The Lagos Return
THE LAGOS RETURN
The plane touched down in Lagos and Amara felt her heart stop.
The pilot announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have landed at Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos. The time is 2:15 PM and the temperature outside is 32 degrees."
Passengers started clapping and standing up to bring down their bags. But Amara remained seated. Her hands were shaking. Her chest was beating fast like drum. She could not believe she was back in Lagos after seven years.
Seven years ago, she left Lagos with tears. She left because her family said she shamed them. She left because her fiance, Chidi, called off their wedding one week to the wedding. She left because her mother told her, "Amara, go and find yourself, don't come back until you are strong."
She went to London with only one small bag and her certificate. In London, she washed plates in a restaurant, she cleaned offices in winter, she cried every night inside a small cold room in Peckham. Nobody knew she was once the fine girl of Ikeja who spoke good English and had big dreams.
But today, she was returning not as the broken Amara. She was returning as Amara Okoro, Brand Manager of a big fashion company in London, with money in her account and confidence in her eyes.
She looked out of the plane window. Lagos was still Lagos. The sun was hot, the air was thick, the airport was noisy even from inside the plane. She saw the green white green flag waving.
"Madam, are you okay?" The air hostess touched her shoulder. "We have landed."
Amara smiled small. "Yes, thank you. I am okay."
She stood up slowly, brought down her hand luggage, and joined the line to come out. Her legs were shaking.
Inside the arrival hall, the heat hit her immediately. The AC was not working well. People were shouting, dragging bags, officials were shouting "Oga bring your passport." Children were crying. It was chaos, but it was Lagos chaos, the one she missed.
She stood on the long immigration queue. In front of her was a white man sweating and complaining about the heat. Behind her was a Yoruba woman with three children who kept shouting "Mumcy, I want water."
When it reached her turn, the immigration officer looked at her British passport and then at her face.
"Welcome home," he said and stamped it.
Those two words made her eyes full of tears. Welcome home.
She walked to the conveyor belt to wait for her two big boxes. She was wearing a simple white shirt, blue jeans, and small earrings. She did not want to look too rich. She wanted to see Lagos with clear eyes.
Her phone started ringing. It was her mother.
"Amara, have you landed? Where are you? Your father is waiting outside with driver."
"Mummy, I have landed. I am waiting for my boxes."
"Okay, come out quick. The driver is in car park C. Black Prado."
She cut the call. Her mother still sounded the same, commanding, strong, never showing too much emotion.
After thirty minutes, her boxes came out. She dragged them out of the hall. Immediately, sun and noise and touts rushed her.
"Madam, taxi! Taxi!"
"Madam, you need help? I will carry your load!"
"Sister, change money! Good rate!"
She held her boxes tight and walked fast to car park C.
And there he was. Her father. Chief Okoro. He was standing beside a black Prado, wearing his agbada, looking old but still strong. His beard was now fully white.
When he saw her, he opened his arms.
"Amara! My daughter!"
Amara left her boxes on the floor and ran to hug him. She started crying like a small child. Seven years of pain, of washing plates, of cold winter nights, of missing home, all came out in that hug.
"Papa," she was crying. "Papa."
Her father was crying too. "My daughter has come back. My daughter has come back."
The driver quickly packed her boxes inside the Prado.
Inside the car, AC was blowing cold. Lagos traffic was crazy as usual. Danfos were shouting, keke were squeezing inside, hawkers were selling gala and pure water in traffic.
"Papa, Lagos has not changed," Amara said, looking outside.
"Lagos will never change," her father laughed. "But you have changed. You look fresh, you look big. London is good for you."
Amara smiled. "Papa, London was not easy. But I thank God."
Her father held her hand. "Your mother and I, we are sorry for how we sent you out that time. We thought we were punishing you, but we were pushing you to your destiny. Forgive us."
Amara squeezed his hand. "I have forgiven you long time ago, Papa. If you did not send me out, I would still be in Ikeja doing nothing."
They drove for almost two hours because of traffic from airport to Ikeja GRA where her parents lived. When they entered the gate of their house, her mother was standing at the door. She was wearing a beautiful lace, with gele tied high. She did not run, she just stood there with tears in her eyes.
Amara came down and knelt down to greet her.
"Mummy."
Her mother bent and hugged her tight. "Amara, welcome. Welcome my daughter."
For a long time, they just hugged at the door. Neighbors were looking from their gates.
Inside the house, everything was still the same but new at the same time. Her old room had been repainted. Her pictures were still on the wall. The sitting room had new chairs.
Her mother had cooked her favorite - jollof rice, fried plantain, chicken and salad.
"Sit and eat. You have lost weight," her mother said.
Amara laughed. "Mummy, I did not lose weight, I am fit. In London we go to gym."
They all laughed and sat to eat.
While they were eating, her mother said, "So what is your plan now? Are you back to stay or back to visit?"
Amara dropped her spoon.
"Mummy, I am back to stay. My company wants to open a branch in Lagos. They have made me head of Lagos office. I came to set it up. So I am back for good."
Her father clapped. "That is wonderful news!"
But her mother's face changed small. "Lagos branch? You will be working here in Lagos?"
"Yes Mummy."
Her mother kept quiet for some time, then said, "Have you heard about Chidi?"
Amara's heart stopped again. Chidi. Her ex-fiance who left her.
"No Mummy, I have not heard."
"He is in Lagos. He is married now. He has two children. He works in Lekki."
Amara felt old pain pinch her chest, but it went quickly. She smiled.
"Good for him, Mummy. I wish him well."
Her mother looked at her with pride. "You have really grown, Amara. The old Amara would have started crying."
Amara stood up and went to the window. She looked at Ikeja outside. The street was busy, generators were making noise, children were playing football.
She said softly, "Mummy, when I was in London, every time I cried, I promised myself that when I return to Lagos, I will return strong. I will not return as the girl who was left. I will return as a woman who built herself."
Her father came to stand beside her. "And you have done it, my daughter."
That night, Amara slept in her old room for the first time in seven years. She put on her small nightgown and lay on the bed looking at the ceiling fan turning slowly.
She thought about tomorrow. Tomorrow she would go to Victoria Island to see the office space her company rented. Tomorrow she would start her new life in Lagos.
She did not know that Chidi, her ex, was living just three streets away from her new office in VI. She did not know that fate was about to bring them together again in a way she never expected.
She closed her eyes and whispered, "Welcome home, Amara."
Outside, Lagos was noisy, with horns and music, but inside her heart, it was peaceful for the first time in seven years.
The return had begun.
