"This is not Maduka. He can't be Maduka."
Mazi Ikenna, my late father's brother, has aged since I last saw him. His facial hair is salted with grey here and there, there are bags underneath his eyes, and a paunch is evident on his torso.
Daa Ndidi has not let go of me since our embrace; her hand is gripping mine and her other arm is on Nwanyieze's shoulder. A small crowd has gathered around us, drawn by my aunt's screams. My uncle was the last to appear, staring at me with disbelief written all over his face.
"It's Maduka," Daa Ndidi protests. Although tears are falling freely from her eyes, her smile is very bright, and she looks much younger than a few minutes ago. "Our Maduka is back."
She bursts into Igbo songs of praise to God, and starts to dance.
"Dee Ikenna," I finally greet my uncle. "It was me who found my parents corpses and screamed. The youth corper Kunle broke in and carried me out."
His eyes widen and he blinks continuously. I tell him my parents' names, I recall memories like him teaching me to climb a tree, listening to him tell tales by moonlight to me and his own children, whose names I tell him. The crowd is restless, murmuring amonsgt themselves.
"He looks like his father," an elderly woman says aloud to the young man beside her.
"Look at how tall he is, ka nna ya." Like his father.
"Ji nji ka nne ya." Dark like his mother.
Dee Ikenna embraces me, a few of the women dance along with my aunt.
"Welcome home, my son," he says gruffly, his voice full of emotion. "We thought you were dead."
"God didn't let it happen," I reply.
______
In a few hours, I have recounted how the last twenty years have been, careful enough to leave out the part where I discovered a certain baby in the trash. Sitting in my father's small living room, I also listen to my uncle and aunt tell me of how they have been coping since the deaths of my parents. The living room is just as I remember: old photos in faded frames, an old television sitting on an ebony table my father had bought from the city. The couches are the same deep red velvet, faded but well-maintained. The walls have been repainted from light blue to yellow.
I refuse to let Nwanyieze out of my sight; her hand is securely in mine. I have introduced her as enyi m nwaanyi, my girlfriend. Daa Ndidi has already developed a soft spot for her, continuously telling her that she is so beautiful, thanking her for taking care of me, and reassuring her that I am a good man. Nwanyieze is a bit embarrassed, but all the same pleased. I suppose I understand because I know the only mother figure she has is Mama Uju.
My uncle politely asks for permission to walk with me around the compound. I tell him I'll meet him outside in a few minutes. He excuses himself, taking his wife with him.
"That went well-" Nwanyieze starts before I interrupt her with a kiss. She returns it, stroking my face gently. Once again, gratitude fills me, that I'm finally home and she's here with me. In fact, I would never have driven my car into this compound if not for her.
"Thank you," I whisper with my forehead touching hers. I might cry if I don't take care, but the thought of doing it in her presence doesn't bother me. She is definitely a part of me, more so than she will ever know.
"I don't want you too far from me, okay?"
"This is your home, Maduka," she replies, her eyes full of amusement.
"Listen to me." I cup the sides of her face with my hands and look directly into her eyes. I don't know how to tell her that I feel something is wrong here, that I don't fully trust my uncle, that I'm worried for her. "We just got here. We are still strangers."
Her brows come together and I feel bad that I don't want her to get too comfortable. I know she wants me to belong somewhere, and even thought she might not be aware of it, I also know that it somehow makes up for her lack of...kin.
"Trust me."
Nwanyieze nods, raises her face, and kisses me again. "I'll not wander off, I promise."
We both laugh at that statement.
Dee Ikenna is waiting for me underneath the tree where my parents' graves lie.
"You say you're a farmer in Lagos?"
"Yes, uncle. Agriculture is a booming business."
He glances at the graves. "Your father loved his farms. He grew the best crops in our village. You took after him."
I remember the trips to the farms, after which we would seek the shade of trees and break open coconuts or eat mango slices in the rainy season.
