Child Of The Sun.

o.1

The bus arrived really late. To be exact, ten minutes late. I forced my way into the bus as other passengers rushed in. The bus was filled with people coming from different places from the night before.

Some, from the airport, school, and a party. I didn't understand their lifestyle. Maybe because I was different. I hadn't grown up here.
I was from the southeastern part of Nigeria. I lived in Lagos, the mega city with my parents and my brother,Nomso.
Those days were the worst. I remember attending mass everyday at St. Patricks. The women from the Christian mothers organization who often asked for money from Mr.Ezenwa, the senator who attended our church. He gave the children who cleaned the church after mass crisp 100 naira notes and always said,

" my children, make sure you show your parents."

Our priest was a young man from Ghana. He was the priest everyone referred to as, 'that priest from Ghana' or ' that dark priest '. He had a really dark skin and a set of white teeth.

I liked Christmas at home. New bags of mama gold rice, the smell of fried chicken and Christmas mass at st. Patrick's.

My mother and I would often stand in the kitchen, cutting vegetables while listening to her Christmas Carol CD's that my aunt sent from London. We would make two pots of jollof rice which was enough to last us the entire Christmas.
Nomso killed the chicken with my father outside. Along with the other neighbors who'd bring their knives and buckets of hot water. After slaughtering the chicken, I remember the stale smell of chicken blood and our stained concrete which I had to scrub immediately to get the bloody stains off.

We were the only family who didn't get new clothes for Christmas. But we were very happy . We ate afterwards, and bought soft drinks from our street kiosk. Mohammed the kiosk owner was always willing to give us free drinks.

The memories of my school back in Lagos left me feeling empty. Like a deep hole had just formed in my heart. I felt like I was no longer the shy igbo girl with a lowcut who attended the strict catholic school. I didn't feel the same.
All I felt was a feeling of betrayal.
Like I had left a life I once owned and loved in exchange for the life I was living in this strange country.

A country that didn't seem like what people talked about. The image people had made of it. They called it ' a place of no suffering'

I stared at the window and watch as the cars sped. The trees we sped past as they disappeared into the opposite direction.

My thoughts were interrupted by the cry of a baby. I turned to look at my neighbor.

She was an Asian woman. With tiny eyes and long lashes. She was beautiful and had a creamy skin like the inside of an almond. She had a baby on her lap that
she rocked back and forth.

She looked up at me and muttered a little "hi"
Before turning back to look at the baby boy to adjust him on her lap.
Thick locks of black hair fell across her face and I felt uncomfortable and suddenly felt the need to reach out and brush the hair away.

She looked up at me again.

"I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable. But, my son just started teething and he gets like this sometimes."
She smiled before looking at son again.

I smiled at her and wondered how the american talked quickly while ignoring the 'r' and 't' in their sentences.

I noticed her English was quite good and her accent was nice.

"Its okay. I don't feel uncomfortable."

I smiled at her.

"I'm Maya. And this is my son kian. Are you African? You look african"
She still had a smile on her face and I felt pleased with the way she said 'African'.