Barrister Ada

Chapter 10: The Leaf and The Uncle

Chapter 10: The Leaf and the Uncle

The leaf stayed in my book for two days.

Brown.

Dry.

Cracked around the edges.

No words.

No name.

No explanation.

But somehow, it felt loud.

I couldn't look at it without remembering the locker.

Someone had opened it.

Someone had moved my books.

Someone had touched my things and left that leaf underneath my notebook.

It was such a small object.

Yet it had managed to take away the little peace I had found at school.

I kept wondering what it meant.

Was it a warning?

A threat?

A signal?

Or was I giving meaning to something that meant absolutely nothing?

I didn't know.

And not knowing was the worst part.

By Monday morning, I had stopped pretending that I wasn't worried.

I barely slept on Sunday night.

I woke several times and checked my locker.

It was still locked.

My books were where I had left them.

The leaf was still inside my notebook.

But I didn't feel safe.

After assembly, I went to Mrs. Ade's office like I usually did.

She looked at me over her glasses.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, ma."

She studied my face.

"You don't look fine."

I hesitated.

"I didn't sleep well."

"Why?"

I almost told her.

Then I remembered the promise we had made.

Keep it small.

Don't tell everyone.

So I simply said,

"I'm worried about school."

Mrs. Ade nodded.

"You should be."

I looked at her.

She continued,

"Not because you should be afraid. Because you should always pay attention."

I nodded.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Mrs. Ade looked toward the entrance.

"Come in."

The door opened.

My heart jumped.

Aunty Ngozi stood there.

I stared at her.

"Aunty?"

She smiled.

"Come here."

I didn't wait.

I ran to her.

She opened her arms and hugged me hard, right there in public.

For a moment, I forgot that we were standing in a school office.

I buried my face against her shoulder.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

She rubbed my back.

Then she whispered,

"Ada, show me."

I knew exactly what she meant.

The leaf.

We sat down.

I carefully opened my notebook and removed it.

Aunty placed it on Mrs. Ade's desk.

Mrs. Ade put on her glasses.

She leaned forward.

She didn't touch it immediately.

Instead, she examined it carefully.

"Where exactly did you find this?"

"My locker."

"Under your notebook?"

"Yes, ma."

She looked at me.

"Did you put it there?"

"No, ma."

"Did Tolu?"

"No."

"Anyone else?"

I shook my head.

Mrs. Ade picked up the leaf carefully between two fingers.

She turned it over.

Then she placed it back on the desk.

"It's an iroko leaf."

I looked at it.

"An iroko leaf?"

She nodded.

"Common around Wuse."

Aunty Ngozi's expression changed.

"Common in Wuse," she repeated.

"Yes."

Mrs. Ade looked at the leaf again.

"But not common on a school desk."

Nobody spoke.

The silence felt heavy.

Aunty folded her arms.

"Someone is saying they can enter."

Mrs. Ade looked at her.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

She turned to me.

"Did anyone see you put the leaf in your book?"

"No, ma."

"Did you show it to anyone?"

I shook my head.

"Only Tolu."

Mrs. Ade nodded.

"And Aunty?"

"Yes, ma."

"Good."

She leaned back.

"We keep it small."

"For now," Aunty added.

Mrs. Ade nodded.

"For now."

I looked between them.

"What do we do?"

Mrs. Ade's expression softened.

"You continue with your normal routine."

"But—"

"You don't let fear make decisions for you."

I swallowed.

"What if they do something?"

"Then you report it immediately."

Aunty reached across the desk and held my hand.

"And you call me."

I nodded.

"Always."

The meeting lasted almost an hour.

They discussed my movement around the school.

The hostel.

The gate.

The route I took after prep.

Mrs. Ade reminded me not to walk alone at night.

Aunty reminded me not to tell unnecessary people about the envelopes.

Before we left, Mrs. Ade put the leaf inside a small transparent evidence bag.

I watched her seal it.

"Why are you keeping it?"

"In case we need to compare it with anything later."

That sentence sent a chill through me.

Compare it with what?

I didn't ask.

Maybe I didn't want to know.

For the rest of Monday, I tried to act normal.

I attended classes.

I answered questions.

I laughed when Tolu made jokes.

I ate lunch.

I studied.

But somewhere at the back of my mind, the leaf remained.

Someone had entered my locker.

And I still didn't know how.

Tuesday came.

I thought Aunty Ngozi had returned to the shelter after our meeting.

But after class, I saw her waiting outside the administration block.

She waved.

I walked toward her.

"You haven't gone?"

She shook her head.

"Not yet."

I looked at her.

"Why?"

She smiled slightly.

"Your uncle is coming."

My chest dropped.

"Which uncle, ma?"

She studied my face.

"Emeka."

The name hit me strangely.

I hadn't heard it spoken in years.

"Uncle Emeka?"

She nodded.

"Your mother's younger brother."

I froze.

For a moment, the school disappeared around me.

The noise.

The students.

The teachers.

Everything became distant.

Uncle Emeka.

I remembered him.

Barely.

A tall man who used to visit us when I was little.

He would bring sweets.

Sometimes biscuits.

Once, he brought me a small red schoolbag.

I had loved that bag.

He used to carry me on his back when I was younger.

