The jellof rice tasted nothing like Mama's cooking. It was too dry, like the desert, and tasted like no joy. Just like the battle going on in her head.
Was it just her or could anyone else taste it too? She wondered. She didn't care about the pepper. In fact, it was the more reason she was able to swallow the rice.
Nobody had said a word about it. So she wasn't going to be the one to complain. Not after the heaviness that hung around her sudden return to the house after two years. Since they all seemed to be enjoying it, she blamed the taste on the pressure within her soul.
She looked from face to face as laughter floated in from the living room where her cousins played Ludo. She sat at the dining table with the others who were hungry. Just in between her younger brother and uncle's wife. They were having dinner in silence. Not the regular family style. Usually, family banters flowed during mealtime.
But this time, they seemed not to care about her or her return or anything at all. It felt like the silence was an act to judge her. She wasn't at ease. The air inside sat heavy like harmattan dust blowing heavily outside. The tired ceiling fan humming above seemed to be mocking her too. Each familiar stare her eyes caught at the dinner table seemed to be judging her. Every fork clink on a plate sounded like a judgment too. The silence moved from one person to the other.
She swallowed hard. The rice burned her throat, but she forced a smile each time her mother glanced in her direction. That was the only person that seemed to care.
It's been almost two years since she last stepped into her father's house. She had run off with David, the man her parents swore she’d regret marrying. She had thought it was real and ignored every other person's advice. Of course, what she had for David was real. It was David's that wasn't. She had discovered it when it was already late.
She could still remember vividly how her father had raged in a voice full of thunder that very day. Shouting about how she had turned out to be that disgrace he had dared for any of his kids. She could still remember vividly how her mother had cried into her wrapper that morning. She left with nothing but a travel bag and David’s hand in hers after she had begged for her father's blessings which he denied her, stressing that she was being hypnotized by David.
Now she is back. Just as her father had warned, David had left her and eloped with a new lover. Her marriage was broken. The only good thing she earned from her marriage was her one-year-old daughter, Miriam.
She straightened her back. Her dress, a soft peach gown she’d bought in Lagos Island, now felt too bright, too loud for the atmosphere. Her makeup, carefully applied, seemed to be a veil that threatened to fall off and expose her fears.
She glanced at her father. He hadn’t said a word to her since she arrived that afternoon. He had only taken Miriam from her hand and pointed her toward the guest room. Her mother and brother were the only ones who had hugged her stiffly at the door and welcomed her with happy faces.
Finally, her mother spoke, breaking the silence. “I hope you like the food,”
She flinched at first. Looked from face to face. All eyes rested on her like she was a virus waiting to infect the other. She cleared her throat, found her composure, and nodded. “It’s… It's very nice,” she replied.
No one added to that. He just stares, and then, the m sound of chewing and spoons clinking returned.
Suddenly, her father rose from his chair, scraping his legs loudly against the tiled floor. All eyes moved from her to him. He reached for his wine glass and cleared his throat.
“I didn't mean to stop you all from eating. I just have something to say.”
Everyone paid attention except for her. She froze. Clenching her teeth on her spoon.
“When a child leaves home with ignorance in her own choices, it bruises the heart. But when that same child finds the road back just like the prodigal son. We must thank God.”
She blinked. Did he just say that?
“The truth was, I was very angry with my daughter when she left,” he continued. “Yes, you heard me well. I was very angry." He paused again and turned to look at me. "But anger is not a home we should live in. Love is that home. And whether she was right or wrong to have left, this will always be her home.”
Eyes shifted to her. Some murmured. Her mother reached for her hands.
She looked up to her father. His once sharp and hard eyes were softening.
“After what you've been through, it must have taken a lot of courage for you to walk back through that door.” her father continued. “So tonight,” he raised his glass, “we welcome her. Not as a disgrace. It's not a shame. But as our daughter and sister who have finally come back home.”
For a second, no one moved.
Then her brother quickly stood up, with his glass in his hands raised high. “To my sister, Amaka,” he said, voice cracking but filled with love.
“To Amaka,” her mother echoed.
"To Amaka." Someone else joined
Then another. And another. Soon, the room was filled with clinking glasses and sudden smiles and hugs.
She smiled the first real one in months. A tear escaped from her eyes and she didn’t stop it.
She felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She turned to see her father all smiles by her side.
“You will always be loved here,” he said.
Amaka smiled. She didn't doubt it. Not anymore.
