The truck was the first problem...
Ngozi had told her husband Emeka three things when Emeka had said he wanted to start a business, Ngozi had said, "get an accountant, do not borrow from family and please for the love of God do not buy anything purple." Ngozi did not have a reason for the last reason, she simply felt strongly about it.
So when she came out of the house that Monday morning and saw a purple truck parked just outside their compound, being freshly bought, it was gleaming in the sun as if the truck was proud of itself, she stood at the door for a long time without saying anything...
Emeka stood next to the truck with the kind of smile that a man wears when he knows that he has done something wrong but is hoping his charm will cover it up... "Before you say anything," he started saying...
"Purple, Emeka." Ngozi said, displeased obviously.
"It was the only one available at that price and the engine is "
"Purple."
"Ngozi "
"I said three things, three, and you couldn't manage the colour."
He opened his mouth and closed it again, there was nothing useful to say so he said nothing.
The truck was for his new logistics business, moving goods between Enugu and Onitsha, he had been planning it for two years, saving quietly, and Ngozi had supported all of it, she believed in him, she just wished he had found a different colour.
By the second week the purple truck had become something of a landmark on their route, other drivers knew it, market women pointed at it,
One woman in Onitsha told Emeka she always knew her goods had arrived safely when she saw that purple thing turning into her street, he started to find it funny, Ngozi was not there yet.
It was during the third week that the letter arrived.
It came through a neighbor who said a man had dropped it and asked for it to be delivered to the family of Emeka Okafor,Old fashioned, handwritten, sealed with tape because the envelope gum had apparently given up.
Emeka opened it at the kitchen table while Ngozi was cooking.
He went very quiet.
"What is it?" she asked without turning around...
He didn't answer immediately, she turned.
His face had changed completely. Whatever he was reading had taken him somewhere far from that kitchen.
"Emeka talk to me. Who is that letter from?"
He looked up slowly. "You remember I told you about my Uncle Obiora, The one who traveled to London before I was even born, the one my father always said would come back but never did."
"I remember."
"He's been in Owerri." Emeka set the letter down carefully. "Not London. Owerri, for the last twelve years he has been living forty minutes from where I grew up and nobody knew."
Ngozi turned the cooker down and came to the table, she picked up the letter and read it herself, It was from a woman who said she was Obiora's daughter, which meant Emeka had a cousin he had never met, the letter said Obiora had passed away two weeks ago, It said he had talked about the family constantly toward the end, it said he had written them a letter years ago but had been too afraid to send it, They had found it among his things, that letter was folded inside this one.
Ngozi unfolded it gently, the letter was dated eleven years back, in it, Obiora explained everything, he explained why he never came back to London, why he had stayed hidden, the shame that he carried and the years that kept passing until coming back felt impossible.
The letter ended with,
"By the time anyone will read this, I imagine it will be too late for most things, but I hope not for all things."
Ngozi looked at her husband, he was staring at the table.
"Go and see the daughter," she said quietly, "You still have family, that part is not too late."
He nodded slowly.
Outside in the compound the purple truck sat in the afternoon sun, ordinary now, familiar, almost comforting, funny how quickly strange things become part of your life when you let them.
Thanks for reading..
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