CHAPTER 16 – THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the LIVING WORD.

We stood frozen, staring at the lifeless body of the woman we had just trusted with our greatest treasure.

My legs could barely hold me up.

“No… No, this can’t be happening,” I muttered, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

Morayo took a sharp breath, wiped her face, and without waiting, marched straight into Bolade’s house.

“Come! Help me check everywhere!” she shouted.

Pamilerin and I ran after her. Setemi was the last to move, hesitant but driven by desperate hope.

We tore through the small house. First the parlor, then the bedroom. We threw open cupboards, checked under the chairs, behind the curtains, and under the bed.

Nothing.

Not even a single painting.

Setemi flipped the mattress in frustration. “She didn’t bring it here?!”

“Or someone already took it,” Pamilerin whispered, her voice laced with fear.

Just then, one of the neighbors…a woman who was also part of the pity party stood by the door and called out.

“Who una be?” (Who are you people?)

Morayo didn’t answer immediately. She was still pulling at a drawer, praying it would reveal a miracle.

“Madam,” I turned to the woman, my voice shaking, “We’re her people. She was keeping something for us. That’s why we’re here.”

The woman raised her brows and stepped back slowly. Others had started to gather, whispering.

“I hear say na people wey give her something come back for am. The thing dey important well well,” another neighbor muttered.
(I heard it was the people who gave her something that came back for it. That thing must be very important.)

Our ears burned with the stares and murmurs.

“We need to go,” Pamilerin said urgently. “They’re already thinking we know what killed her.”

We filed out, heads bowed. The moment we stepped outside, I felt my feet become heavier. The air was thick with suspicion. Eyes watching our every move.

“E never reach make police reach here ” ( Isn’t it about time the Police arrived?)

At the mention of the Police, my Sisters and I hastened our footsteps…

As we climbed into the car, tears ran freely down my cheeks.

“I trusted her,” I whispered. “God, I trusted her…”

Just then, as we were about to drive off in Morayo’s Car; (We had decided to keep the other two cars at the motel) We saw a woman sprinting down the street, holding a little boy in her arms. She was crying, breathless, shouting Bolade’s name.

Morayo squinted.

“Wait… that boy…”

She slammed the brakes.

“That boy looks like Daddy!”

We all turned sharply.

“Are you sure?” Setemi asked.

“I know what I’m saying. That’s his face!” Morayo said, already jumping out of the car.

She stopped a teenager nearby.

“Hey! Who be that woman?”
(Who is that woman?)

“Na Sister Bolade sister. She dey stay for the next street. Na she dey help Bolade take care of her pikin.”
(That’s Sister Bolade’s cousin. She lives on the next street. She’s the one who helps Bolade take care of her son.)

My heart dropped.

“So the boy slept there last night?” Pamilerin asked, hope rising in her voice.

“Yes now! Na that wetin save that boy be that. If to say he dey house yesterday night, na two people dem for kill.”
(Yes! That was the boy’s saving grace. If he had slept at home, they would have killed both of them.)

The word kill shook us.

“Who killed her?” Setemi asked the boy.

“Dem say na men wey come around 2am. Dem just dey shout ‘Where is it? Where is it?’ But Sister Bolade just dey shout give them ‘I no get am! I no get am!’”
(They said it was some men who came around 2am. They kept shouting ‘Where is it?’ but Sister Bolade kept saying, ‘I don’t have it!’)

That sealed it.

It was the paintings.

They had killed her for it.

Suddenly, we heard the shrill sound of a siren. A police van drove down the street, heading towards the crowd. People began calling the officers over.

“Let’s go!” Pamilerin panicked.

“They’ll question us…our car is still parked here!” Setemi added, wiping her face.

“We’ll become suspects,” I said, trying to hide the quiver in my voice. “They’ll think we came to finish what we started.”

Morayo didn’t move. She was staring intensely at the boy in the woman’s arms.

“If she kept the boy there last night,” she said slowly, “what if she kept the paintings there too?”

We went dead silent.

The idea hovered like a fragile flame in the wind.

“Do you think she did?” I asked.

“She was smart enough to hide the boy,” Morayo replied, eyes still on Bolade’s Sister/Cousin. “She may have been smart enough to hide the paintings too.”

Hope stirred again.

But now, the question was…

Do we ask the bereaved Sister/Cousin?

Or do we go to her house and search while she was away?

Or just leave this place and go back to our lives?

Or….? ( What’s your suggestion?)

To be continued…
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