Mornings at home smelled like woodsmoke from
the kitchen and the faint sweetness of overripe mangoes
on the counter. I'd hear the radio crackling with
old songs, Ma humming along as she swept the
yard, and the neighbor's rooster that never knew
what time it was. The floor was cool cement
under my feet and the blanket I'd kicked off
was already warm from my brother's sleeping
body next to me. I'd sit up, squint at the
light slipping through the flowered curtains, and
wait for my tea. It was too sweet, always in
the same chipped blue cup. I didn't know it
then, but that was peace. Not the big, loud
kind. The quiet kind you only name once it's
gone.
After tea, the house would start to breathe. The
front door creaked open and the whole day
spilled in. Bare feet on warm dirt. My sister
chasing me with a wet cloth because I'd forgotten
to wash my face again. Dad already outside,
fixing something that didn't need fixing just
to have his hands busy. The street knew me.
The woman selling akara on the corner would nod,
the kids next door would yell my name
before I'd even said good morning.
Nothing was urgent then. School could wait
till the bell. Chores could wait till ma's third
yelling. The only thing I had to worry
about was whether there'd be meat in
the stew that night. Life was small and
small was enough. I thought everyday would
smell like that smoke and sound
like that laughter.
I didn't know "home" was something you
could leave. I thought it was just air.
Dad's quiet dinner
He always talked about the neighbours
bad car, the price of rice, who won the
football match. That night he just pushed
the food around his plate. Ma kept looking
at him, then at me, then back at her
hands. No body said "we're leaving."
No body had to.
Later I heard them talking low in their
room. Words I caught through the wall.
"Papers," "better," "for him." My name. They
were spelling out my future like I
wasn't in the next room trying to sleep.
The next morning still smelled like wood
smoke. The rooster still lied about the
time. But something had shifted. The
tea was too sweet, but now it tasted
like goodbye and no body had said the
word yet. I had to pretend everything was
ok since everything seemed cool until when
dad left home silently without talking
to anyone. This made everyone in the
household have some kind of tension.