Chapter 15: A New Beginning

After the keke left the village gate, I was still so sleepy I could hardly open my eyes.

My head lolled against my mother’s shoulder as the rickety tricycle bounced along the dusty road. “Mama, where are you carrying me go?”

I yawned, trying to peer through my lashes at her. My mother blinked. “To the safe place.”

Her tone was calm, but I could see a hint of excitement dancing in her eyes. “Ehn?” I sat up. “Mama, wait—are there more people like us?”

She only smiled, her lips pressed tight as if holding back a secret. …

After coming down from the keke, in front of me was just a normal compound.

Mango trees shaded the entrance, and the scent of wood smoke floated on the morning air. But once inside, the person who greeted me was actually Mama Tawa, who’d been sent away last year.

She rushed forward, wrapper tied tight, face shining with surprise. That time, she’d mistakenly broken the family altar lamp my grandmother used for prayers.

It had been a disaster. My grandmother’s voice had thundered through the compound. I remember it well—my grandmother was furious.

She waved her cane and stamped her feet. That altar lamp cost one hundred naira.

A precious item, brought back from Onitsha market. In front of the prayer room, my grandmother beat her herself and wanted to send her to the north as a labourer.

Her shouts echoed for days. My mother stepped in, even freed her from housework and let her leave the house.

It caused such a commotion that the neighbours came to see. My grandmother thought my mother was being stubborn and wanted to punish her, but when people heard about it, everyone praised my mother’s kindness, so my grandmother let it go.

In hushed tones, the elders said, “That woman get different mind.” Mama Tawa was so happy to see me, kept saying how much I’d grown.

She hugged me tight, her arms smelling of shea butter. I was happy to see her too, but even more curious.

It felt as if she’d come alive.

Her eyes bright like kerosene lamp, no more shadow inside. The light in her eyes was brighter, her steps quicker. When she was a servant at home, she always looked grey and lifeless—not dirty, but like her spirit was gone.

She’d move about as if her soul had been tied down with rope. Now, still in plain cotton clothes, her whole body was shining with life.

She stood taller, her laughter ringing clear. Mama Tawa shyly told me that after being sent away, nobody would take her as a maid, and she had no skill.

Her eyes dropped as she spoke, voice trembling. My mother found her, gave her food, and taught her how to read.

With patient hands and a soft voice, my mother opened the world of letters to her. Now she could be a teacher and teach others.

She beamed with pride as she led me to the backyard, where the house had been turned into two classrooms.

One room was full of children learning to read, the other had an old master teaching older kids how to weave cloth.

The air was filled with the sound of chalk on slate, the gentle hum of voices. I sidled up to my mother, raised my eyebrows, and whispered, “Comrade Aisha, your underground work dey move well.”

I tried to keep my voice low, but the excitement bubbled through. My mother shook her head, helpless. “Thank you for the organisation’s praise.”

She tried to look stern, but her mouth twitched at the corners. I froze.

My surprise only lasted a second before laughter burst from my lips. “Hahahahahaha!”

My sudden laughter startled my mother.

She glanced at me, rolling her eyes with mock annoyance. She eyed me and left me behind as she went into a side room.

Her wrapper swished as she disappeared, but I could hear the smile in her footsteps.