Every night, since her mother died, Busola always heard the gentle patter of feet in the hallway. Initially, she was terrified because she never saw anyone and her door was always securely locked. The steps did not come any nearer, just in the hallway. One night however, she called out “Is that you, Mama?” A rush of gentle air touched her cheeks, as though in answer. Gradually, the fear which had taken hold of her, was replaced by warmth of love. The ghost never uttered a word, content only to gently move around the house, keeping protective eyes over her little girl. And always, on stormy nights, she always felt her presence stronger, a waft of her mother’s familiar perfume, whose warm embrace Busola craved for, for she had always been afraid of storms since she was a child. She now understood a mother's love, that even in the depth of death, she would always care for her and protect her from any kind of despair.
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