By Oye-Oyewo Olufoyekemi
The story begins, as many do, with a journey. Not the kind of journey that ends at a holiday destination with palm trees and cocktails, but one that quietly rewrites the course of a life.
Tade, tell Mommy that she made a good joke when she ‘shipped’ me to Africa to stay with Iya Agba. Tell her that when we first got there, I was very happy to be with my cousins as was our ritual every December. Tell her I was naive and hadn’t thought anything of it when she had carried just a small knapsack, while I had carried two giant suitcases. Heck, tell her I was foolish for not knowing, even when we had traveled in the middle of July. 
Tell her that two days after she left, I forgave her. Tell her the only reason why I forgave her is that I had believed her when she had said she could read my thoughts, so I had thought she would know that I had forgiven her and come get me.
Tell her that three days after she left, Iya Agba started showing her true colours. She was different from the Iya Agba that we met every December that would buy us stuff and tell us alọ. Tell her that this new Iya Agba was cruel. She would wake me up very early to follow her to the farm and force me to bathe with cold water, even when I told her it made me sick. She only laughed and said I would get used to it—and she was right. I did get used to it, but not before falling sick more than a dozen times.
Tell her that this new Iya Agba would tell me not to talk to her and would beat me for not giving her a reply. Tell her that she had destroyed my confidence and the kids in school did not make it any better. Tell her that they always made fun of me and called me names like Oyinbo Talika.
Tell her that the kids in school hit me at any chance they got and some even went as far as tearing my notes. Tell her that I didn’t mind, and I had even prayed that they would kill me. Tell her that I really wanted to die until I met Eunice. Eunice was an Ibo girl whose father had just been transferred from the army base in Calabar to the one here in Ibadan, so she had transferred to our school. Tell her that with Eunice, life felt worth living again; she stood up for me and made me feel seen and heard. Tell her that my joy was short-lived because not long after Eunice came, she left. She disappeared without a trace, without even a single goodbye. Later, she would send a letter through our headmaster that her dad had been deployed back to Calabar, and there was no time to visit me. In the letter, she did say she was sorry, but I didn’t forgive her. Tell her that even though I’ve not forgiven Eunice, I still read her letter every day and hope to one day reunite with her.
****
Tell her that I gained admission to study in the best private secondary school in Ibadan, but of course, she knows that one. Tell her that I rejected their admission and chose instead to study at Esate High School close to Iya Agba’s house because I didn’t want her money, the same way I didn’t want the clothes she always brought, so I gave them out. Tell her that decision didn’t come at no cost, that Iya Agba beat me till I bled, and called me a witch. Tell her that even with that, I still felt I made a good choice. Tell her that on the 28th of May, 2005, Uncle Dotun, Iya Agba’s younger brother’s son, came to my room when Iya Agba was at the farm. That day, I was to follow her as was our usual routine, but I was sick, and Uncle Dotun had told her he would watch me. Tell her that he had told me he wanted us to play a game. I quickly agreed because I was bored and needed to do something. Tell her that he had called it ‘first to remove his or her clothes.’. Tell her that I wasn’t sceptical, nor did I feel some type of way. After all, what did an eleven-year-old girl know?
Tell her that everything that happened next was a blur and that the only thing I remembered after was that I was bleeding and the firm warning he gave to me to never let anyone know about it. Tell her that this continued for a year till he finally gained admission to uni after 4 years of trying. Tell her that after a while, I started to enjoy the things he did to me—scratch that, the things we did to each other. Tell her that he was my one and only true love. Tell her that I was scared I was no longer a child of God; that was why I refused to see her when she came to visit that December. Tell her that her presence made me feel filthy, and I was afraid she would see through my facade, and condemn me.
***
Tell ma that I dropped out of uni because I couldn’t cope; the workload was too much, and the male lecturers in my faculty were always chasing me. Tell her that a part of me is happy that Iya Agba died, and I don’t have to return to her place anymore. Tell her that when I received the news of her death, I wanted to jump for joy, but because of the people around, I feigned sorrow. I could almost laugh in between all the ‘peles’ and ‘take heart’ I heard, but instead, I nodded and forced tears out of my eyes. Tell her that my life is now mine, and I’ve decided to do whatever I want with it.
Tell her that I found someone who has promised to take me to Italy to get a better life.
Tell her that I’ve decided to follow the woman and we leave tomorrow at dawn. Tell her that by the time you get this letter, I’ll be well on my way to Italy, that’s if I wouldn’t have gotten there already. I would have told you to tell her not to bother looking for me, but I know it would be pointless.
So, tell her that if she eventually finds me, she should have mercy on me, that ọmọde lo ṣe mi.
