Halfway Across the World

Chapter Four- A new Family

The car is the first thing I see when I step into the cold. And cold it is. Not freezing, but still chilly. I tug on my sleeves and check my pocket for my phone as a woman steps out of the black SUV parked near the door.

She's fairly short, with short black hair. She's wearing a light brown jacket, and smiles at me as she approaches. "Are you Adeola?" she pronounces it Aidi-oila, but I nod. "Yes." "I'm Stephanie Lakes, from the board. It's a pleasure to meet you." she extends a hand, and I shake it. Her grip is very firm.

We get into the car and she introduces the driver as Mister Ahmad. He has a piece of cloth wrapped around his head, and nods at me before starting up the car. Mrs. Lakes pulls out a laptop and sets it down on her lap. "So. We're giving you the week to prepare for school, and then you can begin classes on Monday." "Not this week?" I ask. She shakes her head. "There's still lots to do. For now, though, you can get some sleep. It's a three-hour drive."

I rest my head back and take in a deep breath. I feel very strange. "What time is it, Ma'am?" I ask her. "It's... eight am." It doesn't feel like eight am. "Jet lag," she says suddenly. "Another reason we're giving you time to adjust." Before I know it, I'm fast asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the car. I dream of waking up at home, realizing I'm late and that Mama has left me after trying to wake me up severally. Thankfully, when I'm shaken awake it's not because I'm late for school.

"We're here." Mrs. Lakes says, nudging me awake. I blink, rub my eyes. "Where?" I ask, my voice coated with sleep. She hesitates. "Um. We're at the Board office." she opens a door and sunlight floods in. I shield my eyes. I'm so tired, but I step out after her. "You can leave your bags here for now." Mrs. Lakes tells me, and I nod and follow her into the building.

There is a large front lobby, with brown couches pressed up against the wall. A television plays as we enter, and I look up at the faces of smiling children, all laughing as they sit around a table. I follow Mrs. Lakes as she waves to a few people, talking quickly and laughing. The carpet is blue and has an interesting pattern of simple interlocking shapes. I stare at it as we trek for what seems like forever.

"Here we are." When I look up, we're standing outside a room, looking in through a glass door. Suddenly I'm nervous. She opens the door and tells me to go ahead.

It seems to be a large conference room, and there are rows of chairs in front of me, facing a huge white sheet at the front of the room. It reminds me of the center we had a Spelling bee once, when I was in JSS1. There are a lot of kids in the room, and a handful of adults standing at the front, all looking at a laptop on a podium.

"There will be a quick orientation, and then you can go meet your Hosts." Mrs. Lakes says, gesturing around the room. "Take a seat anywhere. There's some food back here as well." I look at the two tables, stacked with crackers and sandwiches and juice. I choose not to grab anything and just go take a seat in the back row. There is a quiet buzz in the room as a few of the other kids talk, but I'm too tired to speak, so I just sit back and watch.

Finally, the little gathering of adults at the front of the room disperses, and the lights dim. The white sheet blinks, and a picture appears on it. They must have a projector. "Welcome to The Ontario Catholic School Board's Exchange Program" it reads, with a backdrop of more smiling children, all holding little flags. I don't see a Nigerian one, but I do see a German one.

"Welcome!" the man at the laptop is tall and has a bushy brown beard. He could be Father Christmas. "My name is Hilton Showman, and I would like to welcome all of you to Canada!"

There is a slow, lazy applause, and then he nods, and everyone stops. "I am just hear to give a quick orientation presentation today. I can see that a lot of you are tired, so hopefully this will be quick." He clicks a button and the picture switches to a different one.

"Here at the school board, we pride ourselves in diversity and learning about different cultures. And what better way is there to learn about others, than to invite them to teach us about themselves?" I didn't sign up to be a teacher. "Every year we accept hundreds of foreign students on the basis of grades and extracurriculars, to study in one of our many schools. I'm glad to see so many of you this year!"

The orientation drags on. Mr. Showman desperately wants the students to speak up, but the students obviously do not want to. I press the cool palms of my head to my temple as I feel a headache come on. He goes over rules and expectations; "No drug and alcohol use", "respect your host family's curfew" "maintain a minimum grade average of 60". The last one surprises me. If one of my grades, much less my grade average was at 60, my mother would kill me.

Finally, he gives up, and smiles and nods politely. "You may all go find your Host family's. Their location is assigned by name, so check the sheets around the room for what room they're in-"

I stand up and join the lineup to check one of the sheets of paper. A-F, Room 12. I hurry out of the room before anyone can speak to me, and wander the halls for a while, but eventually I find Room 12. The door is ajar, also glass, and I can hear talking coming from inside.

I pause to brush the hairs poking out of my weaving back, and then step into the room. There are couches and small coffee tables in every corner, and three in the middle. At every 'station', there is a family, introducing themselves to a student. I enter the room and look around for only a moment before spotting the people who must be here for me.

There's a dark-skinned woman with a tight bun in the furthest corner of the room. She's knelt over, fixing a little boy's bow tie. Beside her, a tall, white man holds a young girl with one arm, and scrolls on his phone with his free hand. I pause. Who is he?

The woman looks up and her face lights up. She turns and hisses at the man, and he shrugs. I approach them, feeling a bit apprehensive. "Adeola?" she asks, saying my name right for the first time since I left Abuja. I nod. "Good morning, ma." "It's wonderful to meet you. That's my name too. Adeola Watson.

Watson?

"I'm here with my family. This is my son, Christopher." she gestures to the little boy, who is trying to unclip the bow tie his mother just fixed. He has thick, curly hair that is just left loose. "And this is my youngest daughter, Lillian, and my husband Joseph." The white man- Joseph- smiles and nods. I hesitate, and then nod back.

"My eldest is here too. Just... in the bathroom." just as she says it, someone sweeps into the room behind me. "You're Ade?" I turn around. "Chioma, she didn't give you permission to call her that." "Sorry."

Chioma is a few centimeters taller than me, and the first thing I notice is her hair. It's brushed up and out, like a hazy cloud, and pinned back with pink and black clips. I try not to let my judgment show. She's going out like this? Her clothes aren't much better. Her jeans are so ripped they could "be used for catching fish", as my mother loves to say, and the shirt she's wearing barely covers her torso. I drop my eyes to the ground. Her shoes are filthy.

"My name is Chioma," she says, forcing me to look back up. "Good afternoon." "It isn't very good." there's a moment of silence as she goes to stand beside her mother, and her mother takes a breath, still smiling at me. "Well. This is all of us. We should get going, yeah?"

These people don't look very Nigerian to me. Still, they seem nice enough. I follow as they head for the door, and wonder what awaits me in the upcoming year.