aadota (50) UNEDITED

One: America

One

Money...

Fast cars...

Expensive trips...

Credit cards...

Business deals...

Foundations...

Designer clothes...

Fundraisers....

Take away all of these things and we are just...like...you.

Mama Agba held my hands tightly several years ago before she passed away; anger in her eyes and pain lingering in her throat as she warned me sternly about loving money too much in our beautiful Yoruba dialect, she said: "Owo yen gan gan owun ni Esu" money itself is the devil.

They say a man can have all the money in the world and he'll still rise to his feet at the sight of a man thought to be far too wise and I'll like to reconstruct that saying for a man far too wise is even too much, I've seen my father rise at the sight of his Elder brother: Big Daddy, and must I add that Big Daddy is dirt poor—and not too wise, he's just well...honorable, which is a quality that can't be said at all about my father; the great Honorable Ajibade Coker. The thing is that money recognizes dignity and honor—those two qualities are its seniors no matter what and to be honest, that leaves me wondering why money is really that important after all.

We were living—and if I must add, COMFORTABLY at Iyanapaja (Lagos Mainland), when my father came home with the brightest smile on his face as he announced that we were all traveling out of the country. We were so excited to join our Uncle's children overseas as Big Daddy's kids were the only Americans in the family but there wasn't hatred—in fact, we always looked forward to their frequent phone calls and goodies whenever they came back to the country for holiday.

Everyone in the house was super excited, everyone but my mum. It was hard not to notice the look of anger she wore on her beautiful face, and it was even harder to ignore the way she picked little Tobiloba up and hissed out of our living room.

"Odaju Okunrin Ponbele" Callous man, were the words she stumped out of the room with. I'd never seen my mum ever use those words on my father nor disrespect him openly in my life, that was the first time.

"Don't mind your mummy, she's just angry that she won't be going with you guys!" Daddy quickly explained and we all immediately began to feel very sorry for mummy yet we weren't sorry for going to...AMERICA!

"I'm going to meet, Hannah Montana...Montana...Montana..." Titilayo who was only seven at the time twisted her waist like she usually did at birthday parties when she danced her soul out for party packets of sharpener and pencils and a few cheap candies.

"Thank you very mulsh daldiii," This came from Tiwatope; 9 years at the time who enjoyed mixing with the hoodrats of Aguda Primary School by day and the scums of Iyanapaja by night, these ones liked to think they were British girls only that they sounded super ridiculous plus the only thing closest to information they add was our Dstv cartoon channels. I tease her with these memories now and she swears I'm out of my mind with her genuine British accent now.

"So we'll finally see American with Bodunde and Busayo!" I remember squealing excitedly until my father cleared his throat and corrected me.

"—Tolani, it is pronounced A-ME-RI-CA, it is when you become a citizen that you'll be called an A-ME-RI-CAN." He said with a soft smile on his face as he ran his fingers through my long and dark cornrows.

We were comfortable, comfortably broke. We didn't beg for food like most of our neighbors did in our dingy flat apartments, but we weren't super-rich either. Dad's elder brother supported us most of the time and because mum wasn't just his sister-in-law but she was also his school daughter in secondary school who later got introduced as his little pet years later and as faith would have it became family; so he pampered her a lot and sent her goodies whenever he traveled.

We were very comfortable and happy. We didn't have too much money but mum never held dad's shirt every morning like Mummy Emma, she just casually told him that there wasn't enough Milo in the house and by evening Dad would return with a couple of beverages. Some would even call us the rich people of our compound as those kinds of things were judged by three stupid things: Car (dad had a nice little Nissan), Dstv, and most importantly, how frequently we put our generator on. Stupid uh?

Big daddy was blessed with two kids: Bodunde and Busayo who were both age 11 at the time; my age mates. It was hard to distinguish us as cousins whenever we celebrated Christmas and New Year at Mama Agba's family house in Ikorodu because we wore the same outfits and did everything together, the only thing that usually stood out was their confidence, their smell, and the way they spoke. Bodunde could literally be yelling in anger at his twin sister for destroying a toy car he had with tears running down his eyes and everyone in the family would be watching them in silence and awe like we watched blockbusters; the next day, I'd find Titilayo and Tiwatope arguing in an exact way, only theirs sounded more ridiculous than enthralling.

"And Tolani," Dad cleared his throat while I began to movie-fantasize about spending time with my cousins in America, "you won't be staying with your cousins in America—you'll stay at our place instead."

"We have a place in America? Like a family house?" I asked ignorantly.

"No silly, like our own house—it'll be done by the time your papers are finalized and you're all ready to travel."

"Why can't we stay with Bodunde and Busayo?!" Titilayo frowned and folded her arms like the wanna-be last born she thought she was.

"Because they'll be moving back to Nigeria," Dad announced and the loud hiss that came from his and Mum's room was deafening.

Please Vote
I've lost my former IG account to Internet scammers but I'm grateful for reasons I don't even understand. It was distracting and I'm glad to start afresh. Follow me now (cinmithewriter) on IG AND I'll follow back!

Please vote and leave comments.

And please tell your friends about this book because it's more than a book, it's a movement!

I've decided to use my voice to change things in my little ways--this is an attempt.

You can listen to me telling this story on my podcast (Middle Of The Night Stories With Cinmisola) follow me up on IG (mnswcpodcast)