Preordained #ProjectNigeria

45- The Lost Boy

Nwanyieze's POV~

I wake up alone in the room. Alarm and disorientation set in at the sight of the baby blue walls, but it is Maduka's absence that makes me sit up and slide my feet into the bathroom slippers I had placed at my side of the bed.

I find him standing on the veranda of the bungalow, dressed only in a pair of the khaki shorts I have concluded is one of his favourite pieces of clothing. He stares out across the vast compound before him, hands in his pockets.

It is a bit cold this morning, with daylight just breaking and gradually dissipating the soft mist that clings to the trees. Birds call out to each other, singing melodies that only they can understand. I pause at the front door and watch Maduka.

I'm proud of him, proud that he has found his home and his people, and they have embraced him.

At least, that's one good thing you've done for him. When all this turns sour, he'll still have this to be thankful for, won't he? Won't he?

I push the thought from my mind and lean against the door post, watching Maduka as he watches the sunrise. The combination is soothing: the tranquilty, the clean air, the greenery, and the man. I can almost imagine him as a pre-colonial hunter, dressed in only a loin skin, adorned with cowries, traditional beads and palm fronds, holding a tall spear. Women would have sung his praises, men would have envied him-

"Do you like what you see?"

"What?"
But I had been silent, taking off my slippers in the living room and padding softly with my bare feet. He couldn't have heard me.

He gives a small laugh, and without turning, stretches a hand backwards. I cover the distance and take it, letting him gently pull me to his side. Once again, the contact with his bare skin makes me tingle.

"Good morning," I tell him.

"Good morning, baby girl."

"Are you okay?" I look up at his face intently. Stubble adorns his jaw, and I'm startled to see that his eyes are red, almost like he had been crying.

"Of course I am. I'm just admiring the scenery."

The answer doesn't sit well with me. "Why don't you go back to bed, Maduka?"

"I couldn't sleep. I recited poems, I counted sheep, I listened to your breathing, I watched the stars. None worked-- except your breathing calmed me a whole lot." He smiles.

Something tells me that he needs this time alone even if he doesn't show me. I kiss his cheek and say, "I'm going to brush my teeth and take a bath. We should have breakfast soon. Daa Ndidi might also visit."

He nods silently, but squeezes my hand gently. Leaving him, I make my way back to our room and in a few minutes, select my clothes for the day. I had already unpacked our toiletries the previous night. After rearranging my bag, I turn to the doorway and see Maduka standing there, watching me so aptly that the intensity of his gaze startles me.

"What happened?" I query, suddenly bothered. He steps closer, I stand still, searching his face. His bloodshot eyes, they never leave mine. His jaw muscles work, his breathing isn't regular. He opens his mouth to say something, but it seems like his voice is gone. I see the glisten of tears in his eyes; the sight is heart breaking. He reaches out, pulls me to himself, and hugs me fiercely.

And right there, in my arms, Maduka cries and I get the first glimpse of the lost boy.