Chapter 1: Journey to Asaba
Wow, today is a new day—so bright and fair. The air smelled fresh as the morning sun shone brightly in the clear sky. It was my kind of day, but what made it even more exciting for me and my siblings was that we were going to visit Granny in the south, in a town called Asaba.
Usually, Granny came to visit us in Lagos from time to time. We all loved Granny, even though I sometimes found her a bit annoying. She would call my name, “Juliet,” every fifteen minutes or so, and that used to get on my nerves. But her warmth and love for storytelling made me appreciate her more.
So this holiday, Dad and Mum decided to switch things up by sending all four of us to spend the break with Granny in Asaba. They wanted us to connect with our roots and get to know our extended family. It sounded like a cool plan. Personally, I was a bit tired of spending every holiday in the States.
Everyone began preparing—packing our boxes, freshening up, and heading to the mall to buy gifts for everyone back in the town. Dad had told us so much about Asaba, his hometown and his relatives. We were all excited to experience it for ourselves.
By 6 p.m., we were ready to go. Our boxes and packages were packed into Dad’s Range Rover. He drove us to the park, and by 8 p.m., all the passengers were seated in the luxurious bus. It was my first time traveling such a long distance by bus.
Inside the bus, a strong-looking woman—who turned out to be the co-driver—led us in prayers and praises for a safe journey. She also gave safety warnings that scared me a little, but I prayed we wouldn’t encounter anything bad.
By 4 a.m. the next morning, we had arrived in Asaba. Uncle Justice, my dad’s younger brother, picked us up from the park and took us to Granny’s place, where we arrived by 7 a.m.
Granny and the rest of the family were overjoyed to see us. They hugged us tightly, asked our names, and teased us in our dialect. It was a warm and beautiful welcome that lasted throughout the day.
Granny’s room was filled with character. She had a big bed with an old-fashioned iron frame. A cupboard stacked with coolers and plates stood at one corner. A table near the door held a tall standing mirror. But what fascinated me most was the large hand fan mounted on the wall. It was woven from local materials and had a peculiar skeletal design, with writing in the Urhobo language.
I couldn’t understand what the inscription said.
