Chapter 7

December arrived. The harmattan breeze carried the scent of dust and Christmas. The Mofolawe house was alive with visitors, music, and the familiar aroma of Mrs. Bisi's cooking.

By late afternoon, the compound had finally grown still.

Nicholas walked into the sitting room with his camera hanging from his shoulder.

"For once," Nicholas said, adjusting the camera, “I need everyone looking at me.”

"That's a lot to ask," Ire muttered.

“I heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Chief looked over his glasses.

“Why are we looking at you?”

Nicholas lifted the camera. “We're taking a family picture.”

A chorus of groans filled the room.

"Must we?" Derin asked.

“Yes.”

"Outside, everyone," Nicholas said.

The tree in the compound cast a wide shadow.

One by one, they found their places.

Chief stood in the middle.

Mrs. Bisi stood beside him.

Gbemi straightened Ire's collar.

“It was already straight.”

“It is now.”

Irawo smiled.

Nicholas adjusted the tripod before hurrying to stand beside Uncle Emmanuel.

He glanced at the timer. “We have ten seconds.”

Ire looked at him.

“You'd better run.”

“I know.”

He pressed the shutter.

“Nine...”

He hurried into place.

“Five...”

“Four...”

Chief shook his head, smiling.

“Two...”

"One." Click.

For a single moment. No one moved.

It wasn't the perfect moment. There were still dreams waiting to be fulfilled. Examinations to write. Projects to complete. Pages yet to be written.

There were empty spaces where memories still lingered. But there was also laughter and grace. Later that evening, Nicholas looked through the photographs on his camera. 

He stopped at one. Nobody was looking perfectly at the lens.

Ire was laughing. Chief's smile had arrived a second too late.

Gbemi was still adjusting her sleeve.

Mrs. Bisi looked like she had just remembered something in the kitchen.

Derin's smile was gentle.

Irawo looked peaceful. Uncle Emmanuel had one hand resting lightly on Chief's shoulder.

Nicholas smiled.

Irawo sat in the wooden chair at the veranda. She opened her notebook. The page remained blank for only a moment.

Then she wrote:

A house is not held together by walls.

It is held together by the people who choose, every day, to forgive, to laugh, to stay.

Perhaps that is what home has always been.

She closed the notebook.

From inside the house, Ire called her name. “Dinner!”

“I'm coming.”

Irawo smiled and walked inside, closing the door behind her.

The laughter that greeted her sounded familiar.

It sounded like home.

The End.