What Really Matters by Rach

           My life has always been happy, my world a beautiful place to live in. I grew up with most of the good things surrounding me; loving, indulging  parents who are almost never around but lavish me with everything I want; an elder brother- four years older than I am- who dotes on me like I’m 13 rather than 20; all the affection, attention and comfort a girl could ask for.

I can’t help but say a mental ‘Thank God for my life’ every time I see juvenile kids while driving along the streets of Lagos or moments like right now as I watch Isha Sesay narrate the pitiable welfare of children in war-torn and impoverished Mali, from the Splendor of my sitting room in my father’s ‘near-mansion’ in the high-end Magodo area of Lagos.

              “Damilola, your father and I want to speak with you, come up to our sitting room please”, my mother’s voice breaks into my reverie. I break my focus on the television screen to look up at her. I smile as I see my father and her approaching me in equal strides. It feels almost weird seeing them together as they are both usually tucked away in separate locations of the world, and as I also know that my mother prefers to stay in our other house in Lekki due to its proximity to her office in Victoria Island. I would wonder how my mom was able to bear the distance if I didn’t know she’s just as much of a workaholic as my father. The few times I see them together though, I never fail to wonder how two very different people could fall in love. My father, Chief Ayodele Durojaiye, has the typical features of a Yoruba man; average height, stout body, sonorous voice and a brisk walk. The Denim trousers and Nike tee he is wearing makes his bulging abdomen look like it’s moving at it’s own pace towards me. His face is set in the same stony, expressionless look he puts on when it’s time to discuss business, a look which as I always remind him, portrays him as scary and unapproachable, a far cry from the kind-hearted man I know as my father. I, however, inherited the more appealing and very beautiful features of my mother. Mum to me, ‘Grace‘  to others, her appearance and carriage exudes exactly what she is called. Tall, calm and lithe, with a rich dark tone to her skin, she is often mistaken for my big sister rather than my mum. Born to influential Igbo parents, she and her twin sister- my favorite aunt and guardian when my parents are away- studied in England where she met my father while they were both in college. They worked for some time after college, had my brother and me, then came back to Nigeria to settle down and got married. My father has a few companies of his own which are successful while my mom is the Director of Public Affairs in a prestigious oil company. Some of the few things my parents happen to have in common are their strong work ethics, adept love for business and tenacious independence.

           I put the remote control in my right hand down on the cushion and followed them to their sitting room; as I sat on the couch opposite them, I wondered why I had been summoned. It couldn’t be a car; they just got me the new Honda Accord when I graduated from the university last month, maybe the vacation I have been pestering them for? But that wouldn’t warrant a family meeting, neither would my impending service year. I keep guessing what it could be till finally, my dad speaks….

               “Damilola, we have something very important to tell you and we want you

            to listen very attentively. For a few years, your mother and I have…”

                “Dele, please, let me”, my mother says.

                “Ok, she should understand you better”, he replies.

                “Sweetheart”, she looks into my eyes and says to me, “what your father was

             telling you is, for a few years, we have not been as much of a couple as we

             should be. For a while now, we have come to the realization that our marriage

             has run it’s course and we have somehow grown apart….”

                 “Uh, what do you mean ‘grown apart’? How?” I ask.
I find myself trying to figure out what was coming but I still couldn’t understand.

                 “…. I don’t know, dear. Maybe it happened while we were at the peaks of our

             careers, maybe it was not being around each other much, but as of now, your

             father and I have decided to get a divorce”

As she says this, I glance at my father and notice his expression doesn’t change, his eye doesn’t even twitch.

                 “Dad, is it true?”

He nods back at me, and in that moment I think I see a look of regret flick over his face.

                 “But, why? How? What happened? Did any of you cheat or do something

              wrong? Can’t you just forgive each other? Can’t you just forget it and move on?”, I ramble on and exclaim my thoughts without thinking.

                 “No one did anything wrong, baby. It’s just time and this is the only way to

              move on”

At this moment, I feel numb, aware only of the disbelief and rage building up in my mind. I stand up, excuse myself and walk blindly to my room. I need time and space to think but my mind stays blank. A fog just rose in my mind and is stuck there. I hear a knock at the door and my mom peeps in.

