Chapter 3

I had two sleepless nights. Every sensible part insisted I should leave the past alone. "If he had chosen to disappear, who was I to drag him back?" But another voice refused silence: "What if he never chose to leave?"

That question was enough.

"We've been invited to the New Year Festival in Onitsha. We leave tomorrow morning."

My hand shot up before my brain could stop it, volunteering to be there.

"Hope through Innovation."

If only she knew my bigger reason for visiting Onitsha.

The journey was bumpy and beautiful. Buses squeezed through traffic, roadside markets overflowed.

The festival pulsed. Colourful fabrics in view. Drums echoed. Children played. Elders talked.

Halfway through, the coordinator announced a lunch break.

"Where are you going?" Kenji asked.

"Just... somewhere."

"I'm coming."

"I'm investigating something," I refused his assistance.

"You watch too many detective movies."

"I watch documentaries."

"That's worse."

Twenty minutes later we stood beside a busy bus stop with no idea where to begin. "This investigation is going well", he stated sarcastically.

"Can you fight? Kung Fu? Karate? Taekwondo?"

"No."

"So what can you do?"

"I code."

"If an agbero steals my bag, are you going to debug him?"

"I'll recover your files afterwards."

"I've brought the wrong Japanese."

"Ouch! I may not know martial arts..." he rolled up his sleeves, "...but I have fists."

Then a familiar laugh interrupted.

"Grace?"

"Kiet?"

There he stood with a travel bag over one shoulder. "What are the chances?" I smiled, and for the briefest second we hugged. "Lunch?" He suggested.

The restaurant was small but packed. The aroma greeted us, tomatoes, pepper, grilled meat.

"Three plates of jollof rice," Kiet ordered.

"Never had it." Kenji complained.

"You'll love it. Trust me."

"You sound suspicious."

"Nigerian dishes are delish."

"She's right." Kiet nodded.

When the food arrived, the smell made us pause.

"This... smells incredible." Kenji whispered. He took one careful bite. We stared. He chewed.

"Not bad."

Kiet almost dropped his spoon. "'Not bad'? That's your review?"

"It's good." Kenji shrugged.

"It's legendary," Kiet protested. "I still think katsudon and onigiri are better."

"I have been insulted." We dissolved into laughter.

Outside, the sky darkened. Rain hammered the roof. A woman settled behind us with two children.

"I've spent years believing my father was dead," I lowered my voice. "Now I'm chasing rumours."

Kiet squeezed my hand, "If there's even a chance... you deserve to know".

Before I could speak, a voice behind me.

"...Chisom?"

My heart stopped. Nobody in Nigeria had called me by that name without introducing themselves first. I turned.

The woman just stared. The tray trembling in her hands fell. The restaurant grew silent.

"No..." she whispered. "It can't be... those eyes... You're Ekwunife's daughter."

Chills ran down my spine. She stepped closer, trembling.

"I'm your aunt, Ezeani Victoria."

Aunt, the word boomed. She rested a hand on her children's shoulder. "They are your cousins."

I forgot how to breathe. Whatever answers I'd been searching for... had found me first.

The rain softened into a drizzle. None of us spoke. Not because we had nothing to say, but because we're trying to process what happened.

"My mother's house isn't far. Come. Nne m ga-enwe nnukwu onu ihu gi."

"My mother will be happy to see you," my neurons translated

The house sat behind an iron gate surrounded by flowers and trees. As we entered, an elderly woman stepped onto the veranda, carrying a bible. Silver hair beneath a scarf. Gentle wrinkles framed her kind eyes. She stood tall with elegance. Her bronze skin glowed, the colour my father had passed on to me. She looked strong.

Looking up, her eyes rested on me.

"...Halmoni." The word sat on my tongue.

"Nne ochie." I adjusted.

"Nwa m..."

My child.

She pulled me into a warm embrace. In that moment, I forgot we had only just met.

The boys were entertained with TV and a meal of moi moi.

"Bia," Grandma touched my shoulder. She led me into a smaller room lined with furnished shelves and family portraits. It smelled faintly of old books and camphor. She closed the door.

"Do you know I pray for your father every day?" she said in Igbo.

"They told us he died." Her fingers tightened around her wrapper. "But my heart never accepted."

"Grandma... Do you know where he is?"

"Mba." She shook her head. "If I knew where my son was, I would have gone to him myself."

"I'm coming", She left, returning with an old leather-bound photo album. "This belonged to your father."

She placed it on my lap. My fingers trembled as I opened it. A little boy dressed in patterned agbada, smiling at the camera. The next pages showed him growing older. School uniforms, football matches, university graduations, his wedding.

Then one photograph stopped me.

My father stood in a black suit alongside colleagues in front of a grand stage. Behind him hung a banner:

NOVACORE GLOBAL PHARMACEUTICALS

45th Anniversary Gala

Engineering Better Lives.

A gold infinity loop wrapped around a silver DNA strand, pinned to seven senior executives. The company's logo.

My breathing became uneven. I knew that symbol. Every morning at the Global Story Project, it flashed across the projector during sponsor acknowledgement. And every intern had recited:

"Novacore Global Pharmaceutical..."

"...Engineering Better Lives."

"...Hope through Innovation."

I had spoken those words dozens of times. I had dreamed of their Winter Fellowship.

A chill. It was the company my father had uncovered, connected to shell corporations, whose executives had funded the internship that brought me to Nigeria.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Unless... the story had chosen me long before I chose it.

"What's it?" Grandma watched my face.

I quietly removed the photograph.

She looked at the picture for a long time. "Take it. It belongs with you now more than it does with me."

I slipped it into my notebook.

A second of reflection, I realized the internship programme was more than I anticipated. The idea of building my resumé and networking, led me to another path, leaving me at my turning point, with a decision to make.

I had arrived unsure. But got to make friends, enjoyed dishes, been reunited with family, learned my native tongue and pidgin English.

I had grown, evolved, and truly Nigerian.

I'm indomitable.