On this fateful day, you can actually tell what the wind is bringing as something unusual. It is those ones of a night that make you believe that magic still exists as you can see the shadows of the roads in the streets of Lagos
At that particular time, I was still very young, around 13 years old sitting on the corridor in our compound. At that time, my mom refused to actually get me a new storybook that I had been begging her for and back then; I saw it as a great wickedness from my mom to refuse my offer.
"Ade, will you come inside." It was my mother calling me from the kitchen she was in. But at that particular time, I was still angry and so I didn't give ears to her calling, instead, I refused gallantly
Then I saw her.
I saw an old woman standing at our gate with an old yellow wrapper.
I rushed to meet her at the gate curious who she was.
"Good evening, ma", I greeted her at first sight. Well, that was how I was taught as a Yoruba child who was taught the way of respect and honour.
"Come here, son", she called for me.
But something was unusual with her presence. As I looked at her, I could sense this ancient feeling around her, coupled with the fact that I hadn't seen her before. I actually hesitated. I remember vividly, my mother taught me not to talk or relate with strangers anyhow.
But at that time, something was telling me she wasn't just any stranger; I could tell deep within me that there was something strange about her beyond just being a stranger.
She opened the bag she was holding and brought out a book for me. I can see the book, it was old and very attractive. "This is a gift for you, my son, as you believe in stories," she said.
I was shocked and my heart was beating so fast. "Is this for me"
"Yes, my son", she responded. "I want you to write and tell your own story someday" she further responded.
I collected the book, opened the first page of the book and tried to read what was on the first page of the book; my mother called for me the second time.
Looking to the kitchen, my mother's voice was coming from and turning back to see the old woman, she was gone.
I tried to look through the street on both the left and the right side, but she was actually gone, just like the Harmattan wind.
That particular book the woman gave me goes a long way to change my life around. In that book were a lot of African legends and a lot of African tales. Of course, I didn't tell my mother about the book as I feared she might scold me hard and collect the book from me.
That particular night, I slept so late because I was reading the book all through the night. But deep down, I knew this book was not just like the other books I had always read; this particular book had just opened another page in my mind that I never knew existed for so long.
Looking back to how time flies, I have published my first book and holding my own book, I wrote by myself; I remember what the old woman said.
Truly I have been able to write my own book after many years that contains my own stories. Truly sometimes what we felt as magic can become so real someday.
