•••
|Chapter Three|
Sharon's POV:
The taxi slowed to a halt and I jumped out, grabbed my bags from the trunk and ran off into the car park for interstate travelling.
There was the noise of bus drivers calling the attention of a specific kind of passengers, by shouting the name of the city or town they were traveling to.
"Ibadan! Ibadan!"
"Ile-Ife!"
"Akure! Akure! Akure!"
My destination! My eyes wide, I traced the voice to a lanky guy standing beside one of the buses.
(A/N: Akure is a city in southwestern Nigeria. Akure is pronounced, Ah-coo-reh.)
Without hesitation, I neared the bus. He noticed me and ran to meet me, his dreadlocks bouncing against his cheeks.
"Ṣe Akure ni?" he asked me hurriedly.
(A/N: Meaning of the Yoruba words above- Are you for Akure?"
My throat was terribly parched, so I could only nod fast. His eyes lit up a little as he collected my duffel bag from me and led me over to his bus.
I paid the fare to him before heaving a very heavy sigh and getting on the bus that would take me to my destination. Four hours drive away from Mr Mayowa. That should be far enough.
As I leaned back in the seat I had chosen, I looked around. This was probably going to be the last time I would be in Lagos. The place I once loved. I took in a breath to calm myself. I was going to a better place. Away from my present life, and hopefully, into a new one.
Looking out of the bus' window, I recalled the last time I had been here. Four years ago, when my Mum's younger sister, Auntie Funke, had taken me with her to spend the Christmas holiday at Grandpa's house in Akure.
(A/N: Funke is pronounced, Foon-keh.)
I sat there in the bus, wracking my brain. Do I even remember the way to Grandpa's house? Well, I had four hours to figure that out.
My maternal grandfather and grandmother had passed away two years ago. Their house, according to my uncle during one of his conversations with Mum, was unoccupied. Empty.
Uncle Mark had inherited the duplex and had said that he didn't intend to use the house for a long time, or sell it. Hence, my decision to live in Grandpa's house. No one would suspect that I was there.
Ah, Grandpa and Grandma, if only you weren't dead.
Then, Mum wouldn't have married that beast, and I wouldn't be in this state. Ever.
"Mum, Shalom," I sighed, my thoughts drifting to them. Had they returned from the hospital? Had they found his unconscious body yet? Or... Had Mr Mayowa given up the ghost yet? Or worse... Had he regained strength and started to look for me?
Stop it. He can't be awake.
I shook myself as more passengers took seats in the bus, their chatter filling the air.
Tears fell from my eyes and I couldn't help myself from sobbing.
"It's okay, my child," I heard someone say. I tilted my head sideways to see an old woman seated beside me. Oops. I didn't realise someone was beside me. I smiled at her through the tears.
"Thank you, ma. I'm just... It's nothing much, ma. Thank you," I said. I genuinely appreciated her kindness. She gave me a handkerchief to wipe the tears away, which I gladly accepted from her frail, wrinkly hand.
Who is so kind in Nigeria these days? I thought as I smiled at the old woman again.
I wiped the tears, proceeding to count the number of people that were in the bus already, because the bus would not be leaving until people occupied every single seat.
Eleven people in the bus already. I counted the number of seats, too. Eighteen seats. Seven people left to go.
We will soon be on our way.
•••
Welcome to freedom...
My two hands clasped tightly around the straps of my duffel bag as I gazed up at my new home. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes as I stood there on the sidewalk in front of Grandpa's duplex... Well, it was now Uncle Mark's.
Finally, I made it! My plan had worked out smoothly. And I would never be found here. I was sure of that.
The tears dropped as a smile bloomed on my face; a melodramatic sight. I released a breath that I had been holding for a while. My chest swelled at the pride I felt in myself.
"Don't be afraid to stand up and do what's best for you. Joseph ran from Potiphar's wife because he knew that it was best for him. If you need to run from that situation, then do it!"
The words of the famous motivational speaker, China Lawrence, rang in my mind. Those were the words that had pushed me to create my plan to leave home.
No, Sharon, this is now your home.
Shaking my head to rid it of thoughts about my mother and sister, I returned my focus to the house.
It was a two-storey building with a red roof, surrounded with a high white fence with barbed wire on its top, powered by the solar panels sitting on the roof of the duplex, which powered the entire house as well. A huge black gate led into the compound and the house was painted in a beautiful, solemn white colour. Rows of well groomed red flowers surrounded the fence and made the plain white fence look more lovely than it actually was.
Wow. It looks even better than last time I saw it!
No one had lived here since two years ago. How was the house looking so groomed and beautiful?
Satisfaction filled me, and with a simper, I pushed the gate. But it was not open. My eyes caught a padlock the size of my palm.
