Chapter 4

The following afternoon, the house settled into a familiar quiet. Chief had gone to his study. Mrs Bisi and Uncle Emmanuel sat in the living room watching television.

Ire's laughter drifted from upstairs, followed by Gbemi's voice telling her to keep it down.

Uncle Emmanuel smiled to himself. His eyes wandered across the sitting room.

"Where's Irawo?" he asked.

Mrs. Bisi turned to look at him "Outside."

"The veranda?" She nodded.

“That's where she usually is this time of day.”

Irawo sat in the old wooden chair at the far end of the veranda.

A notebook rested on her lap. She had written only one sentence. She read it again. Then crossed it out.

"Writer's block?"

She looked up.

Uncle Emmanuel stood by the doorway.

She smiled. "Maybe"

"Mind if I sit?"

She moved her notebook. “Please.”

He settled into the chair beside her.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The breeze carried the scent of rain.

"You know," Uncle Emmanuel said, "your father tells me you're always writing." Irawo smiled shyly. 

"He exaggerates."

"Does he?"

"A little."

He chuckled. “So... what do you write?”

She looked down at the notebook.

"Whatever comes to mind."

"Stories."

"Sometimes."

"Poems."

She nodded.

"Mostly poems."

“Hmm.”

He looked ahead.

"Your mother used to write prayers."

Irawo turned to him.

"I didn't know that."

"She never showed them to many people."

A gentle smile crossed his face.

“But she wrote them anyway.”

Silence settled between them.

"I think..." Irawo began slowly, "...I'm afraid my words won't matter." Uncle Emmanuel didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he picked up the notebook resting on her lap.

He didn't open it.

He simply handed it back to her.

"If God gives someone a seed," he said quietly, "He doesn't ask whether the tree will be famous."

He looked at her. "He simply asks them to plant it."

Irawo stared at the notebook in her hands. Then she smiled.

"I'll keep writing."

“I hope you do.”

"Thank you."

"What for?"

She smiled. "I'm not sure yet."

He laughed softly. “I think that's my favourite kind of thank you.”

By evening, the dining table was ready. Mrs. Bisi placed the final bowl in the centre.

“Everyone!”

Footsteps echoed through the house.

One after another, they gathered around the table. Chief looked around at the faces before him.

"It feels good having everyone together."

"It does," Mrs. Bisi agreed. “Especially now that some people no longer sneak food before dinner.”

Every eye turned to Ire.

She blinked innocently. “Why is everyone looking at me?”

Derin folded her arms and said "Search your heart."

A grin spread across Ire's face.

"My heart says I'm innocent."

"It also said the chicken was 'quality control,'" Gbemi reminded her.

Laughter filled the room. Irawo looked around the table.

She didn't say anything. She simply reached for her glass of water.

The notebook she had carried all afternoon rested quietly on the empty chair beside her. Tomorrow, she thought. I'll write tomorrow.

Outside, the evening breeze stirred the mango leaves.

Inside, the laughter continued.