I had always threatened to move out as a kid whenever Mummy would shout at me. On that particular day, I knew it was my sign to leave.
Mummy had just shouted at me for emptying her talcum powder on the sitting room floor to see if my Cinderella doll could march through “harmattan snow.” And somehow it landed on my tiny pride.
She didn’t appreciate the experiment. She tagged it as a waste of resources.
“Are you normal?” she yelled. "Why are you wasting resources? Go and sit down!” she yelled.
As a seven-year-old, that was my first time hearing the word' resources.' I never knew what it meant, but I felt it was too big a word to use in something as simple as talcum powder.
Well just as she ordered. I didn’t sit anywhere. Even as a kid, I felt I had standards.
Instead, I went to my room and planned my disappearance. If I left, they would search the whole compound in tears and regret. Possibly an apology and fried plantain as a treat. But I was ignorant of one thing, an African parent barely apologised.
They'd rather spoil you with too much love and care to show remorse than open their mouths to say "I'm sorry."
I quickly brought out my school bag from its hiding place. It was a pink Cinderella bag. Then I proceeded to pack my essentials: two Cabin biscuits, my plastic Cinderella doll, and my water bottle that always tasted like it had vitamin C in it. A few favorite T-shirts, folded anyhow, and slipped my legs into my favorite slippers.
I checked myself in the mirror. All I could see was my skinny legs, dusty shorts from playing with powder, and a face filled with seriousness.
“I am not coming back again,” I said in my reflection. My innocent mind was thinking that I could survive alone.
Then I slipped out through the back door. I didn't want my mum to see me. I got to the gate and heard my mum call out to me.
"Zerah, where are you going?" She asked.
I froze. Still keeping a serious face, I turned to "I am leaving your house for you."
"Why? Because I corrected you for wasting my powder?” She asked.
I nodded. "Yes."
Honestly, I expected her to beg me, but instead she said. "Okay, safe journey." And continued with cleaning up the mess I made.
"Beg me now." I threatened. That lack of drama pained me.
"You can go. Just remember dinner will be ready soon." She said instead.
That made me wonder why she wasn't scared that I would get lost or fear she was losing me. With reckless, childish pride, I stepped onto the street. Slippers clapping. The sun was warming my neck. A keke rattled past. From one compound came the smell of stew that made my stomach remember home. That was the kind of aroma I perceived from the kitchen while I was escaping home
But I kept walking.
Gradually, I noticed my anger began to reduce while my bag suddenly felt heavier. The road stretched wider and my feet hurt. While I was still trying to understand all that was going on I realized I didn't even have a destination.
I turned back, I wasn't far away from our house. In fact, I could still see our gate. That wasn't motivating for someone who was moving away from him. I was breathing hard already. Hunger pangs were setting in. I stopped beside an electric pole and leaned like I was just resting. Two older boys passed, arguing about football. A dog barked somewhere, a car tyre blew and dropped to the floor scared to my bones, then I remembered kidnappers exist.
My confidence shifted.
I opened my bag. Ate one biscuit slowly to fight hunger.
Then came the thoughts like: Where would I sleep? Where would I watch cartoons? Who would serve me my favorite food?
I realized I hadn't planned my move well. In fact, I was helpless without my mum. At home, I felt safe. Even punishments came with food and cartoons, later a soft bed, and sometimes my Mum telling me bedtime stories.
Realizing that there was nothing like home I turned back quietly and walked back home. I opened the gate to see Mummy outside discussing tomatoes with a neighbour. She saw me and paused.
“So,” she mocked, “world traveller, are you back?”
I looked at the floor. “Yes.”
She laughed and turned to our neighbor who had curiosity on her face. "I yelled at her for something she did wrong, then she packed her bags and left the house."
They laughed.
Mummy turned to me. “Enter inside before mosquitoes bite you. I'm coming to put in your bath water. Daddy will be back soon so we can eat dinner together." She smiled. "Jala the traveller."
Defeated and ashamed, I dragged my bags in.
That evening, after I had a bath and eaten dinner. While my Mummy was tucking me into bed. I asked her
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
She smiled and pulled the sheet over me. Rubbing her finger on my face. “Because I knew you would come back.”
I frowned. “What if I didn’t?”
She tapped my forehead gently and smiled. "I knew you would. I had tried it too as a kid"
Surprised, I asked, "Did you come back?"
She nodded.
"Why?" I wasn't letting go.
“There's a lot you're yet to understand. This world is bigger than your packs of biscuits, my dear. Even adults struggle outside there. Nobody can survive life alone. You'll understand better when you're older. ” she kissed my forehead. "Now go to bed."
I lay quiet after she walked out of my room, listening to the crickets singing in the dark outside.
I didn't understand what she meant, but just as she said, maybe I would understand better when I'm older.