The Man Who Raised Me
1117 Words
The days passed quietly after their visit to Ibadan.
Every evening, Shola found another reason to smile.
Sometimes it was because Fáde had called to tell him about a customer who insisted her meat pie was the best he had ever eaten.
Other times, it was simply hearing her voice before they both ended another long day.
One Thursday evening, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen and smiled.
"Uncle."
After exchanging greetings, he listened quietly.
"I'll come on Saturday."
A brief pause.
"I won't be coming alone."
Another pause.
"Yes, Uncle... she's coming with me."
He smiled.
"I'll see you then."
He ended the call.
Fáde looked up from the tray of freshly baked sausage rolls she was arranging.
"Was that him?"
Shola nodded.
"He wants to see us."
She smiled nervously.
"So... Saturday?"
"Saturday."
She sighed dramatically.
"I've only just recovered from meeting my father."
He laughed.
"My uncle isn't as difficult."
"Then why do you sound worried?"
"I'm not worried."
"You hesitated."
"I did?"
"You did."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"He's just..."
He searched for the right word.
"Quiet."
"Quiet?"
"The kind of man who can sit beside you for an hour without saying ten words."
She laughed.
"So where did all your talking come from?"
"I've been asking myself the same question."
Saturday arrived.
Before leaving, Shola stopped by Fáde's apartment.
She opened the door before he could knock.
"You're early."
"I couldn't sleep."
She smiled.
"So you are nervous."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He laughed.
"You look beautiful."
She glanced down at her dress.
"Too much?"
"No."
"Just enough."
She locked the door behind her.
"Let's go before I change my mind."
They walked the rest of the way.
The streets were alive with the usual weekend bustle.
Children played in open compounds.
Women argued cheerfully over the prices of vegetables.
Somewhere nearby, music floated from an old radio.
Shola suddenly slowed down.
"One thing."
She looked at him.
"If my uncle doesn't say much..."
"Please don't think he dislikes you."
"That's just how he is."
She nodded.
"I understand."
He smiled.
"I hope so."
Because deep down...
He wasn't entirely sure himself.
They turned into a narrow street lined with modest houses.
"That's his place," Shola said, pointing to a cream-coloured bungalow with a rust-red gate.
He paused for a second before pushing it open.
"Uncle!"
His voice echoed through the compound.
No answer came.
He called again.
"Uncle, it's me."
This time, a voice drifted from the backyard.
"I'm here."
Shola smiled.
"Come."
They walked around the side of the house.
His uncle was seated beneath a mango tree, a pair of unfinished leather shoes resting on a wooden stool beside him. A small toolbox lay open at his feet, and a pair of reading glasses sat low on his nose.
Without looking up, he asked,
"So... you've come."
"Yes, Uncle."
Only then did he lift his head.
His eyes settled on Fáde.
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
Then he nodded once.
"So this is Fáde."
"Yes, Sir," she replied respectfully.
"Good afternoon."
"Afternoon."
He looked at Shola.
"Won't you ask her to sit down?"
Shola laughed.
"I thought you would."
His uncle clicked his tongue.
"You've been away too long."
Fáde smiled quietly as they all sat on the wooden benches beneath the tree.
The old man placed the shoe he had been working on beside him.
"I hear you're the young woman who has refused to let this boy sleep."
Shola nearly choked.
"Uncle!"
"What?"
"You smile too much these days."
Fáde burst into laughter.
"I've noticed."
Shola covered his face.
"I'm being attacked."
"For your own good," his uncle replied.
For the first time since arriving, the atmosphere became lighter.
The old man finally turned to Fáde.
"So..."
"You sell pastries?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What kind?"
"Mostly meat pies, sausage rolls, doughnuts and egg rolls."
He nodded.
"Can you bake?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Hmm."
Another pause.
"My late wife baked."
Shola looked up.
His uncle rarely spoke about her.
"People travelled from different towns just to buy her cakes."
A faint smile appeared on the old man's face before disappearing almost immediately.
"She would have liked you."
The words surprised even him.
Fáde lowered her head.
"Thank you, Sir."
Silence returned.
But this time...
It wasn't uncomfortable.
It felt... thoughtful.
After a while, Shola cleared his throat.
"Uncle..."
"We've fixed our minds."
"We want to go ahead with the parlour blessing."
The old man scratched his chin.
"So you've both decided."
"Yes."
"Hmm."
He leaned back on the bench.
"If that's what you both want..."
"...then do it."
Shola smiled.
"I was hoping you'd come with me."
His uncle shrugged.
"When the day comes..."
"I'll go."
Nothing more.
No congratulations.
No excitement.
Just a simple answer.
Shola didn't seem disappointed.
He had grown up knowing that his uncle rarely celebrated anything with many words.
Fáde, however, studied him for a brief moment.
She wondered if this was simply the way he loved...
Or simply the way he lived.
Just then, his uncle stood up.
"I almost forgot."
He disappeared into the house.
A minute later, he returned carrying an old photo album.
He placed it gently on Fáde's lap.
"Open it."
She did.
The very first photograph showed a skinny teenage Shola sitting beside his uncle, proudly holding the first pair of sandals he had ever made.
She couldn't hold back her laughter.
"You were so tiny."
Shola groaned.
"Uncle..."
"You promised never to show anyone those pictures."
"I promised no such thing."
He adjusted his glasses.
"I kept them for a reason."
Fáde turned another page.
There was Shola again...
Covered in leather dust...
Smiling from ear to ear.
Another page.
Shola receiving a small certificate after completing his apprenticeship.
Another.
Standing outside his tiny workshop on the day he opened it.
She looked at him.
"So you've been smiling like this for years."
Shola rubbed the back of his neck.
"I didn't know I smiled that much."
His uncle looked at the photographs before quietly saying,
"No."
"You only started smiling like that recently."
Neither of them noticed the way his eyes lingered on Fáde.
Then, without another word, he closed the album.
"Life changes people."
He stood.
"You'll be late if you don't leave now."
Shola rose.
"Thank you, Uncle."
The old man nodded.
"Travel safely."
As they walked out of the compound, Fáde looked back once.
His uncle was still standing beneath the mango tree.
Watching them.
His face revealed nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Yet somehow...
She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the old man than the silence he wore so comfortably.
- Writer
