Before Goodbye
The closer my final paper came, the faster the days seemed to disappear.
Perhaps that was why I began to notice the house differently.
When I first arrived, everything had felt temporary.
The enormous sitting room with its cream sofas and dark wooden centre table. The framed photographs arranged along the hallway. The faint scent of oud and turaren wuta that seemed permanently embedded in the curtains. The polished marble floors that were always cold beneath my feet in the mornings.
Even the staircase had initially felt unfamiliar. Now, I could walk down it half-asleep.
I knew which cupboard contained the tea, which tap in the kitchen took longer to produce hot water.
I knew that Hanan would cry if anyone touched her favourite pink cup, that Jalal would deny eating something even when there was evidence on his lips and Amrah could spend an entire afternoon on the phone discussing somebody else's business and still insist she was not a nosy person.
And I knew that Mummy would shout at everyone in the house before noon and then make sure everybody had eaten before she went to bed.It was strange.
I had only been there for a few weeks.
Yet somehow, leaving had started to feel like a loss.
---
“Se’ad!”
I looked up from my book.Amrah stood at the bedroom door.
“What?”
“Come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Mummy wants you.”
I closed my notebook.
“What’s wrong ?”
“How would I know?”
“You're the one who came.”
“And?”
“You usually know everything.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Just come.”
Mummy was standing beside the dining table with a phone pressed against her ear.
When she saw me, she smiled and gestured for me to sit.
After a few minutes, she ended the call “Your family will be coming back soon.”
My face brightened.
“ Really?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After they finish everything.”
I nodded.
Of course.
Hajj was not something that could be rushed.
Mama had explained everything to me before they left—the days they would spend in Makkah, the visits they intended to make, the rituals they would perform. Still, knowing they would soon be back made something inside me loosen.
I hadn't realised how much I had been waiting for that moment. Mummy noticed my expression.
“You miss them badly.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Especially your little brother.”
“Especially Bibi.”
She laughed.
“I knew it.”
“I haven't seen him in weeks.”
“He'll probably be taller when you return.”
“He's seven.”
“And?”
“He cannot grow that much.”
Mummy laughed.
“You'll see.”
I smiled.
Then she touched my shoulder.
“Don't worry. You'll go home soon.”
I nodded.
But for some reason, I felt a small ache in my chest Soon.
The word had suddenly become frightening.
---
That evening, rain fell heavily over Lagos.It started without warning. One moment the sky was clear; the next, the windows were trembling beneath the force of the storm.
The power went out shortly afterward. Hanan screamed annoyed “NEPA!”
Jalal laughed.
Mummy shouted from the kitchen,
“Don't blame NEPA for everything!”
“It is NEPA!”
“Jalal!”
I laughed.
Amrah came into the sitting room carrying candles.
“Everybody calm down.”
“You're scared too,” I teased.
“I'm not.”Another thunderclap sounded.
She jumped. making us sll burst into laughter.
“Shut up!”
“You're scared!”
“I'm not.”
“You literally jumped.”
“I moved.”
“Same thing.”
She threw a cushion at me.
I caught it.
For the next hour, we sat together in the dimly lit room, talking about absolutely nothing. It was one of those evenings that seemed insignificant while you were living through it.
Mummy had abandoned her scarf and was sitting comfortably with her hair covered loosely. Hanan was lying across the sofa.
Jalal was playing with his phone.
Amrah was telling me some ridiculous story about one of her friends.And then Ridhwan walked downstairs.
He stopped at the edge of the room.
“Why is it dark?”
Amrah answered immediately.
“Because the sun went to sleep.” avoiding the eye warning he gave She smiled innocently.
“Power outage.”
“I figured.”
He walked toward the sofa.
“Where's the torch?”
Mummy pointed toward the cabinet.
“Inside.”
He opened it.
“It's not here.”
“Check properly.”
“I am checking.”
“Then check better.”
Their little exchanges were almost comical.
Eventually, he found the torch.
The beam of light swept across the room.
It landed briefly on my face. My hands instantly covered my face
“ Sorry.”
