02 • Ifemide

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A warm breeze caressed my face as I stepped out of the plane, the humid Nigerian air enveloping me like a damp hug

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A warm breeze caressed my face as I stepped out of the plane, the humid Nigerian air enveloping me like a damp hug. The feeling, the ambient, truly, no place feels like home.

Two years had passed since I last set foot in this land, two years since I left without a word, chasing a dream that wasn't mine. My heart raced as I made my way through the airport, Omar, my cousin beside me dragging his suitcase along.

The familiar sounds and smells stirring up a mix of emotions within me. I had promised myself I'd return, and now that I had, I couldn't shake off the feeling of uncertainty.

As we settled into the cab, my phone buzzed to life, my dad's name flashing on the screen. I hesitated for a moment before answering, knowing the conversation that awaited me.

"You are really going to do this right now? Ehn? Ife!!! After everything I did to make you get here! You are just going to retire like that?!!!" My dad's voice boomed through the phone, his anger and disappointment palpable.

I winced, moving the phone away from my ear to ease the noise. "Dad, I—"

"No, Ifemide! You listen to me! You're throwing away your career, your future! You're a basketball player, for crying out loud! You have a gift, and you're just going to waste it?"

Even though the phone wasn't on loudspeaker, from how loud my dad is yelling, Omar seems to be hearing the conversation and he gave me the—I told you—look.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the unsettling storm brewing inside me. "Dad, I told you, I made a promise to myself to come back if I won twenty games in a row within a year. I won thirty, and it's been more than two years, I'm keeping my promise."

There was a pause, and for a moment, I thought the line had gone dead. Then, my dad's voice came through, laced with venom. "You're doing this for what reason Ife? Dà mi lóhùn!!"

I winced slightly hearing him speaking the native, he has lived abroad almost all his life, I barely heard him speaks in Yoruba, his motherland language again.

"It's her, right? You are doing this for her, aren't you? That girl, Ike or what's her name? She's the reason you're throwing away your life. You won't stop talking about her even when you were here!"

My heart skipped a beat as I thought of Ike, my best friend, the one person who had been my rock, my confidante. Yet I ruined what's between us by leaving without a word. I hadn't seen her in two years, 9 months and 6 days, and the thought of her was one of the reasons that had driven me to return.

But I'm never going to admit that to him.

"Dad, it's not just about her. It's about me, about what I want. Being a basketball player isn't my dream; it's yours. And we both know that."

And that was the truth too. My dad being a Coach to the basketball junior team player in Italy. His one major dream is training his only son into being a world known basketball player. Someone he can showcase to the world and be proud of. But that is his dream not mine.

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⏰ Last updated: Aug 25 ⏰

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