                 “Baby, can I come in?”, she asks.

                 “I’m sorry, mom. I kinda need some time alone.

                 “Ok dear. I’m sorry”, she says. I nod back at her as she closes the door.

Suddenly I start to feel like the room is choking me and I just have to leave. I make up my mind to go away for a while, till I feel comfortable enough to face my parents again, till the mindless fog in me lifts up. As I pack the few things I need for a short getaway, uncontrollable tears pour down my cheeks. I wipe them away, grab my car keys and duffel bag and rush down the stairs to the garage, mindfully avoiding my parents as I do so. As I drive out, I notice my mom calling out to me from the verandah but I do not stop. I don’t think I can face her right now without saying the wrong things.

           While driving, I think of why my parents could have grown apart, what happened to the bliss and happiness I always saw? Did I just make myself think it was there so the ‘Big, Happy Family’ concept would seem applicable to ours too? My family was certainly anything but big, maybe the ‘happy’ was a farce too? The togetherness I thought I saw the few times I saw them together, was that a farce too?

I desperately want to talk to someone, to cry out and let someone convince me that everything would be alright. I sub-consciously skim through the list of people I can talk to and as usual, my brother, Damola, pops up first. The digital clock near the steering wheel says 6:40pm on Friday in Lagos; it will be about 12:40pm in New York where he is studying for his MBA degree. I’m about to dial his number but remember I don’t know if my parents have told him and it’s not in my place to do the honours. Next, I think of Seyi and Richard; Seyi is my best friend of four years and trusted confidante; we both studied Microbiology in Covenant university and graduated with First Class Honours. Three days ago though, Seyi’s dad was admitted into the hospital after a sudden Partial stroke attack; he has been stabilized now but I don’t want to bother her with my family issues. Richard and I have been in a relationship for about a year, also a graduate of CU and lives in Abuja. Things have not been very smooth between us in the past week but that’s not my main worry now. I dial his number and put my phone on speaker as I ease into the traffic building up.

                 “Hello”, he answers.

                 “Hi babe”, I reply, not as enthusiastic as my usual self.

                 “I’m so sorry I have not called you all day, babe. Had to go pick my parents

                up at the airport, I told you they were coming in today. I’ve been so busy all day.”

                 “It’s alright. That’s not why I’m calling you anyway”

                 “Hey, what happened to you? You sound low.”

                 “Richard, my parents are getting divorced. Like I don’t know what to do, I… I just

               feel lost”, I keep one hand on the steering wheel and wipe the fresh tears coming down my face with the other.

                 “Oh my God!” He exclaims,” I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine how hard it

               is for you”

                 “It’s crazy, I mean, did they even stop to think of how it’s gonna affect me? They

               are not even gonna try to make it work? They gonna throw 18 years of marriage in

               the bin like that?”

                 “Err, babe, I think they must have thought that through before making their

               decision. If they are not happy, it might just be the best thing”

                 “There’s nothing good about a divorce, Richard”

                 “I’m not saying there is, Dami. But this is more about them than you. I’m sure they

               are not happy about it either. Just calm down, aii. Where are you?”

                 “I left the house, couldn’t stand them. I’m on my way to my aunt’s. I’ll be there for

               a few days”

                 “Alright, just go there, lay low, think about things and try to calm down, aii?

                 “Yeah, I will. I’ll talk to you later.”

                 “I’ll call you tonight. Take care of yourself, ok?”

                 “Will do. Thank you.”

I hang up the call and for the first time since my parents broke their news to me, I actually stop to imagine how they must be feeling about losing almost 20 years of their lives…. The flicks of regret on my father’s face, the sadness on my mother’s, the threat of tears as she asked to come into my room…..

