Before everything changed
SIMILOLUWA
“Simi, what are you still doing upstairs? Ìwọ ọmọ yìí, ṣé o kò mọ̀ pé o mú ẹ̀gbón rẹ obìnrin dúró? (You this child, don’t you know you’re keeping your elder sister waiting?)"
Maami's voice echoed from downstairs just as I dragged my black box across the tiled floor. My heart skipped slightly. I grabbed my vintage tote bag in a rush, balancing it on my shoulder as I hurried down the stairs, careful not to miss a step.
“Maami, I'm coming,” I said breathlessly the moment I entered the living room, placing an apologetic smile as my eyes swept across my family.
“You think you can bribe Maami with that smile?” Daniel's voice rang out behind me and I turned slightly at him. “Oh my God, you need to come up with better tactics, sis.”
I felt an instant urge to smack the back of his head—the one facing me so confidently.
“Daniel, must you always attack me? Even when I’m about to leave Ekiti?” I asked, staring him down.
He shrugged, his lips curling mischievously as he mimicked my expression. “I wasn’t attacking you. In fact, I’m glad you’re leaving. I can finally enjoy Maami’s food without sharing it with you.”
I widened my eyes dramatically. “Ah! Are you pained?”
He scoffed loudly and stuck out his tongue like a child who had just won an argument.
“Can both of you stop it?” Mary said calmly, and Maami burst into soft laughter.
“These two behave like this every single time,” Maami said, shaking her head fondly. “They are really keeping me company,"
Mary laughed. “Oh Maami, you’re something else.”
Just then, Baami walked into the living room, his presence instantly commanding attention.
“I hope you’re both ready,” he said. “You have to leave early so you can arrive in Lagos on time.”
Mary nodded politely. “We’re ready, Baami. We just wanted to see you before leaving.”
“Ma binu if I kept you waiting,” Baami said apologetically. “A parent stopped by earlier and needed my attention.”
“No, Baami, it’s completely understandable,” Mary replied respectfully. “You’re a school principal, and when a parent needs you, it’s important. We’re not offended at all.”
I watched her speak with such calm maturity, and a familiar warmth filled my chest.
This is my family.
The Badmus family.
And I am Similoluwa Badmus—my mother’s second child and daughter.
“Thank you for understanding,” Baami said appreciatively, smiling at Mary before turning to me.
“Similoluwa, you’re going into 200 level,” he said seriously. “Don’t forget where you come from. Remain the good girl I’ve always known you to be. Let your academic results continue to rise, and stay away from bad company.”
I nodded immediately, my heart pounding slightly.
Maami added gently, “Always attend fellowship and church. Pray every day. Without prayer, we are nothing but empty vessels. Olorun ma duro ti e (God will be with you.).”
“Baami, Maami,” I said sincerely, “I’ve heard everything you’ve said. I won’t disappoint you. My results will keep improving, and I won’t depart from God.”
They exchanged satisfied smiles.
“I only hope it stays that way,” Baami said, his voice thoughtful. “Now, what about your accommodation? Your landlord used the house as collateral for a loan and threw the tenants out—mostly students. What’s your plan?”
“Can’t she stay in the school hostel?” Daniel asked, offering Mary some sweets.
“Not after what she went through in 100 level,” Maami replied.
Daniel paused, then nodded slowly. “Oh… I remember.”
“She’ll stay with me for now,” Mary said.
Baami frowned slightly. “Won’t that be far? You live in Ikoyi, and her school is in Yaba.”
“It won’t be permanent, Baami,” Mary assured him, smiling at me. “She’ll stay with me until she finds another apartment.”
“Won’t that be stressful?” Maami asked with concern.
“It will be,” Mary admitted, “but I’m happy to do it.”
Daniel smirked. “Maami, can you believe Simi made us trek from my JAMB tutorial to the house? So it won't be a big deal to her.”
I sighed inwardly.
I have a very annoying aburo—Daniel.
I turned to Maami. “Maami, are you sure the nurse didn’t mistakenly swap your son at birth?”
“Daniel,” Maami called sternly.
The satisfied grin on his face vanished instantly.
“I mean… Auntie Similoluwa,” he corrected quickly. “And I’m sorry for saying that.”
I could tell the apology wasn’t genuine—he just wanted to avoid Maami’s wrath.
“Don’t you ever get tired of fighting?” Mary asked.
He smiled shamelessly. “Not at all.”
Daniel walked over and pulled me into a hug. “Remember me. And I’m not hugging you because I’ll miss you.”
He released me quickly.
“I’ll remember you,” I said teasingly. “And yes, I know you’ll miss me.”
He stuck out his tongue again.
“You should start leaving now,” Baami said. “You don’t want to reach Lagos at night. It’s not safe.”
“Let us pray first,” Maami said, her voice gentle but firm—the kind that never invited argument.
We all bowed our heads instinctively. I felt a sudden tightness in my chest as her voice filled the room, steady and full of faith.
“Olorun, a dupe pe a wa laye,” she began. (God, we thank You for the gift of life.)
“As they are about to leave, please guide and protect them. Let accidents be far from them. Let bandits and kidnappings never be their portion. Cover them with the precious blood of Jesus wherever they go. Amen.”
Amen, we all chorused, almost in unison.
Something about prayers before journeys always made my heart heavy. It reminded me that leaving home was never just movement—it was separation. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let emotion spill over.
I carried my bags outside, the familiar weight grounding me as I walked toward Sister mi’s car. She opened the boot, and I carefully placed my box inside, adjusting it until it fit properly, like I was afraid it might fall out if I didn’t.
I turned back and wrapped my arms around Maami first. Her body felt warm and familiar, like safety itself. Then I hugged Baami, inhaling deeply, committing the moment to memory.
“Take care of yourself,” they both said, waving as we stepped away.
I climbed into the front seat, pulling the seatbelt across my chest. My tote bag rested on my thighs, my fingers gripping the strap tighter than necessary. I adjusted the scarf on my head slowly, more out of nervous habit than need.
Sister mi got into the car, started the engine, and drove out of our parents’ compound.
The house grew smaller in the side mirror.
“Omo UNILAG,” she said lightly, glancing at me. “Shey you don ready to resume school on Monday?”
“Sister mi, I am,” I replied, though my voice didn’t sound as confident as I wanted it to.
She nodded, her tone softening. “I’m glad you didn’t forget where you come from. You didn’t stray from God, and your results show how disciplined and intelligent you are. All I want is for you to keep being that good girl you’ve always been.”
She paused briefly, then continued, more seriously. “Don’t follow those UNILAG boys. Be careful with men—they can be very sugar-coated. At this age, most of them have nothing to offer except heartbreak and unwanted pregnancy.”
I nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
“I’ve heard you, Sister mi,” I said earnestly. “And I appreciate the advice. Just like I assured Maami and Baami, let me assure you too—I won’t depart from Eledumare, and I won’t change. Some people get to the university and lose themselves, but that won’t be my story.”
I hesitated briefly before adding, “I’m not interested in relationships.”
If only I knew the temptation waiting for me in school.
The temptation that would shake my world, test my faith, and maybe even make me question Eledumare (God) Himself.
