Chapter 9: Learning What Kindness Felt Like
1283 Words
The next morning, after Bose and my aunt had left, I stood quietly by the window for a long time.
I watched until I could no longer see them.
The compound suddenly felt much quieter than it had the day before.
For a brief moment, loneliness crept into my heart.
Even though I had wanted to stay with Grandma Olujobi more than anything, I still missed seeing a familiar face.
Now, it was just me.
Me, Grandma Olujobi, her house help, and Uncle Tola.
Everything felt new.
Everything felt unfamiliar.
I wondered what life would be like from that day onward.
Would they still be kind to me after a few days?
Would they become angry with me the way everyone else had?
Would I disappoint them somehow?
Those questions quietly filled my mind.
Grandma called me into her room later that morning.
She was sitting comfortably on her bed, watching television.
The room felt peaceful.
The curtains were slightly open, allowing the morning breeze to enter.
The fresh air carried the scent of flowers from outside.
It was so different from the place I had come from.
I quietly entered the room and sat on the floor, watching the television with her.
I didn't really understand what was showing.
My thoughts were elsewhere.
Every now and then, I noticed Grandma looking at me.
At first, I pretended not to notice.
Then she looked again.
She wasn't staring at me with anger.
She wasn't frowning.
She simply watched me with gentle eyes.
I wondered why.
Had I done something wrong?
Was my sitting position bad?
Was she about to scold me?
Those were the kinds of thoughts that came naturally to me.
When you have lived in fear for a long time, you begin to expect it everywhere.
After a few minutes, Grandma softly called my name.
"Cynthia."
Immediately, I jumped to my feet.
My heart began beating faster.
Without thinking, I stood up straight.
"Yes, Ma," I answered.
Fear still lived inside me.
Whenever an adult called my name, I automatically expected bad news.
Grandma looked at me for a few seconds.
Then something unexpected happened.
She smiled.
A warm, gentle smile.
Not the kind adults used before pretending everything was fine.
A real smile.
She asked me in Yoruba,
"Ṣe o wà dáadáa?"
"Are you okay?"
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Nobody had ever asked me that before.
People usually asked whether I had finished my chores.
Whether I had fetched water.
Whether I had cleaned the house.
Whether I had made a mistake.
But nobody had ever asked how I was feeling.
I understood Yoruba very well.
Speaking it was more difficult because I wasn't used to talking much.
English was even harder.
So I simply nodded.
"Yes, Ma," I answered quietly.
"I am okay."
Grandma looked at me again.
"If you need anything, tell me."
Again, I nodded.
"I am okay."
She smiled once more and continued watching the television.
I slowly sat back down.
My heart felt confused.
Why was she asking if I needed anything?
Why was she concerned about me?
I wasn't used to people caring about how I felt.
Part of me kept waiting for her attitude to change.
I had already convinced myself that this kindness would not last.
Maybe she was only being nice because I had just arrived.
Maybe after a few days, everything would become different.
Maybe she would become angry like everyone else.
Maybe she would begin shouting at me.
Maybe she would beat me whenever I made a mistake.
I had seen too much to believe kindness so easily.
But strangely...
Day after day...
Nothing changed.
Grandma remained kind.
She never shouted at me.
She spoke gently.
She corrected me with patience.
She made me feel seen.
Sometimes I wanted to tell her everything.
I wanted to explain why I was always afraid.
Why loud voices made me freeze.
Why I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night.
Why I hardly smiled.
Why I always rushed to obey every instruction.
I wanted to tell her about the house I had left behind.
The place where I was beaten almost every day.
The place where I was blamed for things that were never my fault.
The place where I carried burdens no child should ever carry.
I wanted to tell her about the nights I dreaded.
About the fear that filled my heart whenever darkness came.
About how an adult who should have protected me instead took advantage of me, while another adult who knew what was happening never stopped it and later punished me instead.
Those memories still lived inside me.
Even though I had escaped that house, I had not escaped the pain.
Sometimes I wondered if anyone would ever believe me.
Sometimes I wondered whether speaking would only bring more trouble.
So I remained silent.
I told myself that I needed to know Grandma better first.
Trust was not something that came easily anymore.
It had been broken too many times.
Maybe one day I would tell her everything.
But not yet.
For now, I simply watched her.
Every act of kindness she showed slowly softened the fear inside me.
As the days passed, I began noticing little things around the house.
The peaceful surroundings.
The fresh morning air.
The sound of birds singing outside.
The smell of food coming from the kitchen.
Real food.
Food prepared with care.
Nobody shouted while we ate.
Nobody watched my plate with anger.
Nobody made me feel guilty for being hungry.
Each meal reminded me that my life had changed.
At night, I slept peacefully.
For the first time in years, I could close my eyes without wondering what terrible thing might happen before morning.
Every morning I woke up, I quietly thanked God.
Not because everything was perfect.
But because I finally felt safe enough to rest.
Oh... before I forget, let me introduce someone important.
His name was Uncle Tola.
He was Grandma Olujobi's sister's son.
Both of his parents had passed away, so he also lived with Grandma.
When I first met him, I didn't know what to think.
He hardly talked.
His face always looked serious.
If you saw him for the first time, you might think he was unfriendly.
That was exactly what I thought.
After everything I had been through, serious faces made me nervous.
But as time went on, I noticed something.
Although he wasn't very talkative, he was kind.
He greeted me politely whenever he saw me.
He never frightened me.
He never spoke harshly to me.
He simply had a quiet personality.
At that time, he had just completed his National Youth Service Corps (NYSC).
Not long afterward, he started working in a bank.
Because of his job, he was rarely at home during the day.
Most mornings, he left early before I had the chance to see him.
He usually returned later in the evening, tired from work.
So I didn't really know much about him.
We hardly spoke.
But somehow, his quiet kindness made me feel less afraid.
Little did I know that living in Grandma Olujobi's house would slowly teach me something I had never experienced before.
Not every adult hurts children.
Not every home hides pain.
And not every serious face belongs to someone with a cruel heart.
At that moment, I still had a long journey ahead of me.
I was carrying wounds that nobody could see.
But without realizing it, my healing had already begun.
One gentle question...
"Are you okay?"
...had planted the first seed of hope in a heart that had almost forgotten what hope felt like.
- Writer