Then life changed.

My mother became sick.

My father became worse.

People stopped visiting.

And eventually, Uncle Emeka disappeared from our lives.

Or maybe we disappeared from his.

I hadn't seen him since I was ten.

Before my mother died.

Before my father disappeared.

Before I ran.

"Why is he coming?"

Aunty sighed.

"He heard about the scholarship."

I frowned.

"How?"

"I told him."

My stomach tightened.

"What does he want?"

"To see you."

I didn't know how I felt about that.

I had spent so long believing I had no family left.

Now suddenly, someone was coming.

Someone who had known my mother.

Someone who had known me when I was a child.

Someone who could tell me things about the past I couldn't remember.

That evening, he came to the school gate.

I saw him before he saw me.

He was taller than I remembered.

Or perhaps I was simply older now.

He carried his cap in his hand instead of wearing it.

His shirt was neatly tucked in.

His face looked tired.

Older.

But there was something familiar about his eyes.

Kind eyes.

Aunty Ngozi stood beside me.

"That's him."

I swallowed.

"Uncle Emeka."

He turned.

His eyes landed on me.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his lips parted.

"Ada."

His voice broke.

"You look like her."

I couldn't answer.

My eyes burned.

"Like my mother?"

He nodded.

"Very much."

I looked away.

I didn't want to cry.

Not again.

Aunty stood between us at first.

I understood why.

She was protecting me.

She didn't know him well enough to trust him completely.

Neither did I.

But after a moment, she stepped aside.

"This is your family."

Uncle Emeka looked at me.

"I'm sorry."

The words surprised me.

"For what?"

"For disappearing."

I didn't know what to say.

He sat down on the bench outside the administration block.

We followed.

The three of us.

Aunty.

Uncle Emeka.

Me.

A trio.

For the first time in a long time, I was sitting between two adults who were talking about protecting me.

Not hurting me.

Protecting me.

Uncle Emeka cleared his throat.

"I heard about what happened."

I looked at him.

"What did Aunty tell you?"

"Enough."

He paused.

"I know you left home."

I looked down.

"I know your mother is gone."

My throat tightened.

"And I know your father isn't around."

I didn't speak.

He looked at Aunty.

Then back at me.

"I can't take you from school."

I blinked.

"I wasn't asking."

He smiled sadly.

"I know."

He rubbed his hands together.

"But I want you to understand something."

I listened.

"I can help watch."

My eyebrows lifted.

"Watch?"

He nodded.

"I work night shifts around Wuse Park."

Aunty nodded slowly.

"If anyone with a cap comes asking questions," he continued, "I'll know."

My heart began beating faster.

"The man?"

He nodded.

"I'll keep my eyes open."

Aunty spoke.

"And I'll be inside. With Mrs. Ade."

Uncle Emeka looked at her.

"Good."

Then he looked at me.

"So now you have eyes inside..."

He pointed gently toward the school.

"...eyes outside..."

Then he placed a hand over his chest.

"...and family in the middle."

I smiled.

Just a little.

Family.

The word felt strange.

But it didn't hurt.

Not this time.

I reached into my pocket.

The leaf was there.

I had kept it with me all day because I didn't want it out of my sight.

I opened my palm.

Uncle Emeka looked at it.

"What's that?"

I explained.

His expression changed.

He took a closer look without touching it.

"Where did you find it?"

"My locker."

He looked at Aunty.

Then Mrs. Ade's office.

Then back at me.

"Keep it."

"I am."

"No."

He shook his head.

"Keep it exactly as it is."

I nodded.

"Someone may have left it deliberately."

Aunty sighed.

"That's what we think."

Uncle Emeka's face became serious.

"Then whoever left it wanted you to know something."

I looked at the leaf.

"I think so too."

We sat in silence for a while.

Students walked past us.

Some laughed.

Some stared.

The sun was beginning to set.

The school gate was getting quieter.

For once, I didn't feel completely alone.

I didn't know whether Uncle Emeka could really protect me.

I didn't know whether the mysterious man would return.

I didn't know who had opened my locker.

I didn't know why someone was sending me warnings.

But I knew one thing.

I had people now.

People who knew.

People who were watching.

People who would listen when I said something was wrong.

When Uncle Emeka finally stood to leave, he touched my shoulder.

"Ada."

"Yes?"

"If you see anything strange, don't investigate it yourself."

I nodded.

"Tell someone."

"Yes, Uncle."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He smiled.

"Good."

I watched him walk away with Aunty.

Then I returned to the hostel.

That night, I opened my notebook.

I took out the photograph of my mother.

Then I placed the leaf beside it.

I stared at both.

My mother's smile.

The mysterious leaf.

Two pieces of my life that didn't seem connected.

Yet somehow, they felt connected.

I began writing.

First: The leaf meant, "I'm inside."

I paused.

Then continued.

Second: Uncle Emeka meant, "You're not alone."

I stared at the page.

Finally, I wrote:

Third: We are three now.

I closed the notebook.

Then I added one final sentence.

If he comes again with the cap... he will meet all of us.

For the first time since the envelopes began arriving, I wasn't thinking only about surviving.

I was thinking about standing.

I still didn't know who was watching me.

But now, I wasn't watching alone.