Not The Man She Waited For

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Emeka came home on Thursday.

It was like a secret; nobody knew he was coming back, so there was nobody at the junction to welcome him. Just a dusty taxi dropping him at the junction like he was just coming back from the day job.

He had his army bag hanging on one shoulder, almost worn out and out of colour. He alighted gently, looking at the road that used to be familiar, but now looked so different.

He took a deep breath before walking his way down the road.

He couldn't help but notice how the mango trees in the square had grown taller. And the community well was now replaced by a borehole. He walked past children, laughing at a mate who was covered in mud, he didn't bother to look at them twice. The faces all felt new apart from a few older faces who recognised him, paused, and gave small nods.

The village had developed a lot. That was life moving on without waiting for anyone. Unlike other communities, the war had somehow managed to stay far away from this place, and life had simply gone on. In fact, it progressed.

Except for Adaeze. She was still living in the past.

She was standing by her father's gate when he turned into the street, a bucket of water balanced on her head. She saw him and froze. For a second, it felt like time was fighting itself to move on.

Slowly, she lowered the bucket on her head and walked toward him gently as if to be sure she wasn't seeing a ghost.

“It's you! You’re here!” she finally said, holding his face in both hands, studying him like she was checking if he was still real.

He nodded. His face was without emotion. “I’m here.”

She pulled him into a warm long embrace, tight and sure. He closed his eyes, waiting for something to rise inside him. Maybe relief or even warmth. Something to prove to him how much he had missed home. But he was blank like the pages of an empty book.

He pulled away and watched as she stared him in the eye and all over his body.

He already knew what she was looking for. Signs of the war. But there was nothing, no injury. No scar. No visible damage. He didn't fight on the battlefield but was more behind the screens. The only damage was within and Emeka could feel it. Even when he met his mother. Who kept whispering prayers of thanks. Asking if he was okay.

"I'm fine Mama." He lied. Something was gone. He could feel it. That empty echo feeling when you're in an empty room. Too quiet. Too cold. Stemming from the things he had seen. Not just the loud ones people talk about. Not just gunshots or explosions. It was from seeing underage boys in a uniform that didn’t fit. Seeing the destruction of innocent villages that looked too much like home. Orders given without proper thinking. And the silence after.

That silence, it followed him back.

Sleeping and waking with him. It made even laughter feel alien to him.

Adaeze noticed. Mama did too.

They always did. But I didn't ask too many questions.

Especially Adaeze. That was her way. Instead, she cooked his favourite meals. Sat beside him in the evenings. I talked about small things, trying so much to fill the gaps.

She watched him carefully. Searching for her husband, who had left for the war years ago, for a different man who had returned to her.

He watched her too. Wishing he could vibe his former self again. And sometimes, he felt something close to love for her again. But it vanished faster than the speed of light. The longer he tried to reach for it, the further it went away.

That was when he knew. He might never be fixed.

He watched her stay, even with the hurt. He felt he was punishing her.

One Sunday evening, Adaeze had made pepper soup, the kind he used to like. She had served him like a wife does sitting beside him as they ate from one bowl, when he said.

“I’m leaving,”

She paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Leaving? Where?”

“Lagos. There's security work there. There’s nothing here for me”

She didn’t look convinced. “There’s nothing here for a man like you?” she asked, her eyes glued to his face.

He avoided her gaze and didn’t answer.

“Emeka,” she called him quietly, “Talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

She shook her head slowly. “You do. We do. I’ve been watching you. You’re not home yet, even when you’re sitting right in front of me.”

“Then stop watching,” he said, his words coming out sharper than he meant. They landed heavily.

“I can’t be what you need. They war, it made me different."

Silence filled the space between them.

Adaeze held back her tears. She just looked at him again, carefully this time like she was searching for him one last time. Then she nodded. “Okay,” she sniffed. "I should have known earlier."

Two days later. He left for the city. Without a goodbye. Without Adaeze or Mama walking him to the park.

He was filled with guilt. What would she think of him? What would Mama say?

That he had changed. That he had become selfish. That he had stopped loving them.

He battled his thoughts. But settled with the fact that leaving was better than punishing Adaeze. He wanted to love her, but he was different now, and no matter how he tried, he ended up hurting her more.

He looked out the window. The heavens were pocketing the sun. It looked so beautiful.