Every Move I Make (All Of Me #2)

A New Chapter

1

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“How long are you staying for?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the computer screen, an air of indifference surrounding him.

Is this officer for real? If he asks anymore questions, I swear, I’ll sit on the floor and scream because I want to sleep! I want to sleep on something that’s not moving through the sky. And be still. Yes, to stay still and pinch myself about my reality, which is—

His throat clearing alerts me to how short a millisecond is in the presence of a customs officer.

“I’ll be here for the duration of my course.” I blurt out before I can control myself.

Oh shit.

This guy would deport me for being rude.

God, please. I beg you. Please…

The officer stares down at me with an expression I can’t describe. He presses his lips, as if preventing himself from frowning—or maybe smiling? As he types something into his system, his colleague seated in the next stall pokes his head at the screen, glances at me, then shakes his head.

What is it? Are they deporting me? If there’s any discrepancy in my record, why not ask me directly rather than prolong this nerve-racking charade? Instead, I’m forced to maintain my pleasant fa?ade which I’m sure they can see through. If the shuffling feet behind me was an indication, it’s confirmation that I’m not the only one ready to get off this queue.

Perhaps I should tell him how long my course is instead of that answer I gave. I’m about to add to my response when the officer glances up.

This is it. Ah… See my life. I’m sorry Mama Gee. I’m sorry I didn’t —

“Do you have health insurance?”

Huh? What has that got to do with—

The officer hands me back my passport and other school and immigration documents I handed to him earlier, and I mechanically accept them as he continues speaking. “You’ll need that for the duration of your stay. Seeing that you’re a student, I think your school will ensure you get covered. Enjoy your stay.” He ends his speech with a tilt of his head to the exit line.

Is that it? Am I in?

“Thank you,” I mumble, clutching the handle of my suitcase. Don’t look back. My heart beats faster than a drum at the mercy of a toddler as I walk past the officers to become a certified Stamp 2 visa resident of Ireland.

Argh! God!

That was close.

After grilling me about my departure point, the purpose of my visit, my academic pursuits, the duration of my course, my occupation, financial status, and an endless array of other questions, the officer went on to ask how long I’ll be here for. Eye roll—coming here is just a detour. Thank God it’s all done.

Chei!

I was so excited disembarking from the plane and joining the non-EU line that I didn’t notice the non-EU line had a green and red line. I was one person away from the customs officer when I read the signs about declaring goods and the types of goods to declare. The pepper soup spice, stockfish, melon seeds, crayfish and other ingredients in my suitcase started chanting my name and the fraud that I am. The aroma of those things alone… I don’t want to end up in prison or be deported because of common crayfish. Who would listen to that story? Or believe me when I tell them I didn’t know melon seeds can put me in serious immigration trouble.

That aside, I’m grateful a good Samaritan on the flight shared their hotspot with me while we waited to disembark from the airplane so I could speak to Ifedayo. Ifedayo said he was about fifty-five minutes away from here. Being that he is doing me a favor, I don’t want him waiting longer than necessary. That interview was unnecessarily long and uncalled for.

Using the airport signages to find the exit Ifedayo suggested I wait for him; I navigate the crowded airport. I hope he hasn’t left. It’s been a while since we last saw each other. Would he recognize me? I chuckle, looking around, scanning my environment—cars keep coming and going, picking up journey-wearied passengers. If Ifedayo doesn’t remember my face, in this crowd, it would be extremely easy for him to decipher who I am.

This place is cold! Wrapping my arms around myself, I notice the automatic sliding doors behind me keep vomiting people. A woman wearing sunshades and carrying a backpack catches my attention. She flashes me a smile, walks some feet away, and starts typing on her phone.

I press my lips, forcing myself to look elsewhere. Oh God… this cold. Is this the summer Ifedayo was hyping? How would I survive my stay if I’m already shivering like a fish barely ten minutes out here?

Spesh, please forgive me for laughing at you then. How did you survive your first few hours in a foreign land?

Oh Special… Forget that I spoke to him before disembarking from the plane what feels like hours ago; I miss him already.

While waiting for my Ireland visa, I took up an evening side hustle of tutoring children privately; with the intention of using the income to support my stay here. Special was so excited that I could come up with more ways of making money instead of waiting for white-collared HRs to take a chance on me.

You know the story of Special and I, the gas and fuel behind my decisions. Like play, like play, I am in Ireland .

Just knowing he is less than two hours’ flight time away from me is enough to warm me up. We’re doing this baby! I’ll be seeing you soon and you’ll realize Ireland was the best choice after all.

Honestly, loving the right person would push your boundaries and make you take giant steps that you never imagined. To all my girlies, never settle!

My lips are stretching into a wide smile when another chilly gust of wind sweeps over.

What happen!

I clutch the handle of my suitcase tighter, like that would warm up my entire body. How is the sun shining and I’m feeling this cold? How far is Ifedayo’s place? Can I walk there? In this cold?

In this situation, what would Special do?

Ask that lady to share her Wi-Fi.

What if she’s also a foreigner?

I glance at the building and signs to confirm this is the spot Ifedayo told me to wait. Peeking at the lady again, I struggle with my next steps. Should I ask her to please share her Wi-Fi?

A black SUV pulls up, stops in front of the lady and… there goes my chance at getting internet connection.

Once again, the bustling ambiance of the airport envelops me, the ebb and flow of the automatic door opening and closing creates a sense of both comfort and unease—I can run back inside to escape this chill, but at the expense of missing Ifedayo.

Surveying the surroundings, I continue to wait, turning my attention to prayers. I pray Ifedayo finds me well and warm because this weather is not summering. I pray that Special and I can see before the end of the month. That schooling here would be a life-changing experience, and that I would make Mama Gee proud.

