"Wow !", My mother breathed.
I silently echoed the sentiment, amazed at the living room of our new duplex.
We were asked to drop our bags in the living room for a tour of the house by the man assigned to us by the church.
He had picked us up from the airport, and drove us here. I slept through the entire thing, but I overheard my father explaining to my mother at some point that the man would drive us around for a while, and help us out in this foreign land.
The tour started at the ground floor which consisted of the living room, kitchen, dining space, storage room, laundry room, and a toilet for visitors. We were then led to the second floor through a curved staircase which comprised of three bedrooms with conjoined bathrooms and toilet.
A luxury I had never experienced.
There were two office spaces, and a room that was completely empty. Our help explained we could use it for whatever we wanted.
We thanked him for his help, and he left. It was pretty late.
"This place is gorgeous, praise the Lord for he alone made this possible". My mother gushed, saying thanks to God for the twentieth time since we walked into this house.
But God was truly amazing. This house was a far cry from any of the houses we lived in back in Nigeria.
We had rooms with their own bathrooms and toilets !
My father chuckled, and swung an arm around her slender shoulders.
"Let's get some rest wife, we will pray for our new home in the morning".
I was surprised we weren't praying now. I guess after the journey we've had, with all the stress and delays we encountered had worn everyone out.
My mother smiled up at him, with so much love radiating from her beautiful brown eyes.
"I am so proud of you my husband".
They never used the words of endearment other couples used to address each other. Words like darling, sweetheart, blah blah it was always husband and wife.
He pulled her closer smiling toothily as he gazed down at her.
I cleared my throat, to remind them that they had a daughter who happened to be standing in the same room as them, with aching legs.
My parents turned to my direction, with their smiles still on their faces.
My father opened his other arm, inviting me to his embrace. "Come Eva".
I stared at him in surprise.
The last time my father had showed me any sign of affection, was when I got one of the best WAEC results in Nigeria. And all he had done was pat my cheek affectionately. Before that, I don't think he ever did. Maybe when I was a baby, I don't know, I can't remember.
He believed that a father should be an instructor, a guide, there was no room for affection and petting. It made the child dependent on the wrong things, that was not how he operated. I had heard him say those words severally to new fathers in the church that came to him for parenting advice.
I crossed over my bag, and walked slowly towards them. Half expecting my father to tell me to stop, but he didn't.
Instead, he wrapped his strong arm around me, pulling me into his warm embrace.
His musky cologne filled my nostrils and I breathed it in deeply, as I rested the side of my face on his warm velvet shirt.
Tears of joy filled my eyes.
I looked at my mother, and she too threw an arm over me spreading more warmth to my heart.
"Praise the Lord", My father said.
"Hallelujah", my mother and I chorused.
Relocating was really a good thing.
***
I chose the room farest from the room my parents picked. Not because I was trying to get away from them, but because my spirit had led me to.
Was that wierd ?
I don't know, people called it instinct. You know when your entire being is pulling you to do something.
The room was nicely spaced, and it's smell reminded me of my aunty Grace's apartment. Warm, and welcoming. I felt a little tug in my chest. We hadn't even been here for a full day, and I was already missing her. She lived at Germany, and rarely came back to Nigeria, but whenever she did, she added color to my life.
The walls were painted a dark grey almost black color unlike the other rooms which were painted a pastel blue. Almost like the painters ran out of the blue paint, and used the available color they had to cover up the naked walls.
I wasn't complaining though, I loved the color.
The only things in the room were the bed, a bedside table, and an old wooden stool that was placed near the window for some reason. I already had a vision of everything I would buy to fill up the rest of the empty space.
I arranged the clothes I had brought with me in the wardrobe. I didn't bring a lot, because my father had asked me to give them to church members. He said I would buy clothes here.
When I was done arranging my stuff, I took a long hot shower, and laid some sheets on the bed before I laid on it staring up at the ceiling and willing sleep to come. It didn't.
With a sigh, and after more than an hour. I got down from my bed, and pulled out my pencil and drawing book from my bag I had dropped on the floor close to the wardrobe.
I hadn't had any art inspiration lately, or any time because my father had made me the coordinator of the teen fellowship in the church without asking me if I wanted the tedious role.
I had always loved to draw and paint, there was something fascinating about capturing a moment with just a pencil and paper.
It was one of the few things that made me truly happy, like an escape from reality for me.
I thought of all the things I had seen today that pulled me to recreate on my page. There was beauty in everything, art was everywhere, I knew that but there were some things you see and you're just so struck by it that your hand begins to itch.
After almost ten minutes of thinking, I came to the conclusion that I had nothing.
Disappointed, I looked outside my window. Other rooms had two or three but this room had one, but it was so large it could be mistaken for two. I didn't have curtains yet, so I had improvised by draping one of my bedsheets over the curtain holder.
My lights were dimmed, creating a warm setting in the room and it just made me happy to be alone.
I moved to my window, and lifted the bedsheet in an attempt to tuck it somewhere so I could look at my surroundings, but it fell. I let it be.
I sat carefully on the wooden stool that was threatening to fall apart. Leaning against the window sill, I took in the view.
There wasn't much, no ! there wasn't anything to see because another building which was very close to ours covered everything. I wondered why they built the houses this close to each other. It definitely wasn't like this in any of the places I had lived in Nigeria.
My window was opposite another really large window, so close that I could see that whoever owned the room had drawn up the curtains so I could see inside.
There wasn't much to see because the lights were off, but I could make out a moderate sized bed, and a guitar by the window.
I wondered how the rest of the room looked like.
As if reading my thoughts, the lights were turned on, making my heart leap and I ducked down to avoid whoever had turned on the lights from seeing me.
After a few seconds of hiding, I raised my head a little placing my hands on the window sill for support, and peered into the room. The lights were still on, but there was no sign of the person that had turned on the lights.
"Do you have it ?", A masculine voice inquired. I still couldn't see the owner of the voice, but his voice was smooth and deep. The kind that made you want to listen to it on repeat. A preacher's voice. I liked the sound of it, and it made me curious to know what he looked like.
"Yeah, yeah okay ", I heard him say.
I couldn't speak for other human beings, but for me squatting hurt. So I dropped my knees on the ground, and rested my bottom on the back of my legs. The position was just as uncomfortable.
I didn't know why I was peeping into someone's room like this. I knew it was invasion of privacy, but for some reason I couldn't help it.
I wanted to see what my neighbor whose room's window was too close to mine looked like.