2. BEFORE WE MET
1622 Words
Three months earlier…
The Jabi Harvest Festival arrives every October with the certainty of changing leaves.
By noon, Main Street had disappeared beneath strings of amber lights, handcrafted stalls, and the familiar scent of cinnamon, wood smoke, and roasted meat.
Children darted between pumpkin displays while couples wandered hand in hand beneath banners that fluttered in the cool mountain breeze.The young boys gathered in one corner flexing their muscles as they engaged in wrestling , and young girls sat nearby, admiring the strongest while discussing womanhood.
This is a festival that has people travelling from far and wide to witness, a culture that holds lots of memories.
Ethan Ojo almost turned his truck around twice before reaching town. He told himself he was only there because Jake, his best friend, had refused to take no for an answer.
Except that wasn't the truth.His workshop had become too quiet. Too empty. And sometimes grief echoed loudest in silence.
Jake Lawson was waiting beside the entrance to the festival grounds, grinning at how one of the guys wrestling jacked his opponent and threw him down, and at the spur of the moment, Ethan tapped his shoulder
"I was beginning to think you'd chickened out."
Ethan climbed out of his bike and parked it neatly.
"I considered it." Ethan replied
"I know."
Jake handed him a cup.
"You've considered it every thing since the past four years."
Ethan accepted the drink, wrapping both hands around the warmth. One beautiful part of this festival is the supply of freshly tapped palm wine from the east, Ethan supplied and rolled it round his tongue, smiling in satisfaction.
"You could've stayed home," Jake continued.
"You would've shown up at my workshop."
"I absolutely would've."
"You would've brought your spare key."
"I absolutely would've."
Ethan laughed under his breath.
"You really don't understand boundaries."
"I understand grief."
The laughter faded.
Jake wasn't smiling anymore.
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
Finally, Jake rested a hand on Ethan's shoulder.
"Your dad would've dragged you here himself."
Ethan stared toward the festival.
ETHAN
Jake is saying the truth, if Baba was here, he would have dragged me down himself. He was a lover of Festivals and since we moved to this part of the town, he couldn't stop talking about this particular festival. I remember that night, he was very excited about this festival
“Oh, I know that R.O.M” will be there, I can't wait to see the shock on his face when he sees me, I can't wait to tell him that I'm alive and I have a son, Oh I can't wait to congratulate him on how big he has gotten “
Those were my father's words, and I wondered whether he was excited about the festival or because he was going to meet his long lost Best friend, R.O.M as he fondly called on this festival that is held once in every four years. Baba has waited four years for this surprise.
But that was the same night everything changed.
We did not know that his inhaler has finished, and while he was dusting the woods he designed for the festival, His excitement was evident as he sang a song he claims only his best friend would understand
“R.O.M and O.T.O running in the woods, there they saw a bag of Gold and yes they grabbed it but here comes the monster who placed the gold here, I will take both of you comes the monster, please take R.O.M, no take O.T.O, please take O.T.O, no take R.O.M”
I watched my Dad sing as he picked and dropped the rag signifying R.O.M and O.T.O giving each other the ng if Gold and I couldn't help but laugh at his childlike behavior. I went to take out the trash and nothing prepared me for what I would see when I got back. There my father, my own Baba sprawled on the floor lifeless….
“Ethan”
“Ethan, snap out of it, Ethan”
Jake’s voice seemed distant until he tapped my shoulders continuously, I turned to see my best friend, and then I saw something flicker in his eyes, it was fear and then pity. I refuse to be pitied.
“I'm fine Jake” I replied
He just shrugged, he did not believe me but he equally did not want to argue…
Families wandered between rows of market stalls. Children shrieked with laughter from the hay maze while different drums played, the flutes sang and it felt like we were in the 1960’s.
My father loved this festival.
Jake and I strolled to take a look at different family designs, and tags.This year, the raffle booth displayed only one rocking horse.
The tag beneath it read:
The Efe’s Woodworks
My father's name wasn't there.
"I still keep expecting him to walk through the workshop door."
Jake nodded.
"I know."
"I'll hear a truck outside..." I said quietly, "...and for a second, I forget."
