When past becomes present

I woke up a few minutes before dawn. By then, everywhere was dead and silent. Only the rattling sound of the moving leaves of the coconut tree, which stood outside my window, could be heard, courtesy of the soothing wind that created continuous morning dew. I sat up on my bed and gazed into an open space of darkness for some time. I finally reached for my phone, which I usually keep on the small stool affixed to the right side of my bed. I glanced at the lock screen of the phone and saw that the time was 4:07 a.m., which meant that I woke up almost an hour before work, which begins at 5:00 a.m. Due to boredom at that moment, I unlocked my phone and went through each app one by one. When I got to the Google Cloud app, I saw that I hadn't used it in ages, so I decided to use it. I had to log in to my account. I did this with the aid of my sss account. When I was finished with this, I downloaded all the pictures and videos I had backed up there many years ago.when they had successfully been downloaded,I went through them one by one I paused at a particular picture. It was a picture taken four years ago while I was graduating with my classmates from secondary school back in Nigeria. I smiled as I examined the picture while recalling my preserved memory of the most precious time I spent with my classmates back then. I tried to locate my best friend in the picture, and I was not surprised to see him standing next to me because we spent almost all the time together. It took a while for me to finally slide to the next picture. It was a picture I took in one of Nigeria’s international airports a day after my graduation while I was leaving for the USA, my present location. While I examined the picture, I felt a little sad because the picture reminded me of how I wasted my career by coming to the USA on a scholarship to study medicine at Harvard University. This was because I was expelled from the university. I was framed for examination malpractice during my fourth-year final semester examination and wasn’t given a chance to prove myself innocent by the university officials. I had to face the wrath of unemployment for a year until four days ago, when a woman employed me to babysit her kids. The woman lost her beloved husband about five months ago in a horrible auto crash. Ever since then, she had continuously employed different babysitters for her kids, but none of them lasted for more than two weeks. They usually ended up quitting. This was my fourth day working for her, and I wished to be the first babysitter to last. If I ever happened to find the person who framed me and got me expelled, I would make him pay. A steady knock on my door called me back to reality, and I noticed that tears were dropping from my eyes. As I cleaned my eyes with my blanket, I mumbled, “Who—who’s that?” I finally heard the voice of the woman who employed me. “It’s me—John. Have they gone sleepwalking again?” “Okay, ma. Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” I immediately jumped out of bed, adjusted the nightwear joggers I wore, and finally opened my room door. I made for the stairs, which were opposite my room, without even stopping to examine the face of the woman who, judging from the tone of her voice, would be looking tensed up. When I was done descending the stairs, which led into the sitting room, I made for the entrance door opposite the dining area, located adjacent to the stairs. When I got to the door, I reached for the keys, which were normally kept under the cowboy hat on the shelf next to the door. I then inserted the key into the key slot and turned it anti-clockwise twice. I finally pushed down the doorknob and opened the door. I paced around the huge compound, shouting John’s name at intervals. John was one of the triplets the woman gave birth to five years ago. The other two were Mary and Alex. John had the problem of sleepwalking. This was the second time he was doing it since I came to their house, and his case was so severe that he could walk up to 60 metres while still sleeping. I finally found John in the woman’s garden. By then, the early morning sunrise could already be seen across the eastern direction of the horizon. I hurriedly carried him into the house and laid him on the settee facing the Samsung television, as he was still asleep. “I saw him in your garden,” I finally said to the woman, who was sitting on the settee at the other edge. The woman spoke after adjusting herself. “I wish John would stop sleepwalking.” “Don’t worry, ma. He’s going through a phase and would surely grow out of it,” I said to the woman, but she looked unmoved. She finally spoke after some seconds of silence. “Peter, if you can make him stop, I will reward you with a huge amount of money.” “Okay, ma. I’ll try my best.” “Great. I’ll go prepare for work then,” she said as she left the room, ascending the flight of stairs. I glanced at the huge digital clock at the opposite edge of the television and saw that the time was 5:09. I immediately went into the kitchen to do my normal daily work. The kitchen was located at the right-hand side of the dining room, which was affixed to the sitting room. When I got into the largely spaced kitchen, I examined the food timetable, which was next to the draining board, and saw that I was to prepare beans for breakfast. I prepared it in the old traditional manner my mum taught me back in Nigeria. As soon as possible, the food was ready. I dished out the woman’s share on her ceramic plate and the three kids’ shares on their plastic plates. As normal, the remaining exiguous portion was mine. I dished it out on the remaining plastic plate and left the kitchen for the dining room. I cleaned the dining table and set the food of the woman and her kids on the table. As I proceeded to arrange the seats, the woman came into view, descending the stairs. Her feet thudded mildly at every friction with the tiled floor. My eyes moved in an oscillatory manner from her n***d wolf dress to her “Gucci” shoe, and I predicted that they should be worth almost 800 dollars. She finally arrived at the dining room and sat down on one of the seats. As she opened the cover of her food to eat, she paused, examined the food for a while, and finally said to me: “Are you a Nigerian?” I was surprised when I heard that unexpected question. “Why do you ask?” I finally said. “Because you act like one and, most importantly, your dishes are Nigerian-based dishes.” “Okay. Yes, I’m a Nigerian. But how do you know Nigerian dishes?” “Because—I’m also a Nigerian.” “Wow. That’s cool!” “You’re from which state?” “Anambra. What about you?” “I’m also from Anambra. At least someone from my country is my babysitter. Cool.” Silence took over the room until the normal ringtone of my “itel A18” finally broke the silence. I glanced at the screen of my phone and saw that the caller was my mum. “Excuse me, ma. I need to take this call,” I said to the woman, who nodded her head. I accepted the call and said at once: “Hello, ma. Good morning.” “Good morning, my son. How far?”