Binta

The rain had turned Monrovia into a city of mirrors. Everywhere I looked, the streets reflected pieces of the grey sky—the yellow headlights of taxis, the red brake lights of keke drivers, the puddles swallowing people's slippers, and the blurred faces of strangers hurrying beneath umbrellas. Monrovia looked beautiful when it rained. It also looked miserable. My father hated driving in the rain. I hated accompanying him on house calls. That evening, neither of us was particularly happy. "Hand me the phone," he said. I picked it up from the dashboard. "Which one?" "The patient's number." "You have three missed calls." "I know." "Then why did you ask me for the phone?" He glanced at me. "Sometimes I wonder how you became my son." I smiled. "Genetics." He shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. My father was a doctor. Not the kind of doctor who arrived at hospitals in expensive cars, wore watches that could pay someone's university tuition, or had a house with a swimming pool. He was simply a good doctor. People called him when they couldn't afford private hospitals. Sometimes they paid him with money. Sometimes with bags of rice. Sometimes with chickens. Sometimes they paid him with nothing. He still treated them. I had grown up watching my father do that. Perhaps that was why I had never learned to be impressed by people who had everything. Money had never impressed me. People did. "Where are we going again?" I asked. "Sinkor." "Whose house?" "A patient." "Male or female?" He looked at me. "Does it matter?" "It matters if I'm going to sit in the car for two hours." "You won't." "How do you know?" "Because I know you." I laughed. "That's unfortunate." He smiled despite himself. We turned into one of the quieter parts of Sinkor. The difference was immediate. The roads were cleaner. The houses were larger. The walls were higher. The cars were newer. Even the security guards looked like they had never experienced unemployment. My father slowed down in front of a massive black gate. I stared through the windshield. A security guard approached. The gate opened. Beyond it was a house so large that I wondered whether the people living inside knew everyone who lived there. There was a fountain in the middle of the driveway. Two expensive cars sat beneath a covered entrance. A third was parked beside the garden. I looked down at my old sneakers. One had a small tear near the sole. I quickly placed my feet beneath the seat. My father noticed. He said nothing. "Who are we treating?" I asked. "A young woman." "What's wrong with her?" "Fever. Severe headache. Her mother is worried." I looked at the mansion. "This place?" "Yes." I laughed. "She doesn't look like someone who needs a doctor." My father raised an eyebrow. "Then what does she need?" "A better house." He stared at me. I smiled. "That was a joke." "One day your mouth will get you into serious trouble." "It already has." "I know." He turned off the engine. "Stay here." I looked at him. "Seriously?" "Seriously." "I came all the way to Sinkor to sit in the car?" "Yes." "Then why did you bring me?" "You insisted." "I thought you said I should learn from you." "You can learn from the car." He stepped out. I watched him walk toward the entrance. The security guard opened the door. My father disappeared inside. I lasted exactly three minutes. Then boredom defeated me. I got out. The rain had become lighter, but the ground was still wet. I walked toward the house. The closer I got, the more ridiculous I felt. This place was nothing like home. I reached the entrance and stopped. That was when I heard her voice. "Who are you?" I turned. She stood at the top of the staircase. And for a moment, I forgot what I was going to say. She wore a white blouse tucked neatly into dark trousers. Her long black hair fell over one shoulder. She had no obvious expression on her face. Not happiness. Not anger. Just suspicion. She looked at me as though I were an unexpected delivery. I looked behind myself. Then back at her. "Are you talking to me?" "Who else is standing there?" I looked around. "Your security guard?" Her eyes narrowed. "You are the doctor's assistant?" I almost laughed. "No." "Then who are you?" "I'm his son." She stared at me. Something about her expression changed. Perhaps disappointment. Perhaps surprise. "Why are you here?" "My father." "Your father?" "The doctor." "I know who your father is." "Then you already know why I'm here." She folded her arms. "You don't look like a doctor's son." I looked down at myself. Old sneakers. Wrinkled shirt. Cheap jeans. I looked back at her. "How does a doctor's son look?" She didn't answer. I smiled. "Maybe I'm the poor version." For the first time, something almost resembling a smile touched her lips. Almost. Then it disappeared. "You are very annoying." I smiled wider. "And we've only spoken for thirty seconds." "Exactly." She turned around. I thought she was leaving. Then she stopped. "What's your name?" "Issa." She looked over her shoulder. "I'm Trina." "I know." She turned completely around. "You know me?" "No." "Then how do you know my name?" "Your mother called it when I came inside." She stared at me. Then looked away. "Right." She walked down the corridor. I watched her disappear. I don't know why. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. Maybe it was the fact that she had looked at me without caring about my father's profession. Or maybe I simply enjoyed annoying her. Whatever it was, I found myself smiling. "Enjoying yourself?" I turned. My father stood behind me. I cleared my throat. "I was just looking around." "You were supposed to stay in the car." "I was bored." "You met her." "Who?" "Don't play stupid." I shrugged. "Trina?" "Yes." "She's annoying." My father looked at me for a long moment. "Be careful." "Of what?" "People who live behind walls like these." I frowned. "What does that mean?" Before he could answer, an older man appeared at the end of the hallway. He wore an immaculate white traditional shirt. His expression was serious. He looked at my father. Then at me. He stopped walking. Something changed in his face. Recognition. But I had never seen him before. "Is that your son?" he asked. My father nodded. "Yes." The man stared at me. For several seconds. Then he looked away. "Interesting." I frowned. There was something strange about the way he said it. My father thanked him and we left. As soon as we got into the car, I asked: "Who was that?" "Mr. Cole." "What's so interesting about me?" My father started the engine. "Nothing." "You don't look like someone who believes that." He didn't answer. We drove through the wet streets of Monrovia. For several minutes, neither of us spoke. Then my phone vibrated. I looked down. Tracy ❤️ I smiled immediately. My father saw it. "Tracy?" "Yes." "You're still seeing that girl?" I looked at him. "She's not just a girl." "Then what is she?" "The woman I'm going to marry." He laughed. I didn't. I had known Tracy for three years. She was the only woman I had ever loved. Her family owned Gold Creek, one of the biggest businesses in Liberia. My family had nothing close to that kind of wealth. But Tracy had never made me feel poor. She had met me before she knew what my father did. Before she knew how little money we had. She loved Issa. Not the doctor's son. Not someone's future husband. Just me. Or at least, that was what I believed. My phone vibrated again. Tracy: Where are you? I typed: On my way home. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Tracy: I miss you. I smiled. My father glanced at me. "You love her?" "More than anything." He didn't respond. Instead, he turned onto the main road. The rain had stopped. But the sky remained dark. I didn't know then that my father's silence had nothing to do with Tracy. I didn't know that somewhere in Monrovia, an old man was pushing a tea cart through the evening traffic. I didn't know that his daughter was about to become part of my life. I didn't know that my family had already made plans for me. Plans I knew nothing about. And I certainly didn't know that the girl I had just met behind that enormous gate would one day become the person capable of destroying the life I thought I had planned. Her name was Trina. I would annoy her. She would hate me. Then, slowly, painfully, she would fall in love with me. And I would do the worst thing a man could do to a woman who loved him. I would make her believe she had a chance. Because at that time, my heart belonged to someone else. Tracy. But my family's plans belonged to another woman. Binta. And I had never even met her.