Chapter I
I
Eniiyi stood at the gates of the Falodun home.
She had always found them to be uninviting.
They rose above her: black, opaque and crowned with little spears to discourage would-be armed robbers.
And behind them, the large branches of trees.
Because of the height of the gates, there was no whisper of the charming house beyond or the inhabitants within.
It could have been an abandoned home; there were a few of those on the street.
The road was cemented, that was new, but she felt a sense of loss for the sand and gravel that had once given the street some character.
She had mixed feelings about home. A part of her was delighted at the prospect of being back in the embrace of the three women she loved the most; but she had also spent the better part of the last decade avoiding them.
“Is this it?” Funsho asked.
“This is it.”
“Do you…do you want me to come in with you?” He was worried about her; probably because she had reported insomnia and a lack of appetite over the past few weeks as she wrapped up the final submissions of her master’s.
She was anxious—her future was before her and she had no real plan for it; and the thing she was least prepared for was this, this coming home.
She hadn’t lived here in eleven years. She had visited, but the visits had been short by necessity and by design.
Her postgraduate friends could offer her drama, intrigue, nights filled with drunken adventure; her grandmas could only offer her stories, half of which she was convinced were untrue.
And then there was the other matter. So she had come home just long enough to love them and leave them before their charm wore thin and her patience even thinner.
But now school was done, and she was resuming her place as the fourth member of the household.
“Eniiyi?”
Funsho squinted at her. She smiled at him. He was a worrier, and she spoke so little of her home life that she supposed he had begun to imagine the worst. But she needed him to leave before her mother or grandmothers spotted him.
“I’m fine. If you come in with me, they’ll be convinced you are my boyfriend.”
He looked away. She pretended she didn’t see the longing on his face. She took her bags from the boot of his car, gave him a brief hug and waved as he drove off. Then she took a deep breath and slipped through the gate.
Perhaps she would sneak into her room first, get her bearings, before looking to see who was home.
It wasn’t hard to do. Most of the floor was paved in terrazzo tiles, so no danger of creaking stairs, and where there were no windows, you could hide in the shadows formed in the long corridors.
But as she headed for the courtyard, she spotted her mother.
Ebun was in the driveway, bent over the car, checking the engine or changing the engine oil or pouring some water into the radiator. She was always doing something; her hands were always moving.
“Ma.”
The older woman straightened up, almost banging her head on the bonnet.
She wiped her hands on her apron, shielded her eyes with her palm and squinted up at her daughter.
She was dressed practically—jeans and a plain top with no make-up or jewellery; a far cry from Eniiyi, who sported large dangling earrings, square bracelets, shorts and an oversized graphic T-shirt.
“Eniiyi. You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“I thought you were coming next week.”
“Plans changed.”
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“No, Ma.”
“So how come you decided to come home early?”
Eniiyi sighed. Always it was a battle with the woman. She was already missing the lightness and brightness of her roommates. “You’re not happy to see me?”
“No! Of course I am…Káàbò. Kú ?j?? m??ta.”
“? ?é, mà.”
They stood there awkwardly, neither able to take a step forward, even though a hug was clearly required.
Only forty-four, but there was already a tangible white streak in Ebun’s relaxed hair.
It reminded Eniiyi of Storm, but she didn’t bother to say it out loud.
It was unlikely her mother knew the Marvel character, and even if she did, she would dislike the comparison.
She was suspicious of all things supernatural.
“Have you eaten?” Ebun asked.
“I had some suya on the way here.”
“Your grandma made ìkókór??…”
As her mother was speaking, Eniiyi noticed Sango the Immortal making his slow way to her, and she crouched down to receive his furry embrace.
She closed her eyes and inhaled him. He smelt like Elizabeth Arden’s 5th Avenue, so Grandma East was clearly still spraying him to rid him of “that dog smell.”
“I’ve missed you, Mr. Sango.” She covered his muzzle with kisses. He was even older than she recalled. There were shocks of grey all over his sable fur. He responded by licking her, and wagging his tail so hard she worried it would spin away from him. “He looks good,” she told her mother.
“Hmm. Hopefully he dies soon. Those vet fees are getting more and more expensive every year. When he is gone, I’ll have more money than I’ll know what to do with.”
“Why would you say that? He has a good—”
“A good what? Eniiyi, please. The dog is well overdue for meeting his maker. He has lived for almost three decades already. At this point, it is sheer spite that is keeping him alive.”
Eniiyi chose not to argue with her mother so soon after her arrival.
Sango the Immortal had been there when she was born, and at this rate, she suspected he’d be there when they all died.
She left Ebun to continue fiddling with the Beetle, a car that should have been laid to rest a lifetime ago but due to her mother’s attention continued to sputter along.
Mr. Sango chose to follow her. It was a no-brainer—the one who loved him best or the one who was anticipating his demise.
“Don’t mind her, Mr. Sango. She’d miss you if you weren’t here.”
He wagged his tail in response.