie tray. On my way, I hit my toe against the leg of the table causing me to knock over the glass of ice water all over my trousers.

"Oh my goodness! Are you okay?" Dakota exclaims and walks towards me with a chair

I take the chair "Thanks, I'm fine. My toe hurts though." Call me superstitious but my gut tells me this is a sign to book my flight tonight

"Want me to get the aboniki? I always keep one around now." I chuckle at the memory that brings up "That shit works like a miracle worker." She carefully steps over the spilled water and squats to take a look at my toe

I laugh at her "You're turning into a Nigerian at this point. And it's okay, but I need to get home and book my flight tickets. I'm going to Nigeria."

We stand together "What made you change your mind?" She asks surprisingly

"This morning my phone almost fell down the toilet, a rude man spilled coffee on me, and now I stubbed my toe and spilled iced water all over my body. Yeah, I need to go home and hear what my parents want." I kiss her on the cheek and make my way to the door

"You're so superstitious!" Dakota yells behind me

I halt and turn around "I can't help it. It's the Nigerian in me!" I yell back before crossing the road

"We still have to talk about Maverick Wolfe." She mutters a low curse word and then covers her mouth when she realizes that she let her intrusive thoughts win again in public.

I chuckle "Fuck Maverick Wolfe!"

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.

Deja

I don't always ask my victim why they did it before I kill them and I never will. My name is Deja Bamidele. I'm a twenty-four-year-old Nigerian woman. At the age of nineteen, I left Nigeria for Canada to further my education. Well, that's the main reason my parents think I left.

On the day I turned sixteen, I was sexually assaulted by someone I trusted. That day changed everything about me. The pain from my assault increased when I found out my father had somehow become aware of what happened to me. Instead of using that opportunity to be a supportive father for once since I've known him, he told me to keep my mouth shut and never speak of how I have disgraced the family with my promiscuity.

I was sixteen! And born to strict Nigerian parents, where was the chance to be promiscuous? None!

But Daddy dearest always figured out a way to blame it all on Dejare.

As time went by, I made up my mind that I didn't want to live that way. When I was done with secondary school in Nigeria. I started looking for ways to leave.

After months of researching online and asking different Nigerians who had traveled abroad, I finally had a sufficient amount of information about schooling overseas. So, one day I summoned the courage and told my mum about my plan to travel abroad for university.

My mother told my dad about my plans and after all her persuasion he still said no, like I expected. But I didn't give up. I started saving up money from the hairdressing job I found.

It wasn't a fair income, and at a point, I felt like all the suffering and stress I was going through wasn't worth it.

But every day I woke up and I had to stare into my father's eyes and pretend like I didn't hate him, that motivated me to get the hell out of Nigeria.

After a year I had finally saved up enough money and then some to get my passport done. And I did all these without my parents knowing. Although, I'm sure my mother suspected.

My dad got a new job working for this huge company that seemed to be popular in the United States. They had just finished the grand opening of their new branch in Abuja, Nigeria and my dad got a job there as the head of security for the first floor.

After my eighteenth birthday, I decided to try again. This time I went to my dad personally and I told him that all he needed to do was help with some money for my flight because I was given admission and a scholarship to study in Canada to resume by September. I explained how my feeding and accommodation would be taken care of. But he said no again.

I didn't give up either, I was an angry, and desperate eighteen-year-old.

Angry because I was left with limited options at my disposal. I was angry because the people who were put on earth to protect me were the ones who hurt me the most but I had nowhere to run, no other choice but to wait it out and wait for an opportunity to miraculously present itself.

Which it did.

One day my father came home looking happier than usual. He called me to the living room and told me to have a seat. He started talking about how I need to be a better child and not forget the child of who I am - the usual Nigerian parent advice.

At a point in the discussion, he told my mum to get a glass of water for him which was just code for, "You need to excuse us." After she left to get the water, my father said, and I quote. "No matter where you go in this life, do not ruin the family name more than you have. I wanted a male child but only God our creator knows why he gave you to me. So, Dejare I'll say this again. Do not embarrass this family." My stomach churned with hurt and anger. How am I to blame for my assault? How is your sixteen-year-old daughter getting sexually assaulted, an embarrassment?

I stared at my father with deep hatred and there and then I made a vow to myself. As far as I walk this earth. As far as I'm aware, no man would treat me or any woman the way I have been treated by my father and the person who assaulted me.

Unfortunately, my mother has been undergoing that disrespect from my father since they've been married till now.

The advice finally came to an end when he asked me if my scholarship and admission were still available because he finally had the money to send me abroad for my studies.

I was so excited to have finally found a way out! For the first time since that day, I didn't feel like a prisoner, an embarrassment, I felt free. I was going to have control of my life again and this new phase of my life is going to be good.

My mother was able to get some money for me to go shopping and then September finally came around and I was ready to go. The morning of my departure I couldn't wait to get on the plane. It felt like the more I delayed, something was suddenly going to happen and I would have to go back home causing me to spend the rest of my life living with hatred and pain.

I hugged my mum and that was it. Goodbye, Nigeria.

The plane ride was a reality check - I was hundreds of miles away from home and I didn't care. I was happy.

If only I had known that my decision to travel would change the course of l my life, I don't know what I would have done but I don't think I would be in Nigeria.

I should have asked my father how he got that money. Especially if I had known he signed my life away after he got the money.

Unknown to me, My father had signed an arranged marriage contract on my behalf, without my consent or my wants in mind- with his boss after he was given the money.