She stepped out of the airport. Her heels clicked against the cracked pavement. Lagos airport hadn’t changed much, she thought. She quickly climbed into the owner's seat of the car sent by her parents to pick her up.
She wore nothing but a smile on her face and the smell of hot Suya in her nose. And Jo there was no Suya stand at the airport or anywhere nearby. It was just what she had craved; for years, she had sojourned to a foreign land for her studies. The sharp absence of suya smoke, the kind that her favorite Mallam, Mallam Musa, had curled into the sky in his stall.
"Take me to Ayo's Boulevard," she instructed her driver. She needed to taste Mallam Musa's Suya again.
"Okay, ma." The driver, Mr Abdul who had been working for them as long as she could remember, replied as he put her bags in the trunk of the Lexus SUV and got into the driver's seat. In a few minutes, they were struggling for a lane on the busy roads of Lagos.
She looked out the car window, smiling heartily. The streets of Lagos were still alive, bustling with traders yelling prices, students haggling over second-hand books, and the occasional beggar tapping car windows. Yet, in all the things that were the same, something felt off. She just couldn't tell what it was. But Lagos, to her, was like she had stepped into an old house where the furniture had been rearranged. Familiar but different.
They got to Ayo's Boulevard and Mr Abdul slowed down.
"Where to Ma'am?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Mallam Musa's spot." She replied. She had a confused look on her face. Mallam Musa's stall seemed to be missing.
"Ah, madam. You don't know?"
"Know what?" She asked, still scanning the spot where Mallam Musa had her stall with her eyes. The spot now had a phone accessories shop, with a glass box that was filled with cheap phone accessories and blinking neon lights.
"Mallam Musa doesn't stay here again. He retired."
"Retired? How? When?" She sat there, disoriented. How could Mallam Musa just disappear? She remembered how she had spent countless nights at his stall, late at night waiting for her barbecued meat wrapped in a sheet of paper with her sister. They would shout for extra pepper, tearing into the greasy dried meat with their teeth and washing it down with chilled Coke.
“Madam, Lagos doesn't wait for anybody. Said he was getting old for that kind of business. It requires a lot of standing.” Mr Abdul's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
"I can see that." She concurred, opened her door, and stepped out.
She walked a few steps away from the car, taking in the familiar but different scenery. The bookstore where she bought second-hand novels was now replaced with a betting shop. She shook her head.
"Has the reading culture gone so bad?" She murmured.
She walked further, scanning the street. She noticed the buka that made the best Ewa again had been replaced by a chain restaurant. But the name was still that of the owner.
'Mama Agoyin Restaurant' it read.
"Still the same but with an upgrade." She mumbled while nodding her head.
She turned and walked back to the car. When properly seated, she said.
"Just five years and everything isn't the same again." She said to Mr Abdul.
"Change, they say, is the only constant thing in life." Mr Abdul replied with a smile. He looked at her through the rear mirror.
"It truly is, Mr Abdul." She replied, nodding her head. She couldn't agree less. Immediately her phone rang. She looked and it was her sister calling. "Hey, sis!"
"Please tell me you're home." The voice on the other end of the phone said.
"Yes. I am." She smiled.
"Alright. I'm just leaving work. I'll meet you at home." Then she ended the call.
She sat there smiling sheepishly. She was happy to be home. "At least one thing that didn't change is the love from my family." She spoke loudly.
"And from me too." Mr Abdul replied.
She laughed hard. "Just take me home, Mr Abdul."
With that, Mr Abdul keyed the ignition. The car raved to life. Then he hit the gas pedal.
She looked out the window again. She couldn't wait to see her family.
Glossary
Ewa Agoyin - Mashed beans.
Buka - Local restaurant.
This is a beautifully nostalgic piece that captures the bittersweet feeling of returning home after years away—seeing familiar places change while still holding onto the memories attached to them. Mr. Abdul’s wisdom about change being the only constant ties it all together perfectly. Lovely storytelling!
Thanks.
I love how nostalgia filters through this story, @zerah. The driver is right: there is nothing as constant as change. And at times that can be painful. We want our familiar places to still be there when we return after time away!
You did a really nice job of creating an atmosphere in this story. I could almost smell the aromas of food coming from the eateries along the way!
Thank You @jayna.