Of course!
"Jeez, of course," I breathed, digging into my bag for the master key I had purchased a while ago and kept in my backpack. I rolled my eyes at myself. My fingers touched the cold metal and I wrapped my fingers around it, pulling it out.
One try, and the padlock dropped open. And they call it a high security padlock.
I pushed the heavy gate open. The hinges made a loud noise and I winced at the sound. I walked in and closed the gate behind me... I mean, I dropped my duffel on the floor and dragged the metal until it closed.
I looked at the house again, taking every detail in. I had been here before, yes, but I hadn't been paying any attention back then.
The compound had a lot of space and I was already imagining how lonely I would be in this house.
Lonely, but free, Sharon, I chided myself.
"Freedom is here," I mumbled as I picked up my duffel and started towards the front door on the porch.
•••
A tour around the house and I knew that there were three spacious bedrooms upstairs, including the master's bedroom; three bathrooms upstairs; a computer room slash library: a living room upstairs; the main living room downstairs; the kitchen and dining room; a guest room downstairs; and a bathroom downstairs. There was also a swimming pool at the backyard of the house, though it held no water at the moment.
Now, why had Grandma never shown me that part of the house? Probably because I had spent most of my time here with their neighbour's daughter, Damilola.
(A/N: Damilola is pronounced, Dah-mee-luh-la.)
"I wonder if they still live here," I spoke out loud as I peered out the window and into the compound that had belonged to Dami's parents.
Shifting my shoulders in a shrug, I turned away from the window to further inspect the house. I took note of the fact that the house was actually very neat. No cobwebs, no dust, not even a hair on the floors. Even the beds were neatly laid. Has Uncle Mark hired a caretaker?
I suddenly felt like I was Goldilocks in the bears' home.
•••
I walked into the master's bedroom. Grandpa's former room. The one he used to share with Grandma. A tear escaped from my eye when I sighted a framed picture on the nightstand. I picked it up. Grandma and Grandpa were looking in each other's eyes, their arms wrapped around each other as they smiled.
Quietly, I sat on the bed and ran my hand on the picture and sulked.
Why is life so unfair?
•••
The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes groggily, was the loud growling happening in my stomach. I held my tummy and frowned. It was night already. I stood blindly and groped the wall for the switch. I found it and flicked it on.
"Whoa," I exclaimed when the lights came on and my eyes dilated. I pulled out my phone from my pocket to check the time.
7:59pm. Or rather, 8:00pm, I read, as the time changed while I watched the screen of my Samsung.
My stomach growled again, and I went out of the master's bedroom where I had slept off. I walked downstairs and entered the living room where my bags were. Drawing out a one thousand naira note from my backpack, I took my master key and went out of the house, locking up behind me.
As I stepped out of the gate, I collided with someone else.
"Ouch!" I rubbed my head.
"Ow!" the other person was rubbing her head as well. That was one big clash.
"Sorry," we both said at the same time.
The girl started laughing, and I stood there, staring and wondering what was so funny. I was glaring at all. She thankfully reined her amusement in. Her eyes grew wider as she stared. She pointed her index finger at me.
"Y-you! Did you just come out of that house?" she sputtered.
I winced. Uh-oh.
Run! My subconscious commanded.
I heeded the voice. Only, I walked.
"Wait!"
I didn't listen. I was about to pick up my pace when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"What is it?!" I spun around, ready to go on the offensive.
Her eyes grew wider. "I know you!"
"Oh. You...do?" I mumbled. She knew me? Only the neighbours did. And... I studied her with narrowed eyes. She looked like Dami!
"Sharon! It's you! Oh my God. Remember me? Dami?"
Oh! Sweet relief. I relaxed.
"Damilola!" a sudden smile sprang on my lips. "I'm so sorry."
She wrapped her arms around me in a hug.
"It's okay, Sharie," she looked at me again, her lips stretched in a grin. "You look different now. You're slimmer than before. I almost didn't recognise you. Until I focused on your face."
Yeah, I definitely looked different. I used to be this chubby kid, until, of course, Dad died and I stopped eating so much. Then, Mum remarried, and I entered into depression. I lost even more weight.
Dami, on the other hand, was still the slim girl I remembered, but she had wide hips that gave her a perfect hourglass figure. She was now taller than I was, at least, by five inches. Both of her parents were tall. Dami's hair was unbraided and very straight, the work of a relaxer. It was down to her shoulders. Her hazel eyes, which I had always envied, twinkled under the streetlights. Her face still had its oval shape. Dami had fair complexion that made her look pretty. All in all, Dami had become every young girl's dream.
"Really?" I giggled, feeling a little self conscious.
