My first Sunday back in our home church in Ibadan, I was seriously trying to grasp anything that seemed familiar. I had memories of growing up in this church but that day, every thing and every one seemed strange. Except for her.
While my parents were receiving warm welcomes and hugs, me and my siblings were content lagging behind. We did not know these people claiming to know us and trying to make us acknowledge that we know them.
Let me speak for myself, I did not know them. And, to be sincere, knowing them was not as important as getting back that feel of being at home. So, I went to the mart to get some snacks.
I was walking back to where our car was parked when I saw her.
Is that? No way. Could that be…? Oh my God, I think it’s her. Oh… Uhm, will she recognize me? Will she remember? What should I do? How should I introduce myself?
That feeling of familiarity I had been craving now washed all over me, filling my every pore and lifting my feet above the ground. This one, I knew. Not only did I know, I liked!
Mere two years abroad could never change that.
