Home.
I am walking slowly to my mother's house. Under the blazing hot sun and without shoes on my feet. I am walking with nothing but a small bag in my hand. In it, my priceless Jewel and my only piece of clothing.. An old wrapper, my mother's gift to me and my waist beads. I am putting on a big blue dress, but it doesn't hide the bulge in my stomach.
The weather is really hot today, and I am thirsty. I have no money to buy water, so I will walk faster. The path looks different. Maybe it's me... I haven't been here in years. Time flies so fast when you're away from home. I am walking around the big mango tree at the village centre. The memories of my happy past warm my weary heart, but only for a second. My troubles are many.
Mama is sitted on a stool outside our house. She's singing. It's a familiar song, the one she used to sing for Papa and I on cold nights.. My father's favourite song. I want to sing with her, but I have forgotten how to. She looks the same as always... Really dark skin in a loose blouse and wrapper.
"Mama"
She sees me walk towards her but doesn't move. She is singing louder, and i can hear her voice shake. She's about to cry. I sit at her feet.
"I'm sorry, mama. I have lost everything."
"Why did you return?" She asks.
"I am pregnant. I have no where else to go, Mama. I am ruined."
"I told you not to go. Oyen, I told you not to go."
I am watching the tears fall from her eyes to her aging breasts, and I can feel her pain in my chest. I have shamed her. I have lied to her.
I assured her I was going to Lagos to find a decent job. Maybe if poverty didn't wrap his hands around my neck so tightly. Maybe if I had held on a little longer. Maybe if I had searched well enough.
Every night as I laid under the weight of sweaty, wealthy, pot-bellied politicians, I thought of mama. Everytime I sent her money and wrote letters that never got replied, I knew that she knew.
And now, now that I have lost everything, I ashamed to be back in her arms.. but grateful for their warmth. I am home.

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