The Guy I Never Met

The Long Way Home

Chapter 14: The Long Way Home

Kemi sat on the edge of her mattress and opened the banking app on her old phone.

5 months.

That’s how long she’d been saving.

After sending everything home for the past years, brother’s fees, light bill and sending money for their upkeep. This was the first time she’d kept anything for herself.

Balance: ₦100,000

She exhaled.

A one-way ticket home was 5000 libyan dinar (₦1,200,000).

She laughed, but it didn’t sound like laughing.

It was impossible.

She was 21, stuck in a country that didn’t want her, working 12 hours and still not enough.

Home.

The word had been heavy in her chest since the day she overheard her boss say “these girls never go back.”

She was going back. Even if it took forever.

The next morning before work, she went to the immigration office.

The line was long. Hot. People holding files, crying babies, tired faces.

“Next,” the officer said without looking up.

I want to register for repatriation, Kemi said. “The free flight.”

The officer finally looked at her. 150 dinar for the form. Processing is 3 to 6 months. No guarantee. You’ll be on a list with thousands.

3 to 6 months.

Kemi’s throat went dry. That was so long.

But ₦1.2 million was never.

She paid the 150 dinar. Her hands shook as she wrote:

Name: Kemi Adebayo

Age: 21

Reason: I want to go home.

Check the website every Friday, the officer said, stamping the paper. If your name comes up, we’ll call you 2 weeks before. Don’t miss it.

Outside, the sun hit her hard.

She had no plan. No timeline. Just a name on a list and months to wait.

When she got back to her small room that evening, her body ached.

She dropped her bag and checked her phone.

1 new message.

From Ola.

It was a picture.

Ola.

In a white native, up and down, crisp and clean. The fabric was shining under the sun.

He was tall. Dark skin glowing. Glasses sitting low on his nose.

He was standing outside his workplace, with both hand in his pocket.

He looked good. Really good. Like the kind of man that made you forget your problems for 5 seconds.

Under the picture he wrote:

Ola: Long day. Thought of you.

Kemi stared at it.

Her chest did something stupid.

She shouldn’t feel this. Not now. Not with #100k, and a 6-month wait ahead of her.

But she typed anyway.

Kemi: You look good. Like, really good.

Kemi: I went to immigration today. I registered for the free flight.

Kemi: They said 3 to 6 months.

Then:

Ola: Kemi...

Ola: That’s the bravest thing I’ve heard all year.

Ola: 6 months is long. But you’re not waiting for nothing. You’re waiting to go home.

Kemi read it twice.

Brave.

No one had called her that before.

She looked around the room. One mattress. One fan. One small window.

6 months.

She couldn’t just sit and rot.

She opened her notes app.

GOAL 1: Survive work until the call comes.

GOAL 2: Save every extra kobo. Even 10 dinar counts.

GOAL 3: Go home with something. Not empty.

She saved the picture of Ola.

Not because of romance. Not because she was hoping.

But because on days when ₦1.2 million felt impossible and 6 months felt endless, she needed to remember that someone saw her.

And called her brave.

Outside, the light goes off.

Darkness.

But Kemi lay down and closed her eyes.

The long way home.

But it was still home.