Familiar Stranger
#
I stared at the last message for longer than necessary.
“Welcome to Gombe, Se’ad.”
There was nothing extraordinary about the words. It was simply a welcome.
Yet I found myself wondering why he had bothered to send it at all. We hadn't spoken in nearly a year.
Not once.
There had been no birthday message, no random check-in, no accidental phone call, nothing that suggested either of us had any reason to remain in the other's life.
And now, on my second week at Gombe State University, he had suddenly appeared in my messages as though the distance between Lagos and Gombe had never existed.
I typed a reply. Deleted it.Typed another.
Deleted that too.Eventually, I settled for:
“Thank you.”
His reply came a few minutes later.
“How is school?” my expression softened”” “Stressful.”
“You've barely started.” he sent another reply
“How do you know?”
“I know you.”I stared at the screen.That sentence was simple enough. Still, something about it made me pause.
I know you.
Did he?
Perhaps he did. He had known me before university, before Pharmacology, before Gombe had become my second home.
But that had been a different version of me.
A girl who was still in secondary school.
A girl who spent most of her time worrying about examinations and whether her mother would be angry if she forgot to call.
I wasn't sure he could still say he knew me.
So I replied:
“That was a long time ago.” There was no immediate response. my mind began having different thoughts just then, A minute later, it vibrated. “Not that long.”Almost a year.”
Exactly. Almost.
I shook my head.There was something strangely easy about talking to him. Not intimate.Not yet.
Just familiar. Like finding an old book on a shelf and remembering exactly where you had stopped reading.
---
The next morning, I told Hauwa.Not everything.
Just enough.
“Ya Ridhwan messaged me.”
She stopped arranging her books.
“Ridhwan?”
“Yes.”
“Ya Ridhwan?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He saw me.”
“Where?”
“Not physically.”
She frowned.
“Then how did he see you?”
I laughed.
“He heard from Mummy that we're here.”
She stared at me.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're looking at me strangely.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You are.”
She returned to her books.
“So what did he say?”
“He welcomed me.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do you keep saying nothing?”
“Because it's nothing.”
I knew that tone.
Hauwa was already thinking.
She simply wasn't ready to tell me what she was thinking.
I ignored her.
---
University quickly became a world of its own.
There were lectures that seemed determined to drain every ounce of energy from me.Practical sessions, Assignments, Registration issues.
Lecturers who spoke as though every student had been born with a textbook in their head.
And then there was the constant struggle of finding somewhere quiet enough to read.
Some days, I loved it. Other days, I wondered why I had ever chosen Pharmacology.
But whenever I complained, Mama reminded me of how badly I had wanted it.
“You chose it yourself,” she'd say.
“Yes.”
“So endure it.”
That was Mama's version of encouragement.
Hauwa's was worse.
“If you fail, don't come and cry in my room.”
“You're supposed to encourage me.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“By threatening you.”
I laughed.
---
Ridhwan didn't message every day. That was something I appreciated.There was no sudden attempt to force a friendship that no longer existed naturally.
Sometimes we spoke after several days, Sometimes the conversation lasted five minutes. Other times, it somehow stretched into an hour.
He asked about my classes. We talked about Medicine, hospital postings, lecturers.
That was all. There was no flirtation.
At least not openly.
Yet there were moments when I caught myself waiting for his messages.
I disliked that. So I tried not to.
---
One evening, after Maghrib, my phone rang.
His name appeared on the screen.
I stared at it. A call? Why was he calling?
The phone ring twice before answering.
“Hello?”
“Assalamu alaikum.” His voice sounded different through the phone.Lower, Closer.
“Wa alaikumussalam.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“How was your day?”
“Tiring.”
“Why?”
“Lecture.”
“Only lecture?”
“And assignment.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
He laughed softly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“You sound exactly the same.”
I smiled.
“And you sound different.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Older?”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
There was a brief silence. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to end the call.
Then he asked, “Are you settling in?”
“I'm trying.”
“Do you like Gombe?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I haven't decided yet.”
“What's there to decide?”
“Everything.”
He laughed.
I smiled.
Then he said,
“You'll get used to it.”
“Maybe.”
That answer came so naturally that I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.He didn't press.
The silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Just quiet.
Then—
“Se’ad.”
“Hm?”
“Do you remember the Turaki house?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
“ And Mummy?”
“She misses you.”
My expression softened.
“I miss her too.”
There was another pause. Then I heard him say,
“Everyone does.”
I didn't know why that sentence stayed with me after the call ended.
Perhaps because it was the first time I realized that I had not been forgotten.
Not completely.
---
A few days later, Mummy called.
The moment I answered, I heard Hanan shouting in the background.
“SE'AD!”
“Hello, Hanan.” my voice almost cracking because i was emotional
“You're in Gombe!”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought Mummy told you.”
“She didn't.” Mummy shouted from somewhere behind her,
“I told you!”
“No!”
The conversation quickly became chaotic.
Jalal joined. Then Amrah.
Then Mummy took the phone away from everyone.
“How is school?”
“Fine.”
“Are you eating?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Don't lie.”
I laughed.
“I am.”
She sighed.
“When are you coming to see me?”
“Soon, Insha Allah.”
“You'd better.”
I smiled.
Then someone spoke in the background.
“Let me talk to her.”
I knew that voice.
I didn't react.
Mummy passed the phone.
“Assalamu alaikum.”
“Wa alaikumussalam.”
“School?”
“Good.”
“Settling?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
A brief silence followed.
Then he