           Ten minutes later, I drive through the gates of my aunt’s house, weighed down and weary. As I pull up in front of the house, my aunt walks out with her phone to her ear, mumble some words which sound like ‘she’s here… talk to you later’ into it and hugs me the moment I step out of the car. Her embrace, which has always somehow been able to alleviate my worries, was doing nothing for me right now. We walk into the sitting room together and I was barely seated when she said,

                 “That was your mom, she’s really worried about you but didn’t want to call you, she

              knows you wouldn’t pick up if she did”

                “It was just about 30 minutes from Magodo to Ogba. Why’s she so worried?” I feign a stubborn, lackadaisical attitude, then heard my aunt sigh heavily.

                “Damilola!”, she sighed again, “do you want something to drink?”, I shake my head in reply.

                “You know, dear” she continues, ”Sometimes in life, we expect things to go our way

              but life always has it’s own plans. Most times, they are plans we never even gave

              much thought to, but they happen still.”

I absorb every word she says while staring at the muted television; it reminds me of what Richard said to me over the phone.

                “But they could try to make it work”, I reply.

                “Your parents have been having issues for years. The separate bedrooms, trips

              that became even more frequent, even being in separate houses when they were

              around, it’s been a long time coming. And they did try to make it work; they saw

              marriage counselors, made time out. While you were even away at

              school last year, they tried to live together for some months but it didn’t change much.”

                “But, I still don’t get it, they never fight. Yeah, they bicker sometimes but that happens

              right?, even between you and uncle Obi. I thought they loved each other.”

                “Damilola, your parents don’t hate each other. But what you see is mutual respect, not love”, She answers calmly.

                “If they’ve been having issues for years, why did they wait till now to get a divorce?”, I ask the question that has bothered me since she started to tell me about the parts of my parents’ marriage I never saw.

                “They delayed it because of you. They didn’t know exactly how it would affect you,

              you were 16 and fresh into the university; you had enough to deal with. Now you are

              old enough and you should understand where they are coming from. They didn’t gladly

              choose the lives they’ll have to live from now on.”

                 “Me? Damola knows?”

                 “He’s known for a while.”, she replies.

My ears ring as I stare at her in disbelief. The same parents I blame for going on with their decisions had been trading their happiness for mine for years. The weight of her words sink into my head, I hug her again, muffle my thanks, pick up my bag and walk to the room I and my cousin, Dora, share whenever we were both around. As I open the door and step in, a feeling of nostalgia hit me; the coral walls, wide windows, large bed, wardrobes, mirrors, plasma television, disc player, the door to the adjoining bathroom; they all remind me of the countless times I had lived here, times my parents were away trying to make a meaning of something they had believed in once upon a time. I decide to shove all thoughts of my parents away, connect my laptop to the speakers and tune down their volume so the somber music coming from them is barely loud enough to fill the room. I send a message to Seyi  asking her how her father’s health is and telling her I miss her, I also send Richard a message to tell him I was at my aunt’s and a bit calm. I’m about to switch my phone off when a message comes in from Damola….

           ‘Hey kiddo. Mum told me what happened. I know how you feel, been there, done that, you’ll

           get over it. Mum needs you though, much more than you’ll ever know. Be safe aii J’

‘Hey kiddo’... his trademark phrase that never fails to make me smile, Damola will never stop calling me that… ‘mum needs you though’… I ruminate on that as I switch my phone off, I am still angry at my parents for something almost out of their control. Maybe I am being too selfish, maybe I am acting spoilt, maybe I have a right to act the way I am. I start to undress and sing along with John Legend as he crooned through the speaker, ’…I pray for the world, it gets worse to me, wonder if you’re listening...’,he was saying. His words remind me of all the prayers I have ever said for my parents’ marriage and also something Seyi once said to me,’ God always answers our prayers. Most times, it’s just not the answers we want’. I soak myself in the tub and lie there till the water loses it’s warmth, return to the room and lay on the bed, singing along to the melodies forming pictures in my head, grateful that my aunt is kind enough to let me be in my solitude.

