Before the sun rose the note was there.
It lay on a small wooden table in the sitting room, next to the old radio that only started when NEPA was in a good mood.
Only once had it been folded, and in a careful and trim manner, as though the giver of the paper desired it should be treated with seriousness.
As Sade awoke, she could not at first see it.
She awoke and bound her wrapper around her waist, and went to the kitchen. The morning air was cool.
She might hear the sweeping and occasional moan of a baby, she might hear a far-off voice calling "Fresh bread!" outside.
She looked in the pot, and sighed.
“No water again,” she muttered.
She filled a bucket outside the drum and then returned to places on the floor. It was at this time that she saw the paper.
She paused.
“What is this?”
She came and got it. She smiled for a moment thinking it could be her younger brother, Tunde. He enjoyed dropping of silly notes.
She unfolded it.
""Sade, Go to Mama Kemi’s shop today. Get her the brown envelope I left there. Do not forget. It is important. by Baba""
Her smile faded.
“Baba?”
She glanced about in the empty room.
Two days ago her father had come down to Ibadan. He was not supposed back until the weekend.
She read the note again.
“Do not forget.”
Her chest felt strange.
Possibly someone had been dispatched, she thought.
Still, something felt off.
There was life in the street by mid-morning.
Children ran by, with a tyre in pursuit. Women bellowed at tomatoes and pepper prices. Akara was all about.
The note was twisted tightly in her hand and Sade walked briskly.
The blue intact but already fading paint of Mama Kemi covered her shop in the corner. Water fronts in sachets suspended as decorations.
"Good morning, ma," said Sade as she came in.
“Ah, Sade! Good morning,” Mama Kemi replied, smiling.
"Ma.. my father told me to get a brown envelope."
The smile on Mama Kemarki became a little smugger.
“Your father?” she asked.
“Yes, ma.”
There was a short silence.
"Wait," Mama Kemi said, as she turned into the shop.
Sede dumbly stood with a quickened heart.
After waiting a bit Mama Kemi returned with a brown envelope. She held it carefully.
“He said you would come,” she said.
Sade frowned.
“But he travelled,” she replied.
Mama Kemi stared at her, and turned her head.
He was here yesterday evening, she said to herself.
Sade shook her head.
“That is not possible.”
Mama Kemi sighed.
“He did not stay long. He blinking only said, about in case, I ought to give you this.
Sade felt a chill.
Happens anything? she thought.
Mama Kemi nodded.
Sade took the envelope in her time.
“Thank you, ma.”
"Keep it at home," said Mama Kemi.
The walk back felt different.
The sound of the street disturbed us very distant. She had questions in her mind.
She turned the door over when she got home and sat down.
On the table remained the note.
She laid the envelope by it.
Her hands were shaking.
“Calm down,” she whispered.
She opened the envelope.
There were three things inside: one photograph, one folded piece of paper and a key.
She first took up the photograph.
It depicted a younger, and possibly much younger, father of hers next to a woman whose face she had never seen. They were smiling.
“Who is this?” she whispered.
She turned it over. Nothing was written.
She picked up the small paper.
She stared back at her father and his handwriting.
""Sade,
Chances are, if you are reading this, then I could not explain everything myself. Your mother is in the photograph.""
Sade froze.
“No…”
She had been told all her life that her mother died when she was a baby.
She read fainting hands.
She did not die. I told them that I knew not how to converse the truth. When everything was atrocious, she departed. But she is alive.
Tears filled Sade’s eyes.
I found her again last year. She lives in Surulere. I have been visiting her privately. I hope to tell you in the opportune time.
Sade shook her head slowly.
“This cannot be real…”
And wiping away her tears, she proceeded.
The key is for her house. The speech can be found at the back of this paper. Go, should I not be able to come back soon. She has been lying in wait for you.
Sade turned the paper over.
An address was written there.
She lay the paper delicately on the floor.
The room felt too quiet.
“My mother…” she whispered.
She gazed again at the picture. Then at the key in her hand.
So many questions were in her mind.
Why did he hide it? Why now? By if anything happens, what did he mean?
Life went on as usual outside. Voices, footsteps, laughter.
It was different.
Sade stood up slowly.
She took up the key and absconded it.
She simply stood there for a long moment.
Then she wiped her face, and took a deep breath, and found her bag.
Our note was still marking time on the table without uttering a word as though it was already uttering everything it had to utter.
