With Love, Dieko

The bass from the club still thudded in my chest as I crept along the quiet street, clutching my jacket tightly around me. It was freezing and I was scared, but I couldn’t call a cab, it’d blow my cover. “Dieko, what are you even doing?” I muttered, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. The streetlights flickered, mocking me. If Alice found out where I was coming from, I was done for. Sneaking out had been a terrible idea, but at the time, it felt like the only way to breathe. The apartment building was just ahead, its lights a welcoming sight. I took a deep breath, slipped off my heels, and crept inside. The clock in the living room read 3:22 a.m. Great. I had about three hours to sleep before Alice’s daily morning serenade began. I shut my bedroom door quietly, tossed my smoky clothes into the laundry basket, and slid under the covers. Sleep claimed me instantly. I woke up to the smell of frying eggs and Alice’s soft humming. Her playlist always made me laugh—old-school songs mixed with whatever weird indie stuff she was into lately. Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the kitchen and found her swaying slightly as she flipped the eggs. “Morning, Alice,” I greeted, my voice still groggy. “Morning, young lady,” she replied, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. I blinked. Did she know? No, she couldn’t. I kept my face neutral as I walked to the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the cooker. Alice’s mornings were always the same: yam and eggs for breakfast, a mug of steaming tea, and an endless stream of jokes and side comments. I prepared the tea, adding milk and sugar, and set the mugs on the table. We ate in relative silence, but her occasional sighs felt heavier than usual. “What’s with all the sighing?” I asked finally, trying to sound casual. She paused, her fork mid-air, and gave me a pointed look. “What do you think, Dieko?” I blinked at her innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Hmm,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Your dad called this morning.” I froze. “You’re going back to Nigeria.” Her words hit like a slap, the weight of them knocking the air out of my lungs. “What? No!” I shook my head vehemently. “Why? I’ve been good!” Alice raised a brow. “Have you, though?” I ignored her question and dropped my fork, slipping off my chair to massage her calves to see whether she would at least, soften up or feel sorry and let me stay. But she didn't even know anything about it. Nobody did. So why would she? “Please, Alice. Don’t send me back. I’ll do anything; dishes, studying, anything. Just don’t let him do this.” “It’s not up to me,” she said, her voice softening. “Your visa’s ready. Your dad misses you, your mom too. They just want you home.” “But I’m fine here! I don’t need to go back!” Alice tilted her head. “Why don’t you want to go? You’ll see your friends, your siblings, your parents. Don’t you miss them?” I bit my lip. Of course, I missed them. But it wasn’t that simple. “I just...” I trailed off, unwilling to explain. She sighed again, reaching out to pat my head. “I get it. But it’s happening. Your flight’s at noon. Start packing.” Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my half-packed suitcase. Memories of home flooded my mind; my siblings laughing, the smell of real home cooked food wafting from the kitchen, my dad’s booming voice calling everyone for dinner, Mom's soft hands braiding my hair, my siblings and me playing dress up. I missed them, but the thought of leaving Alice, my independence, and the life I’d built here made my chest ache. What life did I build here? I don't know. All I know is, I'm not ready to go back home. There were too many things I left unsaid back there. Things I thought I could outrun. No one ever asked why I stopped talking so much before I left. Or why I cried the night before my flight. They just assumed I was nervous. Why would I cry just because I was nervous? I'm Dieko, for crying out loud! And going back now? Ugh. It felt like walking back into a room full of silence, full of people who didn’t know the truth and maybe didn’t want to. I packed slowly, throwing in clothes, shoes, and random items that caught my eye. By the time I finished, I had two large suitcases and a smaller bag for carry-on. The drive to the airport was quiet. Alice didn’t say much, and I didn’t either. When we got there, she helped with the luggage while I sat in the waiting area, zoning out. She returned and sat beside me. “Baby, I know this is hard, but it’s for the best.” I didn’t reply. Just kept staring straight ahead. The boarding announcement came over the speakers: “This is the final boarding call for flight 256 to Lagos. All passengers should proceed to Gate 3.” Alice hugged me tightly, her voice breaking. “Be good, Dieko. I’ll miss you so much.” “Me too,” I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. She let go reluctantly, her hands lingering on my shoulders. I turned and walked to the gate, not daring to look back until the very last moment. Alice waved, and I waved back until she disappeared from view. The plane was cold, the pilot’s voice droning about safety procedures. I stared out the window, my heart heavy with dread and anticipation. Home. It wasn’t as simple as they made it seem.