Family United

Thursday, March 4, 2021, is a day I'll never forget. My phone rang, and my nephew's panicked voice pierced my calm. "Uncle Tayo, I'm in trouble! I'm in trouble!" he exclaimed, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, calm down, talk to me!" I urged, my heart racing. "I don't know... I found my friend Sarah dead... and the police are taking me away... they say they have evidence..." His voice cracked as he sobbed. "Have you called your mom?" I asked, trying to remain calm. "She's not picking up... I don't know..." His voice trailed off, and I heard a faint "Give me the phone before I break your head" in the background. "Uncle Tayo, I swear I didn't do it! Believe me, please!" he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation. The line went dead. My mind raced as I tried to process what had just happened. I tried the number again, but it was still unreachable. I guessed they must have put the phone on Airplane mode. Feeling helpless, I handed over tasks to my workers and headed home to pack for my journey to Ojo. As I drove, the tension built up inside me. I tried dialing my brother's number, hoping he could offer some support. "Hello, Last born. What do you want?" he answered gruffly. "Have I ever asked you for money?" I retorted, frustration seeping into my voice. "Then why did you call?" he shot back. I took a deep breath and explained the situation. "Oluwadamilare has been accused of murder, and he called his mother, but she's not picking up." Tunde snorted. "Does she ever care for anyone? All she knows is herself." I bit back a sharp response, focusing on the issue at hand. "Maybe she's busy." Tunde scoffed. "Always busy, too busy to pick her son's call. Isn't that madness?" I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Well, I'm on my way to Ojo to see what I can do. I just wanted to keep you informed. Bye!" I hung up, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination as I continued my journey to OJO. As I drove out of Lagos, the city's chaos gradually gave way to the gentle rustle of trees and the soft glow of sunlight on the expressway. The journey to OJO was a familiar one, yet my mind was preoccupied with worries about my nephew and the fate that awaited him. The miles flew by like minutes, and before I knew it, I passed through bustling towns and sleepy villages, each with its own unique rhythm and charm. As I approached Ojo, the roads congested, and the scenery transformed into a frenzy of horns, pedestrians, and vendors. I inched through the winding roads, navigating through the infamous Lagos traffic. The air was thick with the smells of exhaust fumes, sweat, and hawked goods. Danfo buses and okadas zoomed past, adding to the cacophony. I crawled along, my progress hindered by the relentless gridlock. The sounds of "Oga, come and buy!" and "Sister, abeg help me with change!" filled the air, a symphony of chaos that was quintessentially Lagos. Finally, I arrived in Ojo, the familiar sights and sounds of my childhood hometown enveloping me like a warm embrace. I made my way through the quiet streets, my heart heavy with concern for my nephew and the challenges that lay ahead.