Chapter 2
In the heart of Jos, where the air carried the scent of rain on red earth and the horizon hugged the city with a promise of adventure, Oghene stepped off the bus. The city's pulse thrummed through the soles of his feet, a rhythm set against the backdrop of the bustling Terminus Market. He was a striking figure amidst the crowd; his height towering like the Riyom Rock, his skin the rich hue of groundnut oil in the midday sun.
Oghene's eyes, dark and deep as the waters of the Pandam Wildlife Park, held stories of lands far beyond the Plateau. They spoke of his Delta origins, where the Niger River kissed the Atlantic, and where his people, the Isoko, danced to the heartbeat of the Udu drums. His broad shoulders, a testament to years of labor in the oil fields, now carried nothing but a duffel bag, the weight of his past life left behind.
His attire was simple yet deliberate—a crisp white shirt that contrasted with his dark denim trousers, and on his feet, leather sandals crafted by a local artisan from his hometown. Around his neck hung a pendant, an intricate carving of the Arere fish, a totem of his clan, a silent whisper of his identity.
The city of Jos was a canvas of sounds and colors, a stark contrast to the serene blues and greens of his Delta state. Here, the red of the earth stained everything, a constant reminder of the city's fiery heart. Oghene's first steps were hesitant, each one an echo of the uncertainty that shadowed his arrival. He had come seeking a fresh start, a place where his name did not precede him, where his family's legacy was not the measure of his worth.
His parents, Mr&Mrs Phillips though distant in miles, were ever-present in his thoughts. His father, Mr Phil a stern man of few words, had taught him the value of hard work and the virtue of patience. His mother, Mrs Angela a weaver of tales and textiles, had instilled in him a love for stories and the importance of heritage. They had hoped he would take over the family business, but Oghene's heart yearned for a different path—one that led him to the crossroads of cultures in Jos.
The city was alive with the hum of commerce and conversation. Oghene navigated through the maze of stalls, his senses assaulted by the myriad of smells—from the tangy aroma of suya spices to the sweet fragrance of ripe mangos. He watched, fascinated, as life unfolded around him, each person a thread in the vibrant tapestry of Jos.
As the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple, Oghene found himself at the foot of the Shere Hills. He gazed up, feeling a kinship with the enduring stones. Like them, he was a fixture in a foreign land, standing tall against the winds of change.
As Oghene stood at the foot of the Shere Hills, his heart beating in tandem with the fading light, he felt the whisper of destiny calling. The city of Jos, with its undulating hills and vibrant markets, was now his amphitheater, and he, a lone actor on its grand stage.
As the air grew cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the market's clamor softened into a twilight murmur. Oghene took a deep breath, the scent of rain-soaked earth grounding him in the moment. He had no map for the journey ahead, no guide but his own resolve. Yet, there was a magnetic pull in the air, an unseen force that drew him towards an alley veiled in shadows.
He hesitated, the weight of his duffel bag suddenly palpable on his shoulder. The alley beckoned, a narrow passage between two worlds, and Oghene felt the stirrings of fate. With a determined step, he ventured into the dim corridor, the sounds of the market fading behind him.
As he emerged from the other side, the world transformed. Before him lay an ancient part of Jos, where the buildings whispered of colonial times and the streets held secrets. The sky, now a canvas of stars, watched over him as he navigated this new labyrinth.
Suddenly, a soft melody reached his ears, a tune so hauntingly familiar it seized his heart. It was the sound of an Udu drum, its rhythm a ghostly echo of his homeland. Oghene paused, his eyes searching the darkness for its source. And there, in the faint glow of a streetlamp, stood a figure draped in indigo, the drum at their side.
Oghene's breath caught in his throat. Could it be a message from the past, or a sign of the future? As the figure lifted their head, their eyes locking with his, Oghene knew that Jos held more for him than he could have ever imagined.