THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 15

The next morning, I waited until it was time to leave before informing the manager. I handed him my room key, my expression calm but resolute.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning.

“I’m leaving,” I said simply. “Thank you for everything.”

He blinked in surprise, his face a mix of confusion and indignation. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I have a new job with accommodation, and I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

His expression hardened, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak further. I walked out of the hotel, leaving behind the frustration and bitterness that had plagued me during my time there.

When I arrived at my new workplace, Mr. Edem was waiting to welcome me. He showed me to my room, a small but comfortable space within the office premises. It was perfect—a sanctuary where I could focus on rebuilding my life.

The first few days were busy as I adjusted to the demands of the job. The work was challenging but fulfilling, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of stability.

A week later, something unexpected happened. I was assisting my boss in preparing for a meeting when a familiar face walked into the office. He was one of my tutors in Creative Media Arts at the academy.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I greeted, my voice laced with surprise.

He paused, studying me for a moment before his face lit up with recognition. “Happy! I thought you looked familiar. You were one of my students, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling. “I was in your class a while back.”

He nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I knew I’d seen you somewhere. So, you work here now?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“That’s great,” he said, his tone genuinely warm. “You were always one of the promising ones in my class. It’s good to see you again.”

We exchanged contact information, and just as he was about to leave, he turned to me and added, “I’m shooting a movie soon. I’ll give you a call. I think you’ll fit perfectly into one of the roles.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As he walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of hope. This wasn’t just a job—it was a stepping stone to something bigger.

That night, as I lay in my new room, I couldn’t stop smiling. The universe had a funny way of reminding me that every step, no matter how small, was part of the journey. I didn’t know what the future held, but I was ready to face it head-on.

Days passed, and I waited patiently for his call. My new job didn’t give me the chance to attend auditions or pursue acting opportunities during the week, but thankfully, I was free on Sundays—only Sundays.

Finally, he called and asked me to chat with him on w******p using a new contact he provided. I quickly saved the number and sent him a message. Not long after, he sent me a script.

I had seven scenes in the film! It was an occult-themed story, and I was cast as one of the cult members. Even more exciting, it was a speaking role—a significant step forward in my acting journey.

This was more than I had dared to hope for after leaving the academy. I read through the script repeatedly, ensuring I understood my character’s motivations and lines. The story revolved around a secret cult, and I was to play one of the devoted followers—a role that felt both challenging and exciting.

I messaged him to thank him for the opportunity and to ask about the shooting schedule. When he shared the production schedule with me, I explained that I was only available on Sundays because of my job. He acknowledged it and said, "Oh yeah, that’s true. Okay, because of you, I’ll make sure all your scenes are shot on a Sunday." He assured me he would talk to the production manager to arrange it. I was so happy and grateful for his understanding.

The Sunday finally arrived, and I left home very early to avoid delaying the set. I got there before 7 a.m., as he had requested. When he saw me, he was pleasantly surprised. “I said 7 a.m. because I expected you to show up by 9 or 10. Most actors use African time a lot,” he teased.

I laughed. “I’m not most actors o! I’m Happy—a young woman trying to get fame and money at the same time.”

He laughed too, then gave me a seat and some food to eat while waiting for the others to arrive.

As I waited, I decided to scroll through f*******: to pass the time. Suddenly, I saw a friend request from my cousin, the one who lived far from my father’s house. I accepted it and realized she was online. Excited, I went to message her but paused when I noticed she had already been trying to reach me.

I scrolled through her past messages and was shocked by what I saw.

“Where have you been, sisterly?” one message read. “Your parents came here last year, October 2014, to report that you were missing—that you ran away from home. It’s August 2015, girl, and you’re still not back. Wetin dey sup? We all thought you were kidnapped or killed until I saw you on Facebook.”

My heart sank. I had no idea my disappearance had caused such a stir. I sat there, overwhelmed, as her words echoed in my mind.

As I read my cousin’s message, my hands trembled, and tears blurred my vision. She wrote about how she’d come across my f*******: account a month ago and immediately told her mum. Her mum, in turn, had called my dad to let him know I was alive. My cousin explained how my mum had been crying endlessly since then.

“What happened, Happy?” she wrote. “Please talk to me once you see this message. We’re all looking for you. Dad said you can come home and pursue this career of yours from home. Happy, you’re the first child—you can’t lead others this way. Please come back home. Here are our contacts...”

She proceeded to list phone numbers—hers, my dad’s, my mum’s, her mum’s, and even Cousin Daniel’s. My heart broke when I saw Daniel’s name. He was the cousin who lived in my father’s house, the one who had told me how Dad threatened me, making it clear I wouldn’t be safe if I ever returned.

I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. Memories came flooding back—Dad’s harsh words and the fear that drove me away. I didn’t run from home because I wanted to; I ran because I had no choice. My father had threatened to “deal with me” for daring to pursue a career he didn’t approve of.

Despite my pain, I replied to her message, and when she saw it, her excitement was palpable. She immediately asked for my contact, but I decided to call her instead

She screamed when she heard my voice, her excitement spilling through the phone. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief, sadness, and longing. We talked for a while, but it was hard to hold back my tears. Then she handed over the phone to her mother, and she pleaded with me to come home. Her voice softened.

“Not for Dad,” she said, “but for the woman who carried you in her womb out of love for nine months. The one who risked her life to bring you into this world and nurtured you until you turned 19. Your mum has been crying every day, Happy. She needs to see you.”

Her words broke me. We were both crying over the phone as she poured out her heart.

While I was still on the call, the director walked into the room and saw me crying. His face immediately filled with concern, and he asked what was wrong.

After I ended the call, he sat down beside me and gently asked me to tell him what had happened. I hesitated at first, but then I opened up. I told him everything—how I left home, my father’s threats, the struggle to survive, and now, the message from my cousin.

He listened intently, his expression softening with every word. When I finished, he sighed deeply and said, “Happy, your father doesn’t hate you, nor is he a wicked man. He was trying to protect you because he loves you. The industry is harsh and corrupt, and most parents fear for their children’s safety in it.”

I wiped my tears as he continued. “Your dad’s threats were his way of trying to push you away from what he thought was a dangerous path. What he didn’t realize was that the person he was threatening was created for this purpose. You didn’t stay because you were stubborn or rebellious. Something inside you knew this was your calling, and it kept you going even when the journey was tough.”

His words struck a chord within me.

He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and said, “Happy, after we finish this shoot, I’m driving you home. I’m taking you to your father’s house. You need to reconcile with your family. Your journey will be easier with their blessings. There’s nothing greater than a parent’s blessing.”

I stared at him, overwhelmed by his kindness and wisdom. For the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—things could be mended. When he walked out of the room, I thought about everything he said. He was right. I couldn’t keep running. It was time to face my past, no matter how painful it might be. It was time to go home.

The rest of the shoot went by in a blur. Although I delivered my lines flawlessly, my mind was elsewhere, replaying the conversation with my cousin and the director’s advice.

The director couldn’t take me home as planned because he had an important meeting. After we wrapped up the set late at night—around 10 p.m.—I returned to my house, knowing I had to report to the office early the next day. That night, sleep eluded me. My mind was consumed with thoughts: leaving home, the struggles I had endured, how far I had come, and now, the reality that my father wanted me to return.