I could still smell Muna’s scent on my skin but forced myself to think about my Mum, finally I will get to see her again.
My friends in the US thought I had lost my mind, coming to look for my mother? after all these years.
You see, my parents met in United States in 1982; they both schooled in New York.
They moved in together, then Mum dropped out to have me and according to my Dad; she took off before my 8th birthday.
Dad eventually remarried and Daddy’s wife, Amanda ‘my evil step Mother’ a ‘Real Estate’ white bitch from Cleveland claimed the mention of my Mum’s name traumatized her.
Well I never felt like I belonged there anyway.
It’s Just recently that I learnt to be proud of my luscious hips, Amanda had made me feel inadequate and fat throughout my teenage years in high school and college, now I’m my own woman and finally ready to meet my mother.
When I first told Daddy about my plans to come to Nigeria, I swear he had a psychotic breakdown.
But all that is water under the bridge now, here I am on the 22nd of February 2019 standing on Nigerian soil.
I have my mother’s address, she stays in Utako in Abuja and she is a sort of skin care doctor with her own beauty products.
Photos of her that I have, I got from Social Media, all her pictures had disappeared from our house a long time ago and Daddy refused to talk about her.
But guess what? luck smiled on me when I ran into Aunty Amara, one of our few old friends from back in the day; at the wedding reception of another Nigerian family friend.
I cornered her with the intention of gleaning every little information I could.
“Hi Aunty Amara, how have you been? You know Aunty, at times like this, I can’t help wishing that my Mother did not abandon me here to run to Nigeria.”
“Cassie you have never talked about your Mother before, what is going on?”
“I miss her, or who she was, I miss a mother in my life.”
“What of Amanda?”
We both convulsed in laughter, it was a private joke, Amanda’s face is long and horse-like and we called her ‘the witch’.
Aunty Amara became serious,
“What if Nse never abandoned you? What if she was the victim?”
My heart skipped a bit.
“Aunty what the hell… Sorry, what do you mean?”
I was frantic, something in me had always known that there was a cover-up somewhere.
Just then Daddy started walking towards us and Aunty Amara quickly asked me to meet her at a park next day for us to talk.
I could only nod, my heart was beating rapidly.
Well! to cut a long story short, Aunty Amara gave me every information I needed to locate my mother but refused to tell me more, she asked me to go find my mother and to hear the truth from her.
I prodded and pushed her to tell me more but she was adamant. Without actually calling my mother or getting in touch with my mother, though I got her number, I simply planned my trip. Maybe I was afraid she will refuse to see me.
I was in a fevered pitch, everything so far have happened so fast.
I checked the time on my wrist watch; it was 12:00am. Enough of the trip down memory lane, I buried myself under the bed covers and willed myself to sleep. ************************************
By 9am, I was dressed in a peach jumpsuit, in a cab and on my way to Utako to meet my Mother. It was a 20 minutes drive, with a bit of delay around Berger roundabout.
But in no time I was standing in front of her office door, in the duplex that served as her home and Clinic.
She still had no knowledge that I was in the country, my heart was fluttering like the wings of an injured bird.
What if Daddy was right and my Mother was this evil, heartless woman? I summed up courage and knocked on the door.
“Come in, the door is open.”
Her voice drifted to me, it was like a long forgotten dream, an overpowering nostalgic feeling washed over me and I fought the tears. I had to be strong; I couldn’t afford to let her see me in tears.
I pushed the door open and she looked from behind her desk, there was confusion on her face, fear, panic and then recognition…
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