Preordained #ProjectNigeria

50- A Call

Maduka's POV~

It turns out that my father owned various plots of land all over the village through inheritance from his own father.

The next day, I take Nwanyieze along to see some of the land. Standing there in all the greenery, she looks otherworldly. Last night's confrontation has left her a bit withdrawn and more quiet, but she agrees to come with me all the same.

"Be careful," I tell her, pointing at a rock in front of her.

"I have eyes," she tells me with a tight smile.

Dee Ikenna waits for us underneath the lone tree on this particular plot of land, allowing Nwanyieze and I to roam around. I'm already thinking about the soil, what kind of crop could be planted, and how to employ workers in future.

The afternoon sun is a bit harsh, and I know that Nwanyieze and I will go home with complexions a shade darker.

"Why are you so different today?" I ask Nwanyieze.

Dressed in a pair of jeans, an Ankara shirt and white sneakers, she looks every inch the city dweller.

"I'm not different today," she replies.

"You think I don't trust you."

She stops abruptly, sinking her foot into a puddle of dirty water. "It's your mouth, Maduka."

I shake my head. "I trust you. I know you and Saheed aren't doing anything. But I also feel that something isn't right. Why is he contacting you? And why does it seem like you're not happy about it?"

"Your uncle is calling you," she says flatly before turning and walking towards Dee Ikenna.

I watch her movements as she walks away. I can tell her mood because her feet seem to be stomping : she is angry.

But for what, though? All I did was ask about Saheed.

My adoptive father had always said that no one could ever fully understand women, not to talk of writing a comprehensive book about them.

I didn't receive any secret calls. I wasn't the one running off. I'm sure even Joro the love doctor cannot explain this one.

My mind drifts to my uncle, who seems to be distant these days. It seems that the welcoming mood had worn off. Sometimes he makes passing remarks about how well I resemble my father so much that he almost always calls me his name.

"It's almost like Eze came back younger and taller," he has told me a few times.

Daa Ndidi is apparently the most enthusiastic about my return. She has not stopped bombarding Nwanyieze and I with food, gifts of locally made soap, and herbs to cure illnesses.

During the drive home, Dee Ikenna tells us about the Nigerian Civil war and how it had affected our village so badly that children had to be flown to Gabon because they were dying of starvation. Nwanyieze is so interested in the story that when we get home, she follows him to his compound to listen to the rest of it.

After changing my clothes into a comfortable pair of grey sweatpants and my favourite basketball jersey, I take about an hour to send and reply emails, make phone calls, and record important matters into my journal. Somto calls again, and I reassure her that I'm fine, that I'm on a small sabbatical and will visit her soonest.

Just as I'm about to leave the room, my phone rings again. It's Tasha.

"How are you, Tasha?" I ask.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Tasha, you know I care about you. I want you to be fine."

"He went out to see another woman this morning," she says, her voice shrinking. "He doesn't care that I'm carrying his child. How am I supposed to keep it?"