Home?
The humid air of Lagos wrapped itself around Kamsi as she stood by the window of her hotel room, gazing out into the bustling city. She had landed in Nigeria the evening before, but it wasn’t until that morning that she truly allowed herself to take in her surroundings.
Home. A home she had not seen in almost a decade.
Back in the UK, she worked as a sales administrator for the Regal Touch Company—a company that dealt with all kinds of hair products. They had just launched a new product that helped black women care for their natural hair, and as soon as they were able, they decided to share it with as many black countries as possible. Kamsi knew it was a matter of time before Nigeria would be next. She loved her job, though it wasn’t exactly what she had planned for herself. But when debts kept rising, you just had to figure out a way out of it.
Stifling a yawn, she turned and looked all around. Four of them lodged in a hotel. It had been a heated battle before the company agreed to add two more—a lady and a man. The former group comprised only her and Miss Dawson, a white woman who still held on to her racist views. Kamsi refused to budge unless they added someone else, preferably a man. She felt men were much more easier to work with. Finally, her effort paid off.
She had woken up in the night drenched in sweat. Thinking she wouldn’t need the air conditioner, she had avoided putting it on. But soon, she was reminded that she was back in her birth country. No one needed to tell her what to do if she wanted to stay alive.
She wandered into the bathroom, catching her reflection in the mirror as she splashed her face with cold water. She was back, and for the next two weeks, there was no escape. It all seemed too good to be true, and with a small smile, she wondered what her mum would do if she found out she was here. Eight years had sort of eased the scars, but they were still there, though she had tried to bury everything at the back of her mind.
It was early February, and the sun was up. It burned hot on her skin. She couldn’t believe it—she, the one who used to work under the sun back when she lived here in Nigeria, now found it unbearable. Still, she told herself she was going to enjoy every bit of her stay. As long as she stayed clear of her father and Ogun State, everything was going to be fine.
The day went well, and the response to their hair products was more than they had expected. By the end of it, she was tired. But she was determined to visit her sister and texted her. Adaobi was surprised to hear that Kamsi had returned to the country they all fled from in haste and, after expressing her shock, texted her address. She resided in Ogba.
On her way, Kamsi stopped at a local restaurant to grab some Jollof rice. The hotel she stayed at only offered intercontinental dishes and so-called “elevated” Nigerian meals. Her tongue longed for something more authentic after too many imported meals. The aroma of the spices and the sizzling sounds from the pot as the rice cooked made her mouth water. She ordered two plates—one for herself and one for her sister. It might help break the silence between them after so many years.
The traffic wasn’t as chaotic as expected, and it felt like Lagos was welcoming her with open arms. Finally, with Ada’s address in hand, Kamsi made her way through the streets of Ogba. She knew she was getting closer when she saw the street vendor selling fresh fruits and vegetables. She stopped to buy some apples for her sister; last she checked, Ada loved apples.
Ada lived in a flat, the entire building of which was whitewashed and needed a fresh coat of paint. As soon as Kamsi arrived, Ada opened the door before she had the chance to knock.
“You came earlier than I expected,” Ada said, chewing gum.
Kamsi stared at the older version of the Ada she knew. They’d never had video calls, and their phone calls were rare and short. Kamsi stepped inside, shaking her head.
“You haven’t changed at all,” she commented on seeing the books and clothes strewn across the living room.
Tapping her afro, Ada hissed and sat down on a cushion. “What would you like to eat?”
“I stopped at a local restaurant and also bought something for you along with some apples.”
Kamsi handed Ada the bag, and she eyed the food hungrily, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Getting up, she dropped the apples on the kitchen counter and came back with a spoon, slowly pulling the bag open and beginning to eat.
Kamsi sat down, watching her, unsure of what to say. They used to be close, but when Ada chose to stay behind, it caused a rift in their relationship. Now, they were like black and white—two contrasting personalities that never met in the middle. Ada gave a sigh of appreciation and went to wash her plate when she was done, then came back and sat down.
“How’s Mum?” Ada asked.
“She’s okay.”
“And my sisters?”
“They’re all in good health.”
There was a brief pause as they both tried to think of something to say.
“You said work brought you back here, right?” Ada asked.
“Yes. We’re launching a hair product specifically designed for African hair.”
“And why don’t they just ship it over? Why send you all down here like you don’t have lives back there? Besides, isn’t it an extra expense the company would have to take care of?”
Kamsi shrugged. “We’re only four here. I can't decide what they use their money for. All that matters to me is that I get paid. You don’t expect people to buy a product they know nothing about.”
“Fair point. Do you use their products on your hair?”
“Some. Only because, as staff, we get a discount. I don’t really need it. My hair is already full. You should see Britney now.”
“Let me guess, Mum doesn’t know you’re here?”
Kamsi nodded. “I don’t want her to freak out.”
“What about you? What are you into now?”
“I own a boutique,” Ada said, as though it was the most normal thing on earth.
“You? A boutique!” The words slipped out before Kamsi could stop them.
Ada eyed her. “See this girl o! I’m not the fifteen-year-old you left behind. I have my own business.”
“Sorry.” Kamsi wisely didn’t say it aloud, but she guessed someone, probably some guy, was likely funding the boutique.
Ada didn’t have much more to say, so she picked up the remote and was about to switch on the TV when she turned and looked at Kamsi.
“Do you have anything more to tell me?”
She shook her head but stayed to watch a two-hour Nollywood movie before leaving for her hotel. When they were done, Kamsi walked down the street, the warm night air brushing against her skin as the city buzzed around her. She took a cab to her hotel. She had expected the visit with Ada to be awkward, but it wasn’t as tense as she feared. There was still a gap between them, but maybe it wasn’t too late to bridge it.
When she finally reached her hotel room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Her mind wandered to the conversations they didn’t have—the things neither of them dared to say.
As she crawled into bed, Kamsi let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure where this trip would lead, but one thing was certain: being home was just the beginning.
