Children

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Welcome home!
As I drive back home from the market I sigh with relief, shopping has never been fun for me .you haggle over price, argue about being cheated while all the while trying to get a good bargain, the sun is beating on your back as it always does in Nigeria. What we have is the open market not well built giant shopping malls. Traders are tugging at your sleeves in a bid to convince you to step into their stalls others carrying their wares on their head pester you with questions” madam you want a cool drink, madam you want tomatoes, madam you want salt?" I think to myself if I hear madam one more time, I will get into my car and speed off. I hear it, but I don’t, I rush through shopping. I can’t wait to get back home, take a cool shower and jump into bed. I say a small prayer of thanks to God for my husband accepting to look after the kids while I run off to do the fortnightly shopping even though he has a football match to see on TV! Any time away from the kids even 5 minutes is pure relief. I am glad I took time to arrange the house before leaving because I had used up all my energy shopping.

As I look up I see my street sign and smile, home sweet home. Wait a minute, something is wrong…right in front of the house I see torn papers lying around, I rush to pack the car and as I pack I notice my husband’s toolbox on the floor someone had tempered with it. I begin to feel uneasy. As I step out, I notice the front door is wide open and there are clothes, books and toys all over the place. As I begin to climb the stairs, I see the kitchen from the corner of my eyes, there are dirty plates everywhere, dog food in the cat’s bowl, milk on the floor, cereal packs torn open and my fridge door ajar my heart is racing now as I notice something red and sticky all over the floor. As I climb the stairs different thoughts flash before my mind, could it be burglars? There was a recent report of burglars in our vicinity so they finally hit on us? Kid nappers? That too is rampant in Nigeria these days. An accident “oh lord where are the kids and my husband”? More red sticky stains!

Now I am at the top of the stairs and the room doors are closed. What could be happening there? Are they lying unconscious from beatings received from the burglars? Are they even there at all? Which door should I open first? Our room or the kids?ok I will check for my husband so we can face looking for the kids together. My palms are sweaty on the knob making it difficult to turn and heightening my panic giving me the impression that it’s difficult to open, I begin to push and shove and cry and finally the door is open.
I rush in, prepared for the worst. Sitting on the coach facing the television and backing the door, I see my husband head and he turns as I come in, smiles and says hello to me. He is very excited about his football game on TV. I am too stunned to answer him. Turning, I run into my children’s room throw the door open and there they are, the culprits of this whole drama hale and hearty .Screaming their heads off covered in red palm oil they must have spilled in the kitchen which translated to blood to my panicked mind!
They are running towards me screaming mummy! Mummy!

I look at them in wonder, I am tired from my shopping, drained from fear from what I thought had happened, weary from the thought of having to put this house they have turned upside down back together again but when they run into my arms smearing me with that red palm oil and all the rubbish they have piled up, when they give me hugs and say mummy “I love you, I love you” I really mean it when I smile down and say to them” I love you too”.

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