If you treat Ala, the earth well, she will treat you well, too. From her, we get our food, he often told me.
I bend down and touch the white tiles.
Papa, I'm here.
"It feels good to be back, uncle. I never knew I would gather the courage to come back."
"I'd like to meet your other family. To thank them."
"With time."
We stand in silence, enjoying the breeze. Then I ask about his children, my cousins. He tells me that his first son is in America, and the other one is in Kaduna.
"You have not unpacked your bags from your car," he reminds me.
"I'm lodging in a hotel."
"What?" he questions, offended. "When you have a place to stay?"
"I came unannounced-"
"This is your father's house," he points to the bungalow I had spent seven years in. "It is yours now. Your aunty has kept it clean for 20 years since your absence; do you think she will be happy to let you sleep outside?"
I'm not too eager to spend the night here, where my world had turned upside down. I am also finding it difficult to bond with my uncle. He used to be my friend when I was little; maybe time and distance are to blame, or...?
But I nod and oblige him. "I'll stay, uncle."
He nods and throws a piece of bitter kola into his mouth.
When I return to the bungalow an hour later, there is no sign of Nwanyieze. I move into the next compound and see her sitting on a stool out in the open, surrounded by young girls. They are talking and laughing in low voices. Daa Ndidi sits on the veranda of my uncle's one-storey building, watching with a smile on her face.
My baby girl looks happy right there, listening to the teenagers and answering their questions. The last rays of sunlight reflect on her perfect skin. Two of the girls are playing with the ends of her cornrows, twisting them here and there as they talk.
I badly want everything to be alright, so she can think of my home as hers, too.
Daa Ndidi notices me and calls my name. The girls look up, see me, and scatter off in different directions. Nwanyieze rises from her stool, holding a bottle full of what I think is coconut oil and a plastic jar of golden shea butter. Her face bears intricate markings done in black face paint. The ends of her cornrows are decorated with wooden beads and ivory cowries.
"I got welcome gifts," she tells me with a smile. I embrace her for a few moments, and she sighs, a happy sound.
"I have cleaned your house for you," Daa Ndidi tells us from the veranda. I will bring dinner soon; go and take a bath."
"I meela, Daa," Nwanyieze replies. Thank you, aunty.
I thank her, too, and lead Nwanyieze back to the other compound.
"I love the sunset," she tells me.
"It looks beautiful on you," I reply. And before I know it, she is taking photos of me and making me do the same for her with her phone.
I refuse to stay in my parents' former room. I can't bring myself to even touch the door. Nwanyieze sees me standing there in the yellow fluorescent light, staring at the door handle and letting the memories of my worst day wash over me. She wraps her arms around my torso from behind and asks gently, "This was their room, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"If you want to sleep on the roof, I'll be there with you."
I take up one of her hands and kiss it. "You're amazing."
"You're stunning."
"Doesn't sound feminine now you've given me that description."
"Maduka, take your time to readjust. If you'd wanted to sleep in a hotel, I wouldn't have minded. I don't want you uncomfortable in any way."
"I didn't want to break my aunt's heart."
"She's such a sweet woman. She told me so much about your childhood."
"Oh? Care to share?"
"How you once tried to wash one of her chickens because someone had splashed dirty water on it. The poor bird nearly drowned."
I laugh at the memory.
"She said you have a good heart and that you never deserved what happened to you."
"After my mother was Daa Ndidi. She treated me like her own child."
"She calls you Maduka nwa m."
Nwanyieze's hands have moved to my shoulders, kneading and easing away the tension there.
"That feels so good," I murmur.
Just when I'm about to turn and pull her closer, a knock sounds on the front door. I hold onto her hand to prevent her from answering it.
"Let me get it."
It is Daa Ndidi, bearing a trayful of food. The aroma of jollof rice and fried chicken reminds me of how hungry I am.
"I prepared special jollof for you," she tells me, her cheeks shining in the light of the bulbs.
