CHAPTER 17 – THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the LIVING WORD

We didn’t need to exchange words.

One look between us and we all jumped back into the car.

Morayo turned to the teenager again. “Please, where does Sister Bolade’s cousin or her Sister live?”

“Just after that yellow bungalow… dem dey live for the last compound with green gate,” he replied, pointing down a narrow path.
(“They live in the last compound with a green gate, just after the yellow bungalow.”)

We didn’t say thank you…we were already speeding off.

Time felt like it was sprinting ahead of us. Morayo’s hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I kept praying under my breath.

“God, please… let her have kept it there. Please.”

We pulled up in front of the compound, and just as the boy had said, the gate was green. I rushed down and knocked frantically.

An aged woman opened the door. Her eyes were red from crying.

” Good Morning ma” The woman greeted.

“Please… please we’re Sister Bolade’s family… we’re so sorry for your loss,” I said breathlessly.

“Family? My daughter and I are the only family she has in Lagos” She said and immediately we guessed she must be Bolade’s Cousin’s Mum- Making her Bolade’s Aunty.

” We are family ma! We are Mr Stephen Clarke’s daughters”

” I know…she has your pictures in the house” the woman said

Her lips trembled as she nodded. “Who could have killed my niece…this is a terrible thing…” She sobbed

“We… we need to ask something very important,” Setemi stepped forward, she didn’t have time to console the woman.

Morayo also was on the same page with her…

“Did Sister Bolade drop anything with you recently? Anything… maybe bags, boxes…?” Morayo asked

She looked at us suspiciously, as though weighing whether we were friends or enemies.

“She brought something yesterday,” she said slowly. “Two large black bags. She said it was old stuff from her patient’s house. She told us not to open it.”

“Please… can we see it?” I asked, barely able to hold the tears.

She turned and led us through a small corridor into the sitting room. In the corner, leaning against the wall, were two large black travelling bags.

I ran to them. My heart was pounding.

I unzipped the first.

And there it was.

“Ewa Omo Naija.”
“Night’s Serenity.”
“The Rich Man’s Folly.”
“Battered Hope.”

They were all there.

I broke down.

Tears flowed freely. Not just because of the paintings… but because even in death, Bolade had protected us. She may have made mistakes, but she had tried to make it right.

“She kept them safe…” I whispered.

Pamilerin fell to her knees in gratitude. “Thank You, Jesus.”

Morayo stood still, staring at the artwork with a strange look on her face.

“These aren’t just paintings,” she said. “They’re redemption. This is what Dad denied us when he was alive. But somehow, they came back to us.”

Setemi looked at the Elderly woman. “Please… can we take them? We promise to send someone to explain things to the police. But these are our only inheritance.”

The woman nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. “Take them. Bolade spoke a lot about you. Especially you…” she pointed at me. “She said you were the only one who still called your father.”

My knees buckled. I sat on the floor.

All my calls… all my tears… they were not wasted.

“Let’s go,” Morayo said, lifting one of the bags.

” We promise to take care of Sister Bolade’s Son. He is our brother. I assure you we will send him his portion”

We packed them into the boot of the car. This time, we didn’t drive with fear… we drove with a mix of grief and peace.

As we joined the main road, we each looked out the window, lost in thought.

Our father had tried to strip us of love, peace, and legacy.

But grace had clothed us in mercy.

We didn’t know what lay ahead. The Will was still pending. The accusations may still come.

But we had one thing now we had each other.

And we had something to fight with.

However, something was still unanswered …

” Who killed Sister Bolade for the paintings?”

To be continued…
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