Chapter 4: The Farewell

With red eyes, I come back house.

Sun don dey set, orange light dey enter parlour. I no even off shoe—just collapse for chair, dey look ceiling. I hear radio from neighbour, news dey blast about new military regime.

I just siddon dey look space for almost the whole day before I finally stand up begin pack my load.

I dey think, 'How I go start again?' My body dey heavy. But as I remember say this na second chance, strength enter my bone.

School go soon start, and the journey far.

Kaduna far, no be small. Na train journey, with all the wahala for Naija road—anything fit happen. I dey reason how I go manage.

The train ticket wey I buy before, Tunde don collect am say he go help me return the money.

That one na him way—always dey do as if he dey help, but e dey plan for himself. I dey watch am.

When we buy ticket, the same day no dey, so my own journey to Kaduna suppose be one day before him own.

I dey remember as we queue for ticket stand, sun dey hot. I dey fan myself with small towel, Tunde dey argue price with ticket seller.

That mean say I suppose travel tomorrow morning.

I dey count hours, dey plan how I go waka. My heart dey beat.

I gats collect my ticket back, if not, e go too late to buy another one.

I dey pray make wahala no happen, because for Naija, if you miss your slot, you fit dey stranded for station.

I quietly make lunch, just take am as farewell food for my past and present self—and for Tunde too.

I cook rice and stew, fry dodo join. I sit down, dey chop slow, dey think of all the wahala wey I don pass. Na silent goodbye I dey give myself.