Halfway Across the World

Chapter Five- Quiet Roads

Outside, it's still chilly as we get into the car. It seats eight, and the two seats in the middle row have child seats, even though the boy, Christopher, looks pretty big. He whines as his father straps him in.

Chioma gestures for me to join her in the back seats. I do so reluctantly, and my host mother finishes strapping up her daughter and puts the car on. The huge screen on the console blinks to life, and the AC begins to push warm air out.

"Your luggage will arrive... any day this week," My host mother says as we pull out of her spot. She puts on the radio, and a woman with a cheery voice begins speaking about Subsidies.

Chioma groans beside me. "Mom, could you put on something else?" "Hmm. Sure." I see her grin in the mirror. "Adeola, how do you like Ed Sheeran?"

"Mooom." Chioma sounds like all of the American teenagers I know from television. I suppress the urge to laugh. "What?" her mother says. "He has the voice of an angel." 

"He looks like a gremlin," Chioma sighs. "Hey. He's a lovely young man. Besides, I asked Adeola. Not you. So hush."

Beside her, her husband grunts, not looking up from his phone. Chioma notices it too, and her nose crinkles up.

"Um. I..." I have no idea who she's talking about. "The musician," she explains "With the orange hair." Orange hair? "I don't know Ma'am."

"No need to call me that..." Mrs. Watson says. "I like Ed Sheeran. How about I put him on for you hmm? So you can sample him" 

"Mom. Please. I'll pay you." "Too late!" 

Mrs. Watson presses a button on the console, and I hear the CD player roar to life. I figure Ed Sheeran must be to Mrs. Watson what Davido is to my mother. She has almost all of his CDs and I hear his songs in my nightmares.

We stop at a traffic light, and I try to keep myself from gaping like an idiot out the window at everyone, everything. The traffic lights are tall, and there are little stands next to them with either a hand or a walking man. A woman with electric blue hair waits beside another woman wearing an abaya and holding a little boy's hand. On the other side of the street, three white school-age children are bent over a man's dog, patting it on the head and cooing.

The light changes and we drive past all of them.

It is only a ten-minute drive to our destination, and I spend all of it fighting sleep and wonder.

Canada is big, clean, and quiet. Not even one person honks as we're driving. There are no markets by the sides of the roads. The roads themselves are all straight and paved. It's a bit unnerving. It feels a lot less.. alive than I am used to. 

Still, when we pull into the Watson's' driveway, I'm nothing if not impressed. They don't have gates here; just houses with little patches of grass in front of them, as though they aren't afraid of robbers. The house is big, two stories. It reminds me of Femi's house, though this is a bit smaller.

Chioma and I wait for the younger ones to be unbuckled, and then we get out of the car. Mr Watson gets my carry-on from the trunk and hands it to me. His wife glances at him with an unreadable expression, but he heads for the door, keys jingling as he takes them from his pocket.

I have a feeling he does not like me much.

He unlocks the door and a familiar smell hits me like a wave. "Now, I might not be the most... traditional-", Mrs. Watson starts, trying to tug off her daughter's shoes, "-but I got all the recipes I could find and made you some familiar meals. We have jollof rice, of course. Some fried rice as well." 

"It's not as good," Chioma snickers in my ear "Mom, can I take her for a tour first?" "Hmm? I suppose so. Hurry down though-" she grabs her youngest daughter,as she tries to make a run for it. "Lillian, sit down. Girls, hurry back so we can eat."