Both my parents exchange looks, then smile.
“No, all is well.” Mum caresses my cheek. “Find a seat. We have to sit up front as part of the ministry, but we won’t be too far. Come to me if you need anything.”
“I’m not six.” I frown.
She smiles at me but I can see the nostalgia in her eyes. “I know.”
With that, she and my dad join hands and march to their seats up front while I sink into a chair way in the back, creating as much distance as possible.
When church starts, I wish I remembered to bring headphones. The singing, chanting, and noise make my head hurt. I’m seconds away from sneaking out and waiting in the car when I’m called upon.
“I hear that Jabari McKingsley has joined us today. Jabari? Are you here?”
My arm jerks when I roll my eyes, and I think my father has successfully Pavlovian-conditioned me. Nevertheless, I stand, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”
The pastor smiles warmly and gestures for me to come closer.
My God. What is it with this lot?
I groan quietly and make my way to the pulpit. As I walk past my parents, they beam with so much pride that I decide to suck up my annoyance for the few minutes I’ll be on display and try to appear content for their sake. Besides, my appearance is probably the best thing to happen to this church since Christ. And I’m sure the thought of me will keep the women in here on bent knees, praying for the lord to deliver them from impure thoughts. Or at least for some dry panties.
The pastor greets me with a firm handshake.
“Wow. You really swelled up! So many muscles, but I bet I can take you.” He jokes, and the congregation laughs. I smile along and internally cringe as he continues. “My, my. When your parents said you would be coming back to us, the entire church prayed for your safe return. Your mother even fasted for five days.”
I look at my mum in confusion, and she just meets my gaze with a loving expression.
“Your family loves you very much. Even your sister has asked that I keep your name in prayer. When I see a family as loving as yours, I want nothing more than for them to thrive and continue to love one another. It makes us all happy to see you all reconnected. So, on behalf of us here, I would like to welcome you back home. Do well in your career and continue to make your family proud.”
Wow.
Zaza asked them to pray for me, and Mum fasted.
A knot was forming in my stomach.
When I left the UK all those years ago, I was furious with my parents for sending me away. So furious, I went two whole years without talking to them. They only got updates about my life through the family they sent me to live with.
I continued with football training over there, and I got recognized by teams, so I wasn’t interested in being around them anymore. With time, I grew to understand why they did it. I wasn’t the easiest child to deal with, and they definitely struggled with me.
Still, in that moment, all I felt was hurt and shame.
But on my eighteenth birthday, when I was old enough to move out without their permission and sign on with the team in Gombe, my parents came to visit me.
I barely remember the conversation; it felt like it was decades ago. All I remember is their offer for me to return to Croydon, and my decision to turn it down in order to pursue football further. They respected it, surprisingly. Or maybe not so surprisingly, considering I was now the team’s problem instead of theirs. I like to hope they were pleased with me finding purpose in my life, but I guess we’ll never know.
After that, they visited more. And soon Zaza joined them. Reuniting with her, however, was something I did remember. She had grown so much in my absence.
She took up dancing.
She wants to join Broadway.
She has goals.
When I left, she couldn’t even take the bus to school by herself. And now, she was an adult—an adult who asks the pastor to pray over her stubborn brother.
Fucking hell.