"Yeah. We really have a lot of catching up to do! What are you doing here? Your grandparents died."
Yeah, I know.
"Yes, they did. But it's a long story, honestly," I told her.
Her smile had mellowed down. "It's okay. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks."
"So..." she dragged out the word. "Where are you going? You want to buy something?"
"Yeah. Just food," I nodded.
"Come on, I'll take you to the buka around the corner," she said. I smiled my thanks, and we walked off in the other direction.
(A/N: Buka is a Nigerian term for local restaurant. It is pronounced, Book-ah.)
Dami kept chattering away as we neared the buka. I smiled to myself. I had missed her. She had been the last real friend I had had before Dad's death. Before leaving Akure during my last visit to my grandparents, Dami had given me her number, so we had continued being friends. After Dad died, I had stopped picking her calls or even answering texts.
I honestly regretted doing that. I became lonely afterwards. I lost my dad, my mum, my sister, and even the friends I had at school. Folake, Shade, Stella and Bola did not count as friends in my book.
We entered the buka and made a beeline for the counter where other people stood. The place was vibrating with voices of customers.
"What do you think I should order?" I asked her. Thank God she had accompanied me.
I followed her gaze to the large banner listing the available foods, hanging over the back of the counter.
"Iyán and okra soup," she suggested with a grin. "You'll like it."
I nodded, smiling back at her. I was genuinely happy to be here. Leaving home was a great idea. When last have I smiled and it felt natural like this?
"You know you have to buy for me, right?" Dami said.
I raised an eyebrow in question. She shrugged and nudged me with her elbow. "C'mon. You want me to just sit there and watch you eat while I'm salivating, abi?"
(A/N: Abi is a Nigerian expression that could mean, "right?")
I laughed out loud. "Fine."
We soon placed our orders and found table.
"Why didn't you even pick my calls back then? Did you lose that phone or what?" she asked as we sat around the round table after ordering our meals at the counter.
"Oh. Umm... my dad died," I said in a small voice, my voice cracking on the last word along with my heart.
Don't think about it, Shar.
Dami gasped, her face falling. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry."
I cleared my throat and smiled. "It's okay. How are your parents and your brother, Bimbo?" I changed the topic.
(A/N: Bimbo is short for Abimbola. Bimbo is pronounced, Beam-buh.)
"They're good. Bimbo is now studying Law at Obafemi Awolowo University." There was a pause. "Mum used to ask about you all the time, you know. She missed you as well."
I smiled as I remembered Mrs Olaniyan, Dami's mum. The woman was ten years younger than her husband, from what I remembered. She had this bubbly personality--probably where Dami got hers--and she always let Dami and me play around in their house.
"I missed her, too. Trust me, your mum is way more fun than mine."
We laughed.
"Hey, what about your mum? And sister Shalom? I remember meeting them when you guys came here for the funeral of your grandparents," Dami asked.
My countenance dropped. My mouth hung open, but no words came out.
I abandoned them with a monster.
"Uh...they..." I stammered. Dami stared at me with her thin brows furrowed.
My fingers started tangling with the table cloth on their own accord.
"Ounjẹ yin re," the waiter spoke as she dropped plates of pounded yam and okra soup, as well as bowls of water to wash our hands.
(A/N: Meaning of the Yoruba words above- Here is your food.)
(A/N: Pounded yam, locally known as Iyán, is a Nigerian meal eaten with bare hands. That's why Nigerians require a bowl of water to wash their hands before and after eating Iyán. Iyán is pronounced, Ee-yawn)
I released a humongous breath at the sight of the food and quickly pasted on a smile.
The waiter left, and Dami chuckled. "That's a grimace, sis."
I chuckled softly, thankful that she didn't ask about my family again.
We washed our hands. Dami prayed over the food, and we dug our fingers in. As I lifted a morsel of food to my mouth, Dami spoke.
"Sharon, you will have to tell me everything." A serious look was on her face.
I will have to explain my coming here eventually. I looked down at my food.
"I will."
•••
A/N:
A new character has been introduced, guys! What do you think of Damilola? I love her!
Sharon's finally made the big run. Those who read the former version can see the many differences in this one. Which changes did you notice in this version of IAHG?
And like I said, the main guy is coming! I know it's taking long, but I needed to show where Sharon is coming from. Be patient with me, please!
PS: The name China Lawrence was fabricated by yours truly. So don't go typing China Lawrence into your Google search. LOL.
I'm totally loving this rewriting thing. Like I said in the previous chapter, God had been a great help to me. I couldn't do this on my own.
Thank you so much for reading! Make sure you vote, comment and share with friends, y'all. I love it when you do!
L O V E,
Precious.