Daughter of Lagos

Chapter 2: Her Past

I remember the warmth of that morning hug. I wrapped my arms around Iya and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, my way of saying thank you for the gift she had just given me. But more than that, I was thanking her for every small act of love and care she had poured into my life since the day I was born. Her arms felt like home, steady and safe, and for a few seconds I let myself forget everything else.

A few minutes later we were sitting at the table for breakfast. The smell of warm tea and fried plantain filled the kitchen. The plate in front of me was steaming, but my appetite wasn't really there. My thoughts kept drifting to the same question I had been carrying for years. I wanted to ask about my biological father. The question sat on my tongue, heavy and restless, but every time I tried to speak it, guilt would pull me back. My mom had dedicated her entire life to me. She had raised me alone, worked double shifts, missed sleep, missed out on things for herself, all so I could have what I needed. Who was I to bring up a man she might not want to remember? Who was I to reopen old wounds just to satisfy my curiosity?

So I stayed quiet. I sat with my head down, eyes fixed on the food, pushing rice from one side of the plate to the other. I told myself that silence was kinder. If I didn't ask, I wouldn't hurt her. If I didn't ask, I could keep pretending that our little family of two was complete.

Then Iya's voice cut through my thoughts and startled me.

"Temi."

I looked up quickly. "Mom?"

She was watching me with that look she always had when she knew I was hiding something. The look that said she could see right through the calm I was trying to fake. She set her spoon down and leaned forward a little.

"Go ahead and spill," she said gently. "You have that 'I need to talk to you about something' look written all over your face. You always do that thing with your eyes when you're holding something back. Just don't hide things from me, Temi. It makes me feel incompetent as a mother, like I can't tell when my own child is troubled."

Hearing that made my chest tighten. I hadn't meant to make her feel that way. I looked up at her, and before I could think of the right words, I found myself apologizing instead.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's my fault for overthinking things. I'm just... I'm just curious about my father and..."

I didn't get to finish the sentence. The sound of my mom choking on her food stopped me cold. One second she was listening, and the next she was coughing hard, her hand flying to her throat. Panic shot through me. I jumped up from my chair so fast it scraped against the floor. I grabbed the glass of water on the table, and in my rush to help her, a little of it splashed onto my hand. Thank goodness it wasn't hot water. I could only imagine how much worse that would have been.

"Here, Mom, drink this," I said, pressing the glass into her hands. With my other hand I patted her back gently, trying to help her calm down. I kept my movements slow and steady, whispering, "It's okay, I'm here. Breathe, Mom. Just breathe."

It took a few long moments before her coughing eased and her breathing went back to normal. She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, one hand still on her chest. I stayed beside her until I was sure she was alright. Once she opened her eyes and gave me a small, shaky smile, I finally exhaled.

I didn't need her to tell me what had happened. The topic had clearly caught her off guard. Her reaction said more than words ever could. Whatever memories I had stirred up were painful, and bringing them up had hurt her. The guilt hit me hard. I should have kept quiet. I should have let it go.

So I decided not to push it. I went back to my seat and picked up my spoon. I would eat in silence and not bug her anymore. Some questions weren't worth the price they made her pay.

But surprisingly, Iya's voice interrupted my thoughts again. She sounded calm now, but there was a weight under every word.

"His name is Tunde Jackson," she said.

I froze, spoon halfway to my mouth.

"We met in secondary school," she continued. "We were young. We dated for two years. On the day I found out I was pregnant, I had wanted to tell him. I practiced what I would say the whole day. But when we met that evening, he told me something first. He said his family was arranging for him to marry someone else. A girl from a wealthy family. The marriage would help their business grow. He said it was an opportunity he couldn't turn down."

She paused and took a sip of water, her hand steady now.

"I agreed," she said quietly. "So we parted ways. I didn't tell him I was pregnant. He doesn't know about you, Temitayo. He never will."

Then she stood up, smoothed her wrapper, and picked up her bag. "I'll be on my way to work now. If you need anything, let me know. Temitayo... I'll always love you."

And just like that, she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me sitting there with more questions than I started with.

Sitting there alone, the weight of what I had done pressed down on me. I felt like a sinner for bringing up her past. One question had opened a door I wasn't sure I was ready to walk through.

Now my mind wouldn't stop. How was she able to take care of me all by herself? Where did she get the money? Who helped her when I was sick as a baby? Who were her parents? I had never met my grandparents on her side. Not once. Did they disown her after they found out she was pregnant and unmarried? Did they turn their backs on her when she needed them most? How did she feel in that moment when Tunde said those words to her? That his family had arranged another marriage for him? She must have been scared. She must have felt like her world was ending. Alone, pregnant, and watching the person she loved choose a different future.

Damn. I shouldn't have gone looking for trouble by asking those questions. I had wanted answers, but I hadn't thought about the cost. I hoped she wouldn't cry when she thought about her past later tonight, after work, when the house was quiet and there was no one to distract her. I hoped I hadn't added more weight to a burden she had been carrying alone for years.

But even with the guilt, I couldn't pretend I wasn't grateful. She had chosen me. When it would have been easier to walk away, she stayed. When life gave her every reason to give up, she kept going. That morning at the breakfast table taught me something I would never forget. Some stories are painful to tell, but the love behind them is even stronger.