Sometime in May

3. A Wrinkle in Time

In the morning, Noor shifted under her blanket. The dream returned: choppy waves, salt stinging her eyes; shadows shifting beneath the water. Beyond the tide's roar, voices called her name. She kicked and thrashed but couldn't move, her ankles caught on something unseen. When she gasped, her lungs filled with silence. Her eyes blinked open. She sat up, her breath unsteady. The dreams always arrived uninvited. She stared at the ceiling. The ache had found her again.

• • •

Past noon, the fan stopped mid-spin. When someone called out "NEPA," Noor stepped outside. The building was scorching. Laundry lines hung from the windows and backyards featured satellite dishes with antennas. Noor bypassed the clusters of tenants who prowled the courtyard and stepped onto the street full of hand-painted signs. The Indomie shop she stopped at was small and cramped, its wooden benches leaning away from her, as if wary of her olive skin and brittle voice. While she ate, she caught a few curious looks that were averted as soon as she noticed. The men said something in Hausa, then laughed.

On her way back upstairs, Noor saw a familiar figure crossing the street. Ayo was struggling with two heavy plastic jerry cans, one in each hand. Noor watched for a moment, then hurried back downstairs.

"Hey, how are you?" Noor asked, catching up to her.

"Good. You?" Ayo adjusted her grip, her arms trembling.

"Pretty good." Noor reached for one of the jerry cans. "Need help?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Ayo said, relieved, as they each took a can and carried them to the backyard. Ayo dusted herself off as they set the cans down.

"You should come over," she said. "I want to introduce you to my mother."

• • •

Once Noor had finished dressing, she happily met Ayo outside her door and they walked together, smiling. The hallway smelled faintly of cooking and detergent, with a dozen doors leading to rooms that seemed like glimpses into miniature lives she would only ever see in passing.

By the door of flat A26, a sharp, spicy aroma filled the air. Noor followed Ayo deeper into the flat, past walls that felt close and lived-in, until they reached the living room. There, tucked into a corner, Ms Fisayo sat hunched over a mountain of paperwork. She looked young—perhaps mid or late thirties, with silver strands softening her tightly coiled hair—though her photochromic spectacles were slipping down her nose as she drifted on the edge of sleep.

Ayo cleared her throat. "Mummy, this is Noor."

"Hello," Ms Fisayo said her name, mispronouncing it as 'Nor' without realising. Noor smiled and didn't correct her. Ms Fisayo blinked, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. "Welcome. How are you, dear?"

"I'm okay, thank you."

Ms Fisayo patted the cushion. "Come and sit down."

Noor eased closer, then sat on the sofa. Ms Fisayo turned towards the kitchen.

"Ayo, bring our guest something to drink, please."

"Okay, Mummy."

Ayo went to the kitchen, the faucet running briefly before she returned and handed Noor a bottle of Ribena and a meat pie.

"Thank you."

It wasn't like her mother's tagine, but it was pleasing.

Ms Fisayo adjusted her spectacles and looked at Noor.