'The shadow sister'

"Last-minute preparations"

I woke up, my body feeling parched and my throat dry. I licked my lips, trying to moisten them, but they still felt cracked and dry. I peered through the doorway into my mom's room, and saw that she was already up and dressed, looking bright-eyed and alert.

I stumbled toward the refrigerator, my mouth feeling like the Sahara desert. I pulled out the water bottle I had filled the day before and gulped down the cool liquid, feeling it soothe my parched throat.

As I drank, I couldn't help but wonder how my mom always managed to wake up so quickly. She was always up and ready before me, and it was like she had some sort of secret morning routine that I wasn't privy to.

I muttered under my breath, "She's going to wait for me oo" I murmured knowing that my mom would be pissed waiting for me to get ready

I hastily stepped out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to my skin as I rushed to get dressed. My mom's voice echoed in the hallway, "Come on, hurry up!" she urged.

I slipped into my comfortable baggy jeans and a casual T-shirt, A quick glance in the mirror revealed a petite figure staring back at me. My dark skin glowed warmly in the morning light streaming through the window, and I smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me.

I applied a light coat of lip gloss, the subtle sheen adding a touch of elegance to my simple outfit. My small breasts and slender curves were accentuated by the soft folds of my clothing, and I felt a sense of confidence and self-assurance as I prepared to take on the day.

The street was alive with activity. Cars drove by, parents taking kids to school. hawkers sold their goods, calling out to passersby. We hailed a taxi, and the three of us - my mom, the driver, and I - settled in.

As we drove, my mom and the driver talked about how gas prices were going up. I listened quietly, my head against the window. Outside, the city moved by in a colorful blur.

As we navigated the bustling market, my mom and I were surrounded by enthusiastic vendors. " my colour I have what you want!" they called out, trying to catch our attention. Some even gently tugged at our arms, inviting us to explore their shops.

We politely declined, making our way through the crowds. Finally, we arrived at a cozy boutique, its colorful displays and inviting atmosphere a welcome respite from the chaos outside.

My mom said, "Take anything you want." I looked at her, wondering where she got the money. She knew exactly what I was thinking. Before I could even ask, she smiled and said, "I'd rather spend all my money on you, so you'll look good and feel confident. So that nobody will look down on you." We both knew who she was talking about. I smiled, feeling grateful and loved. "Thank you," I said.

After shopping for everything I needed, my mom and I headed home. But I was already feeling hungry - the pap and bread I'd eaten earlier had worn off. We stopped at a bakery called "Tito's" where the delicious smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. We bought some meat pies and muffins.

As we left the bakery, we hailed a keke (a three-wheeled taxi). But just as we were about to leave, our driver got into a heated argument with another driver. The situation escalated, and our driver jumped out to fight the other man.

The two drivers grabbed each other's clothes, wrestling in the street. Passersby stopped to intervene, trying to separate the fighting men. My mom shook her head and looked at me, saying, "Everybody with their own wahala" - a Nigerian expression meaning "everybody has their own troubles."

My mom gestured to another keke. "Let's get in this one," she said. "We can't wait for them to finish fighting. Besides, you still need to make your hair"

As we rode home in the keke, I couldn't shake the image of the two men fighting from my mind. When we arrived, I was distracted from my thoughts by the sight of ehi my bestfriend sitting on our doorstep, waiting for us. Her face lit up with a warm smile as she saw us approaching. She quickly stood up and took the bags from my mom and me.

We sat outside while Ehi gently combed my hair. "When will you be back?" she asked. I laughed and replied, "I don't know yet. I haven't even left and you're asking when I'll be back." We both chuckled.

Just then, our neighbor's kid arrived with the Coke and kunu my mom had sent him to buy. My mom examined the drinks and said, "It's not even cold."

My mom stood up and went inside, leaving Ehi and me alone. As I sipped my kunu and ate my meat pie, I couldn't help but wonder, "I hope they'll like me." Ehi paused for a moment before responding reassuringly, "They will." She then had an idea. "If you know their names, let's check them out on social media," she suggested. I shook my head, "I don't know, I said."

I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, admiring my newly styled hair. "Wow," I exclaimed. I turned to Ehi with a bright smile, showing off my teeth, which were slightly broken, giving my face a unique appearance. "Thanks, babes," I said, grateful for her help.

I settled into the couch, gently tucking my neatly braided French curls into my pink bonnet. My mom was busy making dinner in the kitchen. She walked over to me and ran her hands gently over my hair, admiring Ehi's handiwork. "Ehi, the hair stylist," she said with a smile, nodding in approval at Ehi, who was lying face up on the rug.

As we ate dinner, my mom gave me a list of dos and don'ts for when I arrived at my destination. Ehi nodded in agreement, but I couldn't focus on the conversation. I pushed my jollof rice, plantain, and salad around my plate, my appetite gone.

My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of how my mom would cope without me. Who would help her with chores? Who would listen to her stories about work? We had been inseparable for 21 years, and this was the first time we would be apart.

The thought of it was almost too much to bear. I felt a lump form in my throat, and I knew I was on the verge of tears. "Excuse me," I muttered, quickly getting up from the floor and rushing to my room.

I burst into tears as soon as I closed the door behind me. I didn't want my mom to see me cry, knowing it would only make her cry too.

Ehi came into my room later, folding my clothes into my bag. "Don't cry," she said softly, lying down beside me on the bed. "Your mom just wants you to spend a little time with your dad."

But I was inconsolable. "We always spend Christmas together," I protested. "I don't want to go."

Ehi's expression was reassuring. "I'll be here for her," she said. "You know she's like a mom to me, too. So don't worry."

She connected her phone to the Bluetooth speaker, and the upbeat tune "Jealous" by Fireboy DML filled the room. Ehi stood up, stretching out her hands to me. I took them, and we sang along loudly, dancing around my room and laughing so hard our sides hurt.