Several cars and people move around me like we’re in a time-lapse movie. Another SUV parks, picks up a family, then leaves. A Kia stops some feet away, blinking its hazard lights. Then a Nissan pulls up, the driver’s door opens, and my heart quickens as a melanated figure emerges.

Oh wow …

I stand still in awe, with my jaw probably slack, as Ifedayo approaches with a radiant smile that mirrors the joy in my own heart. Our embrace is warm and I hold on to him for dear life.

Tears threaten to form as I realize that it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I left home, and I’ve never felt so alone in my life! Not when I started secondary school with new classmates or when I moved over four hours away from home to Hopewell University.

“Fifi, it’s—” Ifedayo starts as he pulls away to study my face, his eyes are lit with genuine happiness which immediately turns to concern. “Fifi…”

I sniffle, grinning like a fool. “It’s nothing.” Looking around, I mutter something about the nonsense cold summer weather being the cause, quickly wiping the stupid tears that were pooling on the sides of my eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you, jare.”

He smirks, pulling me for a tight side hug. “You’re sure nobody looked for your trouble?”

His remark causes me to break into a wider grin. “No jor. You said you were minutes away and didn’t you say it was summer? Look how cold it is.” Thank God I had the sense to wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“Welcome to Ireland.” He chuckles, shaking his head before taking a glance at my luggage. “All yours?”

I nod.

“Sorry about the delay. It’s the airport traffic.” He tests the weight of one box by lifting it, his eyes on me. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You have no idea how.” I sigh.

After being questioned by that officer, and coming out here not seeing him, I thought I was lost and alone in a foreign land.

As we gather my luggage and make our way to his car, I admire his easy gait. He’s lithe and tall like an athlete. What am I saying? He enjoyed playing football with G-Ben and their crew. Does he still play?

Ifedayo is a childhood friend who had slipped from the recesses of my memory until fate summoned him. I think I once harbored a childhood crush on him. How old was I? Ten? Eleven? That’s irrelevant and inconsequential right now; it was a long time ago .

In our earlier years, his family resided just a few houses away from ours, with him being the eldest in the neighborhood pack. Somehow, with the excitement, fears, and concerns about moving to a foreign land, Mama Gee recalled that Ifedayo’s mom had once mentioned Ifedayo relocated to Ireland years back. Thanks to our mothers, Ifedayo and I connected, and while chatting he mentioned no one would let me into a leased space before the official start of my rent. He generously offered his home as a temporary abode.

Special wasn’t happy with the proposal. The alternative—rescheduling my flight to a later date—came with a hefty price tag that made even Special reluctantly consider the option of staying at Ifedayo’s.

As Ifedayo effortlessly lifts and organizes my luggage with calming ease while I wrap my arms around myself, it’s apparent the weather has nothing on him. Once we settle into his car, the familiarity of his presence becomes a comforting balm after the long journey.

“First things first, Fifi, welcome to Dublin!” he exclaims, his laughter ringing out as he gets onto a highway.

I chuckle as his enthusiasm deadens all my initial worries and fears. The cityscape of Dublin unfurls outside the window, a stark contrast to the narrow bustling streets of Ogba that I’d grown accustomed to.

“So, ready to trade the chaos of Lagos for the serene charm of Ireland?” Ifedayo quips, a playful glint in his eyes as he spares me a glance.

I chuckle, shaking my head, tongue in cheek. “Oh, absolutely. Because I’ve always dreamed of a life that lacks traffic and honking horns.”

Ifedayo’s laughter echoes through the car, and I smile.

We continue the lighthearted banter with me talking about the difference between Lagos airport and Dublin’s, while he questions me about Ogba as he hadn’t been there in years. It’s glaring that I’m going to love the comfort Ireland has to offer and my being here is all thanks to Special who made me see beyond the conventional path of merely graduating from university and securing a stable job—you know, the works. There’s a depth to life that extends beyond our initial perceptions, and Special opened my eyes to that broader perspective.

Our conversation shifts to more serious topics. We talk about the state of leadership back home, how they don’t care for the people, and although well-travelled, they are not working to create positive change. Ifedayo affirms my sentiments, adding that it’s the same story here. “Different place, similar struggles. But hey, we can always dream, right?”

“Absolutely,” I agree, wondering how such a lovely place as this might be going through similar struggles like Nigeria.

As the car glides along, I let out a yawn, unable to suppress the weariness that came from the result of my distrust of a container suspended in the air for hours.

“Jetlag kicking in?” Ifedayo asks, his gaze filled with empathy.

I nod, stifling another yawn. “Definitely. But you know what’s a relief? The time zone here is quite similar to Nigeria’s. At least my body won’t have to adjust too much.”

Ifedayo chuckles. “Small mercies, right? Just think, you’ll be well-rested before you take Cork by storm. Don’t worry; I’ll let you know all you need to know. First, I’ll need to get to the auto-shop to check on my babes’ car.”

“Oh.” auto-shop? “A mechanic shop?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for dragging you along, but it’s far from mine and closer to this route.”

“That’s fine.”

“It should take us around twenty minutes or so to get there. There are some restaurants around. You can grab something to eat while we wait and I can give you small run down of your school.”

“Perfect.” I grin, settling into my seat. “Thank you. I’m sleepy but need to eat first.” I couldn’t eat the sugary pastries and meals they served on the plane.

He chuckles. “I’ve got you covered. And get ready, because we’re hitting a pub tomorrow night.”

“A pub?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Clubbing,” he corrects, stealing a glance at me. “You do club, right?”

I don’t know about that… “Is it not too soon?”

“Look at you,” he teases, “your head will be buried in schoolwork soon. Better enjoy all the free time you have now.”

I chuckle, slowly nodding my head and liking the idea. “Okay…”

“It’s my welcome gift to you,” he adds with a wink. “You can’t say no.”