F.A.T-Chapter Eight

 

The clatter of pots and the faint hum of voices woke me the next morning. For a moment, I thought I had dreamt it all. But the emptiness in my chest confirmed otherwise.

Dragging myself downstairs, I found Chinaza at the table, her laughter like music in a house that suddenly felt foreign.
“Good morning, Big Sis!” She wrapped her arms around me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

Funke was there too, bustling in the kitchen, placing a plate before me with a small, encouraging smile.

 “Please eat,” she whispered.

I obeyed silently, the food filling my stomach but not my spirit. My eyes caught Chinaza’s cheerful pout as she asked for bread, Funke teasing her in a mock country accent. The scene should have been normal, ordinary, but Mum’s absence was like a shadow over every corner.




Two Weeks Later
The house had become a revolving door of visits. Parents dropping by, neighbors whispering condolences, my friends refusing to leave my side.

“Fresh air will help, Ada,” Funke’s mother rubbed my back gently, urging me to go out.

But I shook my head, watching Chinaza dance around with her hair bow. “Thank you, Ma, but I’ll stay.”
As the door shut behind them, I bolted upstairs, collapsing into my pillow. The tears came, unrelenting, soaking the sheets. Mum’s accident replayed in my head like a cruel film; blood, silence, finality. She was gone. And I was angry. Angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at God. Yet, in the middle of my rage, her words echoed: In everything, give thanks.

A knock startled me. I wiped my face and opened the door. Tunde stood there, fresh from a shower, his presence steady and disarming.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t,” he replied simply, leading me downstairs without protest.
“I don’t need company, Tunde.”
“I think you do.”
He turned on the TV, but I barely saw the screen. His hand found mine, holding it firmly. “Tunde, let me go.”
“No.”
The heat in my chest flared. I wanted him to hurt the way I hurt. “Let me go! I didn’t push you when your mum died, so let me be!” He chuckled lightly. “You actually did.”

His calmness disarmed me. I wanted to provoke him, to unleash the storm inside me on someone else. But instead, he drew me closer.

“Ada,” he whispered, his eyes steady on mine. “I know what you’re doing. I’ve been there. Lashing out won’t change what’s happened. You need to heal.”

The dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unyielding. He didn’t tell me to stop. He didn’t hush me. He simply held me, allowing my grief to pour out, whispering encouragement as if he had been waiting for this moment. And for the first time since the accident, I let myself truly cry.

When exhaustion finally claimed me, I sank against him, worn but lighter. As the darkness wrapped around me, I allowed it to guide me, not into despair, but into the fragile beginnings of peace.



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I woke up with a pounding headache, my head cushioned by a pillow softer than the ache in my chest. Memories of last night rushed back, I had fallen asleep against Tunde, letting my grief pour out until exhaustion won.
A giggle pulled me back into the present. My eyes darted across the room and landed on Chinaza, her bright smile warming the air.

“Ada, I brought suya for you,” she announced proudly, holding up the package like a treasure.
The smoky scent of peppered meat reached my senses, and my stomach betrayed me with a growl. Before I could sit upright, Alfred stepped into view. With a gentle smile, he slid an arm behind me, helping me adjust so I could sit properly. His quiet strength steadied me, and I whispered a quick thanks before turning to my sister. “Thank you, Chinaza,” I said softly.

“Where are Tunde and Funke?” I asked after a moment. Alfred tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Cooking up a storm,” he said with a knowing smile.
It was then I noticed it: the mingling aromas of stew, spices, and fried plantain drifting from the kitchen, slowly awakening my dulled senses. For the first time in days, the smell of food stirred something familiar and comforting within me. Alfred’s tone grew gentle.

 “We’ll all have to talk after the meal, okay?”

I swallowed hard, nodding. The conversation I dreaded was drawing near, and no matter how much I wished to delay it, grief was relentless.
Later that evening, I tucked Chinaza into bed. Her breathing steadied almost instantly, the innocence of her slumber pressing against the ache in my heart. As I pecked her forehead, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

Closing her door softly, I made my way downstairs. Funke had cleared the sink, and the others were already seated, waiting. The chair at the head of the table had been pulled out for me. I forced a smile, slipping into it.

Funke broke the silence first. Her voice was calm, but her words landed like a stone. “The Pastor said it has to be this Saturday.” The weight of it, the burial, the finality, pressed against me. I nodded, my eyes blurring with tears I could no longer hold back.

Tunde rose and wrapped his arms around me, his embrace steadying me. “You have to tell Chinaza as soon as you can,” he whispered. I nodded again, this time looking at each of them. Their faces, tired, tear-stained, but resolute were the faces of the family grief had chosen for me. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you all so much. You’ve been such good friends to me.”

They leaned in, encircling me with warmth, their voices a chorus of reassurance: We’re here for you. All the way.

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“Mum’s not coming back?”
Chinaza’s question cut through the quiet like glass. Her big eyes searched mine, wide with innocence and curiosity. I bit my lip, holding back the tears threatening to spill, and simply nodded. Tunde’s hand rubbed my back, grounding me.

“Is she in heaven?” Chinaza asked, tilting her head.
We all chuckled softly, the sound bittersweet. “Yes, sweetie,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her little brow furrowed. “And we’ll all go there someday?”
We nodded again, the silence around her words heavy but hopeful. “Which means…” She rested her chin in her hand, as though piecing together a puzzle. “We’ll get to see her someday?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

A wide smile spread across her face, and she threw her arms around me. I laughed softly through my tears, marveling at her faith. Mum had planted seeds in her heart; seeds of hope, of heaven, of God’s promise. And now, watching my baby sister, I felt that same hope stirring faintly within me too.

 The Funeral 

As I buttoned the last button on Chinaza’s tiny black gown, she looked up at me and whispered, “I know you’re sad.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. “I am.” “Me too.”

The words startled me. She had been so strong, stronger than any of us. Funke had broken down over old photographs, Alfred over a neighbor’s cookies that reminded him of Mum’s baking. Even Tunde, who had barely known Mum, carried the weight of our sorrow with us. But Chinaza had been our steady flame, smiling through it all. Until now.

“I’ll miss Mummy so much,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. I pulled her close, hugging her tightly as she sobbed. “Shhh, God is with us, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Her little body trembled in my arms, and I fought my own tears, determined to be her anchor. When Alfred signaled from the doorway that it was time, I nodded, still holding her. Together, we walked to the altar. Her hand in mine shook, but I whispered prayers for strength as we approached the coffin.

Though the Pastor had advised a closed casket, and I had agreed, Chinaza still stretched forward, her small lips brushing the polished wood. “I’ll miss you, Momma,” she said softly, “but I know I’ll see you soon.”

The room fell quiet, the simplicity of her faith breaking us all. Funke cried harder, Alfred bowed his head, and I clutched my sister tighter, letting her sit on my lap as the service began.