             It’s dark and misty, I look around blindly till finally, my eyes adjust to the shadows of the night around me. I lift my legs to walk forward but I bump into a wall, my sense of direction is lost. I turn around to see a small crack of light pouring out at the end of the adjacent wall afar off. I open the door a little wider to reveal white walls marking out a large room with white ceilings and a large bed covered in white sheets. The room looks familiar, the dark wood-paneled floors feel so familiar to my bare feet. I instinctively look to the other end of the room, beside the bed where a sobbing woman sat with her back to me, at the mahogany desk occupied by a lamp, several books and framed pictures. Her tears were falling on a picture of a couple on the wedding day. I move closer to her to see that the couple in the picture are my parents. The sobbing woman turns sharply to face me, like she just realized someone is in the room with her, she turns out to be my mother. Only, she’s a far cry from what I know her to be. The uncharacteristic graying, unkempt hair, sunken cheeks, dirty nails and sullen eyes heavy with guilt and fear beckon to me as she says

                   “I’m sorry, Damilola, but I need to be happy again. Please set me free.”

I’m confused by her words, how am I holding her in bounds, I can see no chains.

                   “Please, set me free. Please”, she wails.

Scared to death, I run out of the room into the hungry darkness outside, panting….. panting, I open my eyes to another quiet but less threatening darkness. The winds rush in through the windows, the music is still playing. I must have been asleep for a few minutes; I didn’t even know when I slipped into oblivion. Stomach howling, I stand up from the bed, close the windows and turn on the lights, the clock on the wall says its 4:32am, I had been gone for nearly seven hours. Wow. I walk to the kitchen, open the refrigerator n carry out a pack of juice and cookies. As I munch on them, I reflect on how scary my dream had been. I think of my mother’s words again, could my lack of forgiveness be the bondage she was talking about? ‘I need to be happy’, it keeps ringing in my head. Maybe I am over-reacting. My mom might not have been around all the time but she was always there when I needed her, when I wanted her to be. I feel a little sad knowing I’m not paying my dues now that it is my turn to. I throw the empty packs into the bin and march back to my room, lay back in bed and settle in for a good movie, anything to lighten my mood. Two hours later, after the movie ends, I put on my phone and a call comes in from Richard almost immediately.

                  “Hey you”, I pick up with a smile, “how was your night?”

                  “It was good. Yours?”

                  “Quite calm”, I remember my dream but decide not to mention it, “Hey, let’s not talk

                about my parents aii.”

                  “Babe, Seyi’s been trying to reach you all night. She called me when she couldn’t get

                through to you”

                  “Err, all night? Why?”

                  “Her father died this morning. Sometime around 2am.”

If a stranger had poured ice-cold water on me while I was asleep, the shock I feel would be nothing compared to what I feel right now! I’m still caught up trying to understand how it could happen when another call comes in, Seyi’s. I tell Richard I’ll call him later and switch calls. Her sobs and the wails around her make her words almost inaudible. Amidst it all, I can only do little to console her and tell her I’ll leave for her house to be with her immediately. I clean myself up, tell my aunt what happened and leave for Seyi’s house.

             As I start my car, I realize that through everything happening around me, I have forgotten to be grateful for the Gift of Life. Thanks to my selfishness and stubbornness, I lost sight of the things that really count. I put a swift change in my plans and head for home. I’m relieved to see my parents’ cars in as I drive in. I see my father first, coming towards the door as I walk in through it. I smile at him and tell him I’m sorry for the worries I caused them, he smiles back in that understanding manner of his; a quick hug and then, I make for my mother’s room. Just as in my dream, she’s seated at her mahogany desk, staring at the pictures but not sobbing, she also lacks all the raggedy features of the woman in my dreams. I stare with love and longing at the beautiful woman who gave me life.

                  “I’m so sorry, mom. I’m here for you. Always.” , I say, meaning every word.

She gives me a broad smile, stands up and stretches her arms out to me like her twin had done yesterday.

                  “I’m sorry it’s not working”, she says.

                  “It’s alright. As long as you are happy”, I reply.

As I fall into her embrace, I feel all my worries alleviate. The spell her sister had been unable to break finally goes away. Finally, I find the one place that doesn’t feel strange, the one place where I feel whole. Finally, I have come Home.