THE BLACK CINDERELLA

Chapter one

Two days before my birthday.

Adaure.

I had just gotten down from my Father's private jet and spotted
My brother Simon who was waiting for me by the car,
His hands were in his pockets, with sun glasses that were too tinted I could see the reflection of the jet on them.

His black shirt was half buttoned and his hairy chest was exposed.
This was how he was always dressing.

I always told him that he looked like a mafia boss, but he wouldn't listen, telling me to mind my business.

Like he wasn't my buisness.

As I got close Enough, The guards helped me with my luggage. While I gave him a tight hug.

"What are the shades for?" I ask him, pointing at his glasses." show off your brown eyes joor, stop hiding them" I tease him, Hoping that he will laugh, but he doesn't.

He only snickers.

"Says the girl that likes the sun."

The wind made his brown Tousled curly hair go in different directions.

I still remember the first time I was introduced to him.

That was when I was just five years old, I don't know why but I was gifted with a wonderful memory. I could easily recall things that happened to me when I was five till now.

He was playing with his toys in his very large room when his father who was now my father introduced us.
"Simon son, here is your new sister" he said.

The look he gave Me was so casual, like there was no emotion. He didn't stare for long, I guess he was used to seeing people with my colour or something.

He asked.
"So I have a sibling now?." I think he was eight or nine at that period.

Our Dad asked me to play with him, but he didn't say anything as he just handed Me the toys.
It took a long time for us to talk normally, because he was always silent.

"So Ada, how was your visit to Nigeria?" He asked trying to start a conversation.

The way he pronounced my name always made me smile, The tune and the accent used. It just made me feel like my name wasn't an Igbo name any more.
Cause it never sounded Igbo.

He and Father called me.
Aa-Da like someone saying harder.
Always separating the A and dragging it in the process.
You should hear them calling my full name, it was way worse.

I looked out the window.

"You know if I tell you how it went, I won't be telling Dad"

That was just me, I preferred to tell everyone present about my stories, rather than repeat it all over again at different intervals.

He touched my arm for a brief moment before taking it off.

" Is something wrong?"

Sometimes it was evident that deep down, Simon cared about me. He just didn't show it. Although he was rude and quiet and grumpy. I know he cared.

I smiled
"No ofcourse..."

I watched as we pulled up to our estate after an hour. Then the mansion.

I spot
My Dad, looking as white as ever standing with the maids waiting for me. Suddenly remembering how he adopted me when I was little.

He had come to Nigeria for a charity program and I happened to be there with my poor aunt. I do not say poor as to gain sympathy or poor as in helpless.

She was poor financially. Only took me in because it was my mother's last dying wish.
During the charity event, although I do not remember clearly, But I know i had impressed Mr Thomas Fitzwilliam with my little extra-ness and funny character
That he already became fond of me in three hours of just meeting me.

He even tapped my head and said I reminded him of some one very dear to him.

And the next day when we went again to the event. My aunt tells me that I would be getting adopted by the white man, Asking him to make sure I kept in touch with her atleast once a year. Just like that.

It took years to know why my Father Fitzwilliam Thomas had adopted me. It took years to discern. It took all of me to understand.

I rushed out of the car when it pulled to a halt and hugged him tightly.

"Amor !! My princess! I missed you!"
He says as his eyes glitter in happiness. He called me amor meaning love in Spanish because he said I made him believe In love again.

I tell him I miss him back and next thing we are all out eating in the family's out house porch.

My father was called Thomas Fitzwilliam, he had a brown thoroughly jelled hair, with light brown eyes like Simon's, he had a chiseled jawline and looking at him one would know that he was pretty goodlooking when he was in his youth.

He always had this little glint whenever he smiled or exposed his teeth and it seemed funny that a British like him would have such white teeth.

As we ate he asked me about my country.

He always let me travel there for atleast two weeks in a year, claiming that he didn't want me to forget my roots.

"How is Nigeria?"

I drop my fork and reply only because he loathes eating while talking.

"Same old," I blink, then add.

"I don't know if it's humility but why does she look poor when she is so rich?"

He laughed. I know he loved how I always refered to my country as if she was an actual human, with hands and legs, with a face though distorted and disfigured, but beautiful.

I Know he loved my country and I knew why.

Simon tried to chip in.

"Maybe she's storing the good stuff for later"

I shoot a quizzical look at him.
"By good stuff, what do you mean?"
I mimic his voice so it exposes my slight mockery.

"You know your country, she doesn't want to show her true self yet she's waiting for the future generation."

This was the moment I and Thomas looked at each other and burst in uncontrollable laughter.

"Nigeria has a terrible image as a land of email scammers, obscene corruption and religious bigotry not to talk violence, so my dear Simon the future generations are already at work, we are the future. And that's the problem, I just have this belief that responsive and responsible rulers are all we need to make her better."

I rushed him, spitting all the facts.

Simon lowered his eyes and continued to eat without saying anything, he just didn't understand how I and Fitzwilliam worked.

There were times I would look at him and wonder if he felt jealous, I mean I never deserved all this things that I was getting.

Didn't he feel threatened? Had he ever thought of getting me out of the way? Like I was a pest or something? Was he truly happy that I was here?

I Know this may sound stupid but sometimes I felt guilty, for having all this privileges. I stared at Fitzwilliam as I continued explaining the latest stories I got while I was in my country.

Simon is still silent just listening, eating his lunch. I can feel his eyes on me some times but when I look at him I don't catch him looking at me.

The actual truth was that I only stayed in Nigeria for two days. I was in Egypt. I didn't know if I should tell them, or if they would ever find out.