Chapter 5 Jollof and Fireflies

The sound of talking drums floated down the street long before Adanna saw the crowd. It was just after six. The sun had dipped low, casting a golden-orange haze over the neighbourhood. Mama Rose had wrapped her gele so high it brushed the top of the doorway, and she wore the bright blue lace she'd been saving since last December. "Why are we going to this party again?" Adanna asked, adjusting her earrings. "Ah-ah. Did you not hear me?" Mama Rose said. "It's Mummy Tawa's 60th birthday. That woman nursed me after my last surgery.

She deserves my full presence." "You mean free food." Her grandmother swatted her playfully. "And what's wrong with free food? It is God's provision." They walked down the street together, past roadside bukas and houses with satellite dishes balanced on rooftops. Children played ten-ten in front of gates. The smell of suya, jollof rice, and fried plantain hung heavy in the air. The party was already in full swing when they arrived. Under a big rented canopy, plastic chairs lined the space like old cousins-familiar and scattered. Loud fuji music blared from the DJ booth, and a man with a belly shaped like a drum was leading a toast in rapid Yoruba. "E ku'le o!" Mama Rose greeted, moving from table to table like a queen inspecting her court. Adanna found an empty seat near the back, grateful for a bit of distance. "Mama Rose says you're the famous granddaughter," someone said beside her. She turned-and there he was. Tobi. In a pale blue kaftan, collar slightly open, sleeves rolled. Adanna blinked. "You? Are you following me?" He gave a small laugh. "If I say yes, will it ruin the mystery?" She smirked. "A little." "I'm Mummy Tawa's godson," he said. "She told me to come and greet the 'fine London girl' that's been hiding in her compound." "I'm not hiding. I'm... observing." "Same thing," he said, sitting beside her. They watched as two women carried trays of jollof and grilled chicken across the party. A boy chased after them, yelling, "Mummy, put extra meat o!" Adanna laughed. "This is what I missed. Real Nigerian chaos." Tobi glanced at her, his eyes softer tonight. "How long were you in London?" "Six years. Studied photography. Worked for a fashion magazine. Got engaged." She paused, then shrugged. "Got un-engaged." He nodded slowly. Didn't ask for more. She appreciated that. "And you?" she asked. "I've always been here," he said. "Born in Iwo Road. Grew up in Agbowo. Thought I'd be a musician. Ended up a teacher." "Why the switch?" "Life," he said simply. "Sometimes your dream gets tired before you do." Adanna studied him for a moment. His voice carried a weight she couldn't place. A quiet ache. Before she could ask more, a child ran past them, chasing fireflies with a plastic cup. Dozens of tiny golden lights blinked across the yard, flickering between shrubs and chairs. "They still come out in Ibadan?" she whispered, surprised. "Only after rain," Tobi said. "Only when it's quiet enough to notice." A silence settled between them-thick with something unnamed. Then, softly, Adanna said, "I used to catch them in jars. As a child. I thought they held wishes." Tobi leaned back in his chair, eyes on the sky. "Maybe they still do." She looked at him then, really looked-and something in her chest tugged. Not loud. Not urgent. Just warm. Like the slow kind of flame that doesn't ask for attention but refuses to go out. Later That Night... Back at home, Mama Rose called out from her bedroom, "So... I saw you talking with Teacher Tobi." Adanna changed into her pajamas and replied through the door, "We were just talking." "Hmm," Mama Rose said. "That's how it starts." Adanna smiled quietly to herself, brushing her hair in the mirror. She didn't know what it was, not yet. But something had shifted tonight. Something had opened. And out there, in the soft Ibadan night, the fireflies still danced.