“Hi Peju.” He murmured his eyes fixed on hers as if he was trying to read her mind which was pointless because no one knew what went on behind the armour she had built around herself over the past 15 years.

She swallowed. “Hello Ikenna.” She was shaking inside but outside her voice was strong and calm. Shebi she had a weeks to prepare her emotions for this.

Didn’t she say that her emotions concerning him were numb?

Nice to see you again. His accent threw her. She knew he was American now but somehow he didn’t sound like a stranger.

She walked ahead of him and showed him into the parlour where Aunty sat on the sofa.

“Ikenna. Ele. Welcome. Oku ijo meta”

He responded in Yoruba and prostrated. “Ijo kan pelu. Ma.”

Peju’s lips twisted her words of decades before coming back to haunt her.

Daddy. He speaks Yoruba now ….

“I don’t care whether he speaks my village dialect. My child can never marry an Ibo boy. Laiye!”

“Daddy this boy has grown up with us. He lives next door. You and his dad go to church together, you are in the same landlord’s association, you drink beer together – now he is a stranger to you? You went for his brother’s wedding. I don’t understand…”

Mr Adepitan had put up a hand to stem the flow of her protestations.

Peju! PEJU! Her Aunt’s voice interrupted her trip down memory lane.

“Yes Ma.”

Her Aunt picked up the TV controls. “Why are you standing there looking like a spirit? Go and serve your friend minerals. Ikenna joko jare. Omo Dada. How is your son?”

Peju disappeared into the kitchen.

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