The Weight Of The Oceans.

Nothing remained the same after the soft goodbye waves Lanre gave Fife in the middle of the bustling Murtala Mohammed Airport. The waves slipped between the swarm of bodies that brushed past him hurriedly, each face carrying its own urgency, its own emotion. They came despite the map that had settled beneath his pits, damp and sticky. They came with proud smiles and silent prayers, the kind only a parent could summon.

As he waved, his eyes took in Fife. She was willowy, with mahogany skin that resembled his own. His eyes also took in the ambiance all around her, the energy buzzing like it was Christmas. Lanre imagined himself beside her, a hollow ache settling in his stomach. He desperately wished he too had been lucky, so he could feel the festive energy, even though it was only July.

From Ikorodu to the airport, she had tapped her lap at three-second intervals, a quiet ritual to summon calm. “I will make you proud, Daddy,” she had whispered repeatedly, as though the worry he desperately tried to hide glimmered regardless.

If only he had known then, he would have taken those repetitions to heart, tried to carve them into his thick veins. He would have lingered, capturing every detail of her being, as if he were a human camera. He would have embraced her tightly until she pushed him away.

But there was no use for the what-ifs anymore. The oceans and time had stolen the Fife he knew. The Fife he had watched that day, her bag slung lopsided, walking toward her gate. Both of them unaware of the tide about to pull them apart.