HOMECOMING AND LAGOS NIGHTS
The chill of London in December nipped at Folashade Coker’s cheeks as she sat by her flat window, a steaming mug of cocoa warming her hands. Outside, buses rattled through fog-laden streets, people hurried past in thick coats, and the city hummed with its usual rhythm. But her mind was far away—on Lagos, on the vibrant streets her parents had described, on the festival lights, the music, and the energy that would soon surround her.
“Just one more sleep,” she whispered, tracing the outline of Nigeria on the map her mother had pinned to her wall years ago. “I’m finally coming home.”
Born in London to Nigerian parents, Folashade had grown up on tales of Lagos: its bustling streets, markets, beaches, and the vibrant chaos that made it unique. Now, she would experience it firsthand.
Her phone buzzed. It was Chike, her childhood friend. “Almost there, Shade! Pack your sunglasses and your dancing shoes. Lagos won’t know what hit it!”
She smiled, sipping her cocoa. “Can’t wait,” she replied, heart racing with anticipation.
Stepping off the plane at Murtala Muhammed International Airport, she was immediately enveloped by the warm, humid air of Lagos. Vendors called out, cars honked incessantly, and music—Afrobeats, highlife, gospel—pulsed from every corner. The city throbbed with life, and Folashade felt it in her chest.
“Shade! Welcome home!” Chike exclaimed, embracing her tightly. “You’re going to love this December.”
Over the next five days, Folashade immersed herself in the city’s magic. She wandered the markets of Lekki and Balogun, marveling at colorful fabrics, spices piled high, and the aroma of roasted plantain and suya. Nights were for concerts, street performances, and dancing alongside strangers whose laughter became her own.
“Shade, you have to try this jollof rice,” Chike said one afternoon.
She smiled and took a bite. The smoky, spicy flavors exploded in her mouth. “Wow… this is amazing. Now I understand why you love Lagos so much.”
Yet amid the celebrations, Chike’s caution lingered. “Shade, if we go to Kogi, I think you should fly. Some of the roads are dangerous… bandits, kidnappers…”
Folashade shook her head, determined. “No, Chike. I want to see the country properly—the villages, the rivers, the hills. Flying won’t give me that.”
Chike sighed but smiled. “Alright, Shade. Road trip it is. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” she said, though neither truly believed words alone could protect her from what lay ahead.
Chapter 2: The Road to Kogi
They left Lagos at dawn. The skyline shrank behind them, replaced by sprawling fields, clusters of palm trees, and colorful villages. Folashade pressed her face to the window, eyes wide at the scenery.
“This is… incredible,” she breathed. “The country itself feels alive.”
Chike glanced at her. “Wait until you see the Niger River. That view alone will take your breath away.”
The highway to Kogi was breathtaking. Golden fields stretched into the distance, dotted with grazing cattle. Rivers wound through the valleys, reflecting the sun like liquid silver. Villages with colorful houses lined the roadside, and markets spilled vibrant fabrics, fresh produce, and handcrafted wares onto the edges of the road. Occasional shrines and palm-fringed hills whispered of centuries-old traditions.
Hours passed. The sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky with gold and crimson. Birds called from treetops, and the scent of freshly tilled earth drifted through the air. Nigeria revealed a side she had never seen—quiet, beautiful, alive in a way London could never be.
But as they entered a narrower stretch bordered by dense forest, the road took on a different feeling. Isolation. Vulnerability.
Then, the cattle appeared.
A herd of Fulani cows, guided by a few herders, had blocked the road. Cars honked and revved engines in frustration. Chike slowed, frowning.
“Shade… this is why I told you to fly,” he muttered.
Folashade gripped the seat, excitement mixed with unease. “It’s fine, Chike. Just look at them—the way they move. It’s mesmerizing.”
The cattle formed a wall, flanked by herders moving with authority. Other drivers shouted, but the herd was immovable. Folashade felt a chill despite the warm air. The forest beyond the road seemed to watch them.
Then she noticed movement in the shadows. Figures emerged, gliding silently between the trees. Before she could react, masked men stepped onto the road, flanking their car.
“Shade! Stay calm!” Chike shouted, panic rising in his voice.
The sun dipped below the horizon. The last thing she saw was the glint of a machete and Chike’s hand reaching for hers. The road that had shown her Nigeria’s beauty now felt like a trap.
