Chapter 7: Healing Under Ogbomosho Sun

The bus dey go.

The road rough, but my mind dey rougher. My leg dey pain me, but my spirit dey fight sleep.

The view for window just dey change, but my mind no fit rest, frown just dey my face.

Trees, houses, bush—dem all waka pass, but my thought still dey drag back.

I no know how long pass before noise wake me.

One baby start to cry, conductor dey shout for front. My eyes blink, I dey back to real world.

Day don dey break.

Light dey chase away all the old fear. My eyes dey heavy, but my heart dey beat strong.

I rub my eyes, breathe out long.

The smell of akara enter bus from roadside seller. I dey smile small, even though hunger dey hide for my belle.

New day don start.

I tell myself, 'Ifunanya, this one na your own.' The pain no go last forever.

New day wey belong to only Ifunanya.

For once, I no dey share my name or my hope. I dey free to dream my own dream.

I reach Ogbomosho for afternoon.

Sun dey shine, the heat dey slap my face. Motor park dey noisy, people dey hustle. I drag my box, find small keke go guesthouse.

Sun dey warm, small small humidity dey.

My shirt dey stick for back, but I dey grateful. The river near the guesthouse dey rush slow, the air dey different from Makurdi.

I find one guesthouse near river stay.

The woman for reception greet me well, her Yoruba sweet for ear. 'Ekabo, madam,' the receptionist hail me. 'E se, aunty,' I reply, my tongue still heavy from journey. The room small, but na my peace I dey find.

After I drop my load, I carry my drawing board go out.

The board light, my bag dey for shoulder. I waka near river, find shade under big tree.

Since Olumide scatter my easel, I no fit touch paint brush again.

My hand dey shake any time I see paint. The memory too heavy.

As time pass, I no even want paint.

I dey look brush, I dey remember pain. My heart dey block my hand.

To heal na real wahala.

No be by power, na by patience. I dey pray, I dey try, but the pain dey strong.

I sit from afternoon reach sunset, but my paper still blank.

I dey watch sun go down, orange and purple dey paint sky, but my own paper dry.

This thing continue for days.

Each day, I dey tell myself 'today I go paint.' Each day, the pain hold my hand back.

Na so I dey.

I no rush myself. I dey let time do e work. The river dey flow, my hope small small dey return.

Until I meet some students wey come river to sketch.

Dem dey laugh, dey play, the joy for their face dey fresh. I dey envy their freedom small. One boy dey share gala and La Casera, the wrapper dey fly for breeze.

Dem spread along riverside, small groups, dey set up easel, dey paint with joy.

One boy dey whistle, one girl dey dance as she paint. Their laughter dey heal small part of me.

I sit among dem, feel somehow.

I dey lost, but their energy dey pull me in. I begin dey sketch small, just line and curve.

The teacher wey bring dem dey waka round, dey comment for everybody work.

Him voice loud, e dey correct, e dey praise. I dey wish say I fit draw joy like dem.

I no be him student.

But the way I dey sit among dem, nobody ask question. My heart dey beat, my palm dey sweat.

But my palm dey sweat.

Na the old fear, the one wey Olumide plant inside me. My pen dey slip, but I grip am tight.

When me and Nnenna first learn to paint,

We dey do competition for house. Mama go clap, papa go laugh. But teacher always dey look only Nnenna.

Teacher always dey praise her free style, say my own stiff and dry.

I dey jealous, but I dey hide am. I dey try hard, but nothing dey ever good enough.

Only Olumide praise me that time.

E talk say my painting get structure, say beauty dey there even if teacher no see am.

He talk say teacher no understand me.

E dey look me with that soft eye, e say, 'Ifunanya, your own na story, her own na breeze.' The words sweet me, but e short lived.

But later, even him talk say Nnenna’s painting different from all.

That one pain me pass. As if even Olumide dey join the world forget me.