Home, Sweet Home | Creative Nonfiction #57

Bolade, my bosom friend had always told me

One day, you will miss home. No one will ask you to return, you'd just be pushed by an imaginary force.

I'd always never thought it would happen. Not me. I have been away from home some eight years ago. When I first met Bolade in the buttery in 2002, we were all watching the World Cup that was hosted by Brazil. The final match between Germany and Brazil.

There was no more space to sit. A lot of football loving ladies were hanging on the side of the door and others were watching through the window to catch a glimpse.

Can you join me here?

I asked the beautiful lady that was trying to poke her face through the window, whom I later got to know as Bolade.

Thanks bro.

That was all she said as she sunk into the chair and almost put me off with her large contours. I only managed to watch the football match where Brazil breezed through Germany to win the day.

After the match, we became friends. Blade is not only beautiful on the face, she has a good heart too.

I became frequent at her hostel that some guys even thought we were involved in a romantic relationship. Few weeks into our second semester examination, the academic staff went on strike and the school was shut. I was so bothered. There was no place to go. Home was the last place that even came to my mind. Home had become so boring to me that I never contemplated returning there.

Luckily, I found a friend that I can stay with off-campus. Our school.gate had been taken over by security operatives. All study ts had been banished. Only sportsmen or women were allowed into the sports centre for evening practice.

You this guy, Omo Igbo, won't you return home?

Blade mentioned the "Omo Igbo" in the typical way that she would apply the Yoruba intonation to call me.

Why have you not gone home?

I just laughed it away. For me, there was no reason to go home. I knew that nothing can come from home as my father's salary was nothing to write home about. And for my mom, the profit from her petty trade was used to support my dad in the feeding of my siblings.

Johannes Plenio

The strike lasted for eight months yet, I didn't even think of home. Instead, I joined my friend in his parents building materials business from where I made proceeds from carrying materials for customers. Back them too, there was no mobile phone through which I could contact home to tell them of my whereabouts.

After the strike, I went back home only to be told that my father had been transferred to the governor's house in Ikeja, Lagos. I could not contain the joy because I knew that what I needed to enjoy my time in school would be available.

I wasted no time in meeting my dad in his new posting office. My mom gathers all the food stuff she could, including garri, beans, ground pepper, dried pap and so on. It was a heavy load but I had no.other choice than to carry it, else I would starve in school. At the moment, all I wanted was to meet with my dad because I knew it would rain.

As soon as I got to my father's lodge in the staff quarters, I knew that the needed change has come. It was a well furnished apartment with modern building technologies in the kitchen, bedrooms and even parlor.

I slept like a child that day. For the very first time, my dad gave me a sum of fifty thousand naira to school. I was more than glad. My excitement was extraordinary.

Quickly, I went to buy some clothes and shoes for myself and one or two for my friend, Chris who had housed me during the strike period.
Before this time, I had just one pair of shoes, sandals, about two pairs of trousers, and two shirts. Things have changed now and people around me noticed it. I wore new clothes every day for two weeks without having to repeat any.

With that amount in my hands, I didn't come back home until the end of the semester. But as soon as the semester ended, I packed my bag and returned home. Reaching home on December 22nd that year, my mom and siblings were already traveling to our hometown through a night bus and I won't be traveling with them.

I wished them a safe journey and stayed home all to myself. After a day, I started to miss everyone again. This time around, it was not because there wasn't enough food but the thought of staying around my family. Blood is indeed thicker than water.

The parlance that there is no place like home had failed with me until things turned around. There is no place like home. Despite that things may not always be the same always, I learned to be strong in all seasons, as life is not a bed of roses.