"Thank you, Daa."
"If you want more, just send one of these children outside to tell me, y'hear?"
"Yes aunty."
Nwanyieze thanks her, too.
"Nwa oma, you're welcome," she replies before leaving.
"It smells really good," Nwanyieze tells me as she settles on one of the couches.
"Firewood jollof. Been a while right?"
We eat in silence, but she insists on eating from my own plate instead of hers.
"It's confirmed."
"What?"
"Women prefer eating from their significant other's plate."
She scoffs, I grin.
"I'm your significant other."
"Yimu," she scoffs again, but there is a smile on her face.
After we have cleared up the plates and showered, we spend time in bed, telling funny stories from our lives. Night has fully descended, and sleep eludes me.
She tells me about how she had received a text message from a scammer, posing as a banker asking for her card details. She'd called him back and spelled her name as Y-O-U-A-R-E-M-A-D and the dummy hadn't even noticed until it was time to pronounce her full name. Then he had cut the call on her.
We both laugh over it, covering our mouths so we won't make noise.
Daa Ndidi had been thoughtful to set up a mosquito net over the bed in my former room, and so Nwanyieze comfortably wears a pair of cotton shorts and a singlet.
"I love how your skin feels against me," I tell her in the darkness. The louvres are slanted open, and we can hear crickets chirping from outside.
"You're such a sap," she replies, but her leg rises and crosses over both of mine, smooth and cool. Her lips run across my facial hair, tickling my jaw. Her fingers draw circles on my chest, her breath fans my face.
"Come here." I pull her closer, bury my face in the crook of her neck, and just breathe. She smells of my soap and coconut oil, clean and fresh. She giggles and tells me that my beard is tickling her. And that is when I do one of the things I've always fantasized about.
I flick out my tongue and touch it to her skin.
The reaction I get surprises me. She gasps, and I feel her shiver in my arms.
"Maduka!" she whispers.
"My naked wire," I chuckle.
"I wasn't expecting that!"
With Nwanyieze, I'm being as slow as I can. Now I know about her past experiences, I will not make any major move unless she's comfortable with it. There are times I wake up with a boner so hard from dreams of her, there are times when my body needs her so badly I ache. And I'm sure she's aware, I'm sure she feels the same way. While I have plans of having her around in my future, when it comes to the subject of sexual relations, it's best to say I'm taking everyday as it comes.
Although I might never fully understand her, I trust that she'll do what she wants when she's ready, and I'll go along with it.
When we get to the river, we'll cross it, is what I tell myself.
"Touch me, Maduka."
I blink in the darkness, leaving my previous thoughts behind and wondering if I had misheard her.
"You heard me right."
"I'm not quite sure I did." But my hand is eagerly lifting the hem of her singlet, fingers trailing on the skin of her belly. I stop at her navel and lazily draw circles around it.
"You're such a gentleman," she giggles. "I like it."
"Now you're being sappy."
She sits up, and I hear the fabric of her singlet rustle. Taking one of my hands, she places it on her chest. She has pulled off her singlet.
I gulp. How can I feel lightheaded like a nervous teenager? She is everything I had imagined and more, warm and soft and smooth.
No more words. It is just the rustle of the sheets as I pull her onto myself, her chest flattened against mine, lips moving against each other, hands exploring in the darkness.
Hours later, when she is asleep with her back against me, I still lie awake, deep in thoughts. When she whimpers in her sleep, my arms tighten protectively around her.
I believe things happen for a reason. As messed up as it sounds, I had to lose something special to find another. I had saved a life, found treasure, lost it for a while, and found it again. And I'm back to where it all started. The loss of my family has happened, and I know that regret will do me no good, that I have a chance to start all over again.
Isn't life funny? Isn't this circle strange, but so normal in its completeness? And now I have to set things right, so I can tell Nwanyieze the story of how it all started; how we started.
Pray nothing stands in my way.