THE FORBIDDEN BOND

Chapter 2

Barakat’s POV

Arriving at the airport, I felt mixed emotions: I was excited to be returning to my birthplace, Osun State, after all these years away, but I was also worried about my father, Adeleke, and how he would take it as we had a major falling out over my return a few years prior, and I was hoping that time apart had healed our differences.

"Miss Barakat?" a voice called out from behind me, pulling me away from my thoughts.

I turned around to find two tall, well-built men standing behind me, dressed in black attire, their faces giving nothing away. If I were to guess, I would say they were probably about 6 feet tall.

I looked up at them with curiosity, trying to find some hint of recognition in their features, but I could not find any. "Yes, how may I help you?" I replied.

One of the men, his voice deep but respectful, said, "Your father has sent us to escort you home."

Considering how poorly our last conversation had gone, I was unsure of how to react to this unexpected gesture of concern for my safety, but it gave me comfort to know that, despite our differences, my father still cared about me.

"Lead the way," I replied, attempting to remain calm in spite of my trembling voice.

The hum of the car engine sounded softly beneath me, steady and low, as we made our way out of the airport and onto the open road. I tapped my fingers on my thigh, a habit of mind that comes out whenever I feel nervous. Through the window, I watched the world blur past me. The city felt different, calmer, almost as if time had finally decided to take a breather; it was different from the erratic nature of Calabar I had gotten used to.

The sun was still high, casting a golden haze over everything. The air seemed heavier and warmer, and the promise of the rainy season hadn’t yet arrived. I rolled the window down a bit, feeling the rush of hot air coming inside, carrying with it the scent of earth and faintly the smell of smoke from distant cooking fires.

I still couldn’t believe I was back. The last time I had been here was when I was a child, barely old enough to remember what the town looked like before Aunty Moremi took me with her. Now, it was like seeing it for the first time.

The road stretched out before me; palm trees and patches of thick, untamed grass lined its sides. Now and then, a cluster of buildings would appear, houses painted in faded brown and white, weathered by years of harmattan winds and sun. Small roadside stalls stood along the roadside, women selling fruits piled high in woven baskets, oranges and bananas shining brightly in the sun. A few goats wandered lazily across the road as the driver drove gently to avoid hitting them.

As we approached Ile-Ife, my heart was filled with excitement. My childhood memories flooded back. I caught sight of children running barefoot along the side of the road, their laughter sharp and bright as it filled the air. They waved at the car as we drove by, arms flailing, their faces lit up with wide, toothy grins as some of them raced after us, probably trying to outrun the car. I smiled to myself, lifting my hand in a small wave back, though they probably couldn’t see me through the dark glass.

Ahead, a man walked by the side of the road with a machete hanging over his shoulder, his body bent forward as if the heat had become too much for him to handle; he did not look up as we drove by, just continued to move at a steady, slow pace through the tall grass.

I glanced at the driver, but his eyes were fixed on the road as he drove the car around a bend. The road was narrow, flanked by thick bushes on both sides. I could see glimpses of red earth beneath the undergrowth, the same reddish-brown soil I used to play in as a child, staining my feet as I walked on them.

The town began to thin out as we drove further; the buildings became scanty, replaced by stretches of open land. The landscape here always felt different, heavier. Sacred, almost.

We slowed briefly as we passed a group of women walking, balancing large water containers on their heads. Their wrappers swayed alongside their hips with each step, but I couldn’t help but notice that they weren’t alone. Guards dressed in all black and armed to the teeth accompanied them.

“Weird,” I thought. I shifted on my seat as I adjusted myself, leaning my head against the window, the cool glass soothing against my warm skin. The sun was beginning to dip lower now, casting long shadows across the road. Soon, we’d be at the outskirts, where the houses were fewer and the land stretched out forever.

The car came to a stop in front of a two-story building painted gray with white railings on the balcony. “We are here.”. The driver said just as one of the guards rounded the corner to my side and helped me with the door.

“Thank you,” I said, watching him nod in acknowledgment.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. Exiting the car, I was met with curious glances from passersby, most of whom I recognized. Others I couldn't. It felt strange being back here after so long.

Looking around, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was my mother, Abike. My heart swelled with love and longing as I watched her approach. Despite the passing years, her grace and beauty remained.

"(Omo binrinmi!) My daughter!" My mother called out, her face filled with happiness.

Tears rolled down from my eyes as I rushed to embrace her.

"(Oh Iya) Oh, Mother," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "(Mo ti padanu re pupo) I've missed you so much."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes filled with tears and love. "And I've missed you too, my darling. Having you back fills me with so much joy."

I couldn't help but wonder where my father was. "Where is Father?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

My mother's smile remained warm as she replied, "Your father is inside. Let's go see him."

Approaching the house, I couldn't help but feel worried about how my father will react. My heart pounded in my chest as I entered the house. There, by the fireplace, stood my father, deep in thought.

"(Baba) Father?" I said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned around, his face filled with surprise, relief, and perhaps a tinge of regret.

"Barakat, my daughter, you're back," he said, his voice filled with sadness.

Tears filled my eyes as I nodded in response. "Yes, Father, I am. I am so sorry."

He pulled me into a hug, and we held each other tightly.

"I'm sorry too, my daughter," he whispered, his voice filled with pain. "I shouldn’t have forced you to stay away."

Tears polled in my eyes as I looked at my father. "It's okay, Dad. You just wanted to look out for me. Can we move on from that, please?" I asked, my voice filled with hope as I stared into his eyes.

He nodded, looking relieved. "Yes, we can. I've missed you and want to see you happy."

"I've missed you too, Dad," I replied, hugging him close.

Later that night, I sat at the dining table, enjoying a meal with my parents. The warm glow from the kerosene lantern set a comfortable atmosphere in the dining room as we caught up on life.

"So, Barakat, how did you enjoy your time in Calabar? Tell us everything!" My mother said, her excitement evident in her reaction.

"Calabar wasn’t so bad; I learned a new culture, met different people, and even made friends, too!" I said taking a sip of water.

My father leaned in; his curiosity piqued. “What was your favorite place to visit?"

My eyes lit up as I thought about it. "Obudu Cattle Ranch. I went there once, and the view was amazing."

"It sounds like you had an incredible time," Abike said, smiling up at me.

I nodded in excitement, but the peace was suddenly disrupted by a commotion outside. The three of us exchanged worried glances as the loud bell rang, signaling an attack.

"Barakat, go to your room and lock the door.”. My father said urgently panic was clear on his face. “Stay there until we come for you."

I turned to my mother, lips trembling, eyes wide with fear. (Kini oolo, iya?) "What's happening, Mother?" I asked, my voice trembling with fear.

My mother's expression mirrored my concern, but she remained composed as she reached for a weapon. "There's trouble outside, sweetheart. Follow your father's instructions, please.

Shaking my head in refusal, I clung to my mother, but my protests were interrupted by my dad’s voice.

"(Barakat, wole ni bayi). Barakat, go inside now.”. Yelled my dad his tone, leaving no room for arguments.

With tears in my eyes, I rushed to my room, locking the door and praying for my parents' safety. The sounds of gunshots and the unmistakable howl of wolves outside my window sent a chill down my bones. Surely I didn’t hear correctly. My heart ached with worry for my family.

Then, suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the air, a voice I recognized all too well. It was my mother. I began to panic, and without a second thought, I rushed out of my room as fast as my legs could carry me, my heart pounding. I followed the sound of the cries, jumping dead bodies of humans and animals, not stopping to think my actions through. My mind raced with fear and dread, not knowing what I might find.

As I approached where my parents were, my eyes widened in horror at the sight before me.