Jake didn't interrupt.
"I forget he's gone."
A lump settled in my throat.
"I hate that second."
Jake squeezed my shoulder once before letting go.
"So let's make some new seconds."
He lifted his cider.
"Come on."
*************************
The festival swallowed them almost immediately.
Mrs. Dawson waved from her honey stand.
The sheriff stopped them long enough to complain that Jake still owed him twenty dollars from a football bet three years earlier.
A group of children ran past wearing paper crowns decorated with leaves, part of their bodies covered with dust, indicating that they have been running around the whole day.
Jabi Town wasn't large enough for anonymity.
Everyone knew everyone.
Sometimes that felt comforting.
Sometimes it felt impossible.
Today...
It simply felt alive.
Jake wandered toward the dancing competition, lured away by beautiful ladies.
"I'll catch up!" he called.
"You said that forty minutes ago at the cider stand."
"And yet here we are!"
Shaking his head, Ethan continued alone.
He paused beside a booth displaying hand-carved birdhouses, exchanging a few words with the elderly craftsman who'd taught him how to sharpen chisels when he was sixteen.
A few stalls farther down, a little girl struggled to carry a pumpkin nearly half her size.
Without thinking, Ethan stepped forward.
"Mind if I help?"
The girl looked up with serious blue eyes.
"My grandpa said I picked the biggest one."
"I think your grandpa was right."
He crouched and lifted the pumpkin with ease.
"Where are we taking it?"
She pointed toward a pickup truck parked near the church.
"My mom's waiting."
When they reached the truck, the girl's mother smiled gratefully.
"Thank you."
"It wasn't any trouble."
The little girl beamed.
"I told you I could carry it."
"You absolutely could," Ethan said solemnly.
"You were just letting me feel useful."
She nodded as though that had been her plan all along.
As Ethan turned back toward the festival, a laugh drifted across the square.
Soft.
Bright.
Unforced.
He had spent months believing grief had emptied the world of colour, then someone laughed. And for one impossible second….
The world sounded alive again
He stopped walking before he realized he had.
The sound came again.
Near the bakery stall.
An older woman stood pretending to scold a boy with chocolate smeared across his cheeks.
Beside her, a young woman quietly slipped another cookie into the child's hand when the older woman wasn't looking.
The boy grinned and raced away.
The woman laughed.
Not loudly.
Not to draw attention.
It was the kind of laugh that reached people before they knew they were listening.
Ethan found himself smiling.
She wore a forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed to her forearms, a cream-colored apron dusted with flour, and faded blue jeans tucked into worn leather boots.
Nothing about her looked extravagant.
Yet there was an effortless grace in the way she moved, checking on customers, carrying baskets of fresh bread, remembering names without having to ask.
She belonged here. Not because she owned the place but because she made people feel welcome in it.
An elderly man approached the stall, fumbling for his wallet.
Before he could apologize, she gently closed his hand around the money he'd offered.
"Your usual loaf is on the house today, Mr. Jenkins."
"I can't let you do that."
"You brought flowers to my grandma after her surgery."
"So?"
"So kindness has a way of finding its way home."
The old man's eyes glistened.
"Your grandmother used to say that."
Ada smiled.
"I know."
She'd been raised by people who believed generosity wasn't measured by what was left in your wallet, but by what remained in your heart.
Ethan didn't know any of that.
Not yet.
All he knew was that he'd intended to spend ten minutes at the festival before disappearing back to his workshop, instead, he stood rooted to the spot, watching a woman he'd never met make a small corner of the world feel gentler.
Across the square, Jake reappeared carrying an impossibly large plate of roasted corn.
He followed Ethan's gaze.
"Oh," he said, unable to hide his grin.
"So that's why you've forgotten I exist."
Ethan didn't answer.
For the first time in months, the heaviness he'd carried since his father's death eased, not all at once, not enough to disappear, but enough for him to notice that the world still held moments worth stepping into.
He didn't know the woman's name.
He didn't know she was the almighty Richard Mofe’s daughter.
He didn't know that, before harmattan arrived, loving her would cost him more than he believed he had to give.
He only knew one thing.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted to hear her laugh again.
- Writer