“It's fine.”
He moved the torch away.Then sat in one of the armchairs.
For a while, he said nothing.Neither did I.
The conversation continued around us.It was almost easy to forget he was there.
Until Mummy suddenly said,
“Ridhwan, when are you returning to Gombe?”My attention shifted.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You have to go back for school.”
“Yes.”
“What about your exams?”
“Not yet.”
Mummy nodded.
Then she looked at me.
“Se’ad will soon leave too.”
I smiled faintly.
“Hmm.”
Amrah looked between us.Then looked away.Nothing happened.No meaningful glance.No secret understanding.
Just two people who happened to be leaving the same house at different times.
At least, that's what it was. For now.
---
Two days later, I wrote another paper.
When I returned home, Mummy was waiting for me at the gate.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Come inside.”
I dropped my bag.
“I have one more.”
“Just one?”
“One.”
She smiled.
“Alhamdulillah.”
“Amin.”
“Then you're free.”
I smiled.
“Finally.”
She pulled me into a brief hug.
“I'm proud of you.”
Something about those words made me unexpectedly emotional.Maybe because Mama wasn't there to say them.
Maybe because I had been trying so hard to remain strong and independent, or because hearing it from someone else reminded me that I was still somebody's daughter, even while my family was thousands of kilometres away.
“Thank you, Mummy.”
She kissed my forehead.
“Now go and rest.”
---
That night, I called Mama.
The signal wasn't particularly good.
Her face froze every few seconds.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes!”
“I can't hear you.”
“Mama!”
The call disconnected.
I laughed.
I called again.
This time Abba answered.
He was wearing his ihram.
For a moment, I simply stared.
“Abba.”
“Yes?”
“You look tired.”
He smiled.
“Alhamdulillah.”
Behind him, the atmosphere was crowded and noisy. People moved around in the background.I knew they were still in Makkah.
“Where's Mama?”
“She went to pray.”
“Oh.”
He looked at me carefully.
“How many papers left?” I replied “One.”
”There was a brief silence.Then Abba said,
“Se’ad, Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“And listen to Mummy.”
I laughed.
“I do.”
“I know you.”
For all his seriousness, there was warmth in his voice.
The kind that he rarely displayed directly.
The call ended. My eyes stared at the blank screen for a few seconds.Then placed the phone beside me.
I didn't know it then, but that conversation would become one of the memories I would return to much later.
When home no longer felt as simple as it once had.
---
My final examination arrived sooner than I expected.
That morning, I stood before the mirror for several minutes.
I was nervous, Excited.And strangely sad.
Then looked around my room. My room.
I corrected myself. Not mine. The room that i stayed That distinction suddenly mattered.The clothes in the wardrobe would return to my suitcase.
The books would go back into my bag, toiletries on the dresser would disappear.
The room would belong to somebody else again.
I sighed.
Then smiled at myself.
“Enough.”
I walked downstairs.
Mummy was waiting.
She hugged me.
“Allah ya taimake ki.”
“Amin.”
“Go and finish it.”
I laughed.
“I will.”
Outside, the black Mercedes was waiting.
But when I reached it, I noticed Ridhwan wasn't driving.
One of the family's drivers was behind the wheel.For some reason, I felt disappointed.
The feeling lasted only a second.Then I got into the car.
I had an examination to write.That was all.
---
When I walked out of the examination hall several hours later, I stood beneath the afternoon sun and took a deep breath.
The driver was waiting.I walked toward the car.
As we drove home, Lagos seemed strangely beautiful.
Maybe because I wasn't rushing toward another examination or because I knew I would soon leave.
I looked through the window at the familiar road The city that had been home for thirteen years.
And for the first time, I wondered what it would feel like to leave it.
Gombe was waiting.University was waiting.
A completely different life was waiting.
I just didn't know yet that somewhere in that future was a boy I had once known only as the quiet son of a family friend.
A boy whose name would eventually become impossible for me to hear without feeling something.
But that was a story for another year.
For now, I was simply going home.