The Soles Of Damini Manor

CHAPTER 2: BEFORE YOU JUDGE A MANOR, WALK IN ITS SHOES.

Kanyin

"We've got to hand it to your grandma. She got Kanyin speechless for once," Dad tells Kola.

We are at the entrance of the two-story pale-brown brick edifice. Mom used to say grandma's manor was inspired by the historic structures from the 17th and 18th centuries. The lush greens of the vast courtyard at each side match the weeds that design the exterior like veins scattered around it waiting to consume it. There are a lot of chimneys, and Kola is pointing at each of them with a calculated expression. I know he's counting them. He counts everything. The number of shoes I buy, the zeros at the end of my receipts, and the pattern lines on each dress I design.

"We can always come outside later, let's go in," Dad says, reaching for the ornate round handles of the large wooden door at the main entrance.

We follow his lead, moving closer to the door so we can explicitly see the intricate design of vines that lead to an oblong-shaped illustration of a shield, and behind it is a silver drawing of metal-plated boots.

"What's this?" I ask, crouching to get a clearer view, my fingers caressing the sandpaper feel of the door against my skin.

"It's the family crest," Dad answers as Kola joins me in squatting.

"Look at this," Kola whispers, drawing my attention to the words his eyes are piercing through.

Bound by Blood, United by Soles, it reads in gold cursive, the words standing out against the light brown door.

"Umm...that's probably the family motto," Dad mumbles from behind us, startling me.

He crouches to our level, his knees brushing against mine and I notice the pinch in his brows that sends a wave of uncertainty through me.

This family motto is new information to me as it is to Daddy, who has known the Damini's longer. If I'm correct, he has been here twice, yet his voice sounded questioning when he read the motto. Like he was reading it for the first time. How strange. Everything is strange, to be honest.

Mom said Lẹ́kò was founded in the 1930s by an African-American man who visited Lagos and fell in love with the culture. Mom said the man missed it so much he wanted to have it closer. So he created a small town in South Carolina and based it off Lagos, the one state in Nigeria that had a mix of all the Nigerian cultures. She said Lẹ́kò doesn't have just one ethnic group but numerous. Nigerians whose parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents were taken as slaves from different parts of Nigeria to the US were invited to gather and learn about their culture at Lẹ́kò. Over time, the gates of Lẹ́kò opened to Nigerians in the US in general, no matter their backgrounds, and that's when grandma and grandpa arrived here.

The founder of Lẹ́kò was more determined than I can ever be. He missed a place and was determined to bring it closer to him. Meanwhile, I miss Mom terribly but haven't done anything in my power to bring her near or find her. It's not that I don't want to, I do, but I'm afraid of messing things up again.

It happened on August 19th, she went missing on my birthday to get my cake. It's probably for the best, that I don't mess up their search for her. Mom and I haven't always been on the same page but she's the only one to ever steer me in the right direction and right now I feel lost. The Fashion Institute is my ultimate dream, but the lingering worry of not finding Mom overshadows everything. How can I truly find happiness pursuing my dream if we're unable to find her?

The moment the large doors swing open, we are greeted with a narrow hallway lined with wooden chairs dressed in red upholsteries on each side. It looks like a runway, the kind I have always dreamt of walking on after my beautiful designs have been displayed. It's perfect. I can already imagine the wave, the bow, and my pearl-white teeth glimmering under the white spotlight. My teeth better shine bright on that day. Daddy paid good money for them to be whitened.