“Daddy, I’m twenty-four,” I said with a chuckle.
“Eh, but you’re still my little baby,” he replied, and we both laughed before ending the call.
The silence that followed hit me like a wave.
I missed home already. Missed my family. Missed the chaos of Lagos traffic. Missed Mummy’s egusi soup on Sunday afternoons. There was this clog in my chest, like I wanted to cry, but I pushed it down where it belonged.
I had prayed for this opportunity, wished for it, saved hundreds of videos of Canada on my phone because I had fallen in love with the country from a young age. When I first saw pictures of Vancouver on Google at fifteen, it looked exactly like where I was meant to be. And when I applied for the graduate philosophy scholarship at Mapleridge University, I emerged as one of the top ten candidates. That’s what happens when you’re firm about what you want.
For the next eighteen months, all I needed to do was keep my head down and study hard to make my parents proud. After all, they had always wanted the best for me, and I was finally living the dream we had talked about for years.
My mind drifted to Chukwuma back in Lagos. My soon-to-be fiancé. He was the son of my father’s close friend. Daddy had chosen Chukwuma for me, and saying no had never felt like an option, even though Chukwuma didn’t stir any feelings in me.
I had confided in my mom once, and she had told me that once we were married, love would come naturally.
I had believed her.
I would text him later to update him on my journey, but right now, I needed sleep. I was super exhausted.
But as I closed my eyes, I couldn’t shake the image of myself on that plane. The way I had pressed my face to the window during take-off, watching Nigeria shrink below me, my heart hammering not with fear, but with what felt dangerously close to freedom.
Though, I couldn’t bring myself to call it that.
* Relocation
I
“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
— Federico García Lorca
Chapter Two
Kelechi
The cold was icy and biting, cutting into my exposed face like shards of glass and making me question every life decision that had led me to this frozen wasteland. I had never been a fan of the cold anyway, even back in Nigeria, where air conditioning and fans were my sworn enemies. Anyone who knew me could testify, with stories of me shutting off ACs in the middle of scorching afternoons.
And now Kelechi, the destroyer of ACs and fans, had willingly boarded a plane and relocated to what felt like the headquarters of winter itself because, apparently, I enjoyed torturing myself.
Lord help me.
It had been one whole week since I arrived here, and ever since then, I had been busy with orientation week, registrations, and all the tiny bureaucratic steps required to settle down properly and legally in a country that still felt like a dream. At this rate, it was almost safe to call me a Canadian, which made me chuckle as I tucked my gloved hands deeper into the pockets of my oversized jacket that felt more like a sleeping bag than what it actually was—a jacket.
I felt a bit of relief because another hurdle had been crossed.
Today was Monday and my first day of class, and I couldn’t help wondering how different things would be from university life in Nigeria. I just hoped that I wouldn’t be too clumsy, say the wrong thing, or embarrass myself in front of people who probably thought Africa was one big country.
I stood outside the classroom—or hall, peering through the small glass window in the door. This was the Ethics in Global Perspective class. It had stated boldly on my schedule that the class, headed by a Dr Chen, would start at 8:15am, which explained why I had woken up at 5, showered, layered myself into this heavy coat that made me look like a walking marshmallow, and dragged myself to the faculty building by 7:45.
Way to go, Kelechi, punctual girl.
If there was one thing I could count on, it was my ability to arrive early to everything, even my own stress-induced breakdowns.
When I pushed open the door, I discovered I was the only one there, which honestly didn’t surprise me because I had learnt that being Nigerian-early and Canadian-early were apparently two completely different time zones.
This was fine by me. It gave me enough time to settle down and bring out my learning materials— laptop, notebook, pens— all of which had travelled halfway across the world with me.
I chose a seat in the middle row near the window and sat down. After arranging everything neatly on the desk, I rubbed my hands together for warmth and stared outside at this new world that still felt unreal, like I had accidentally stepped into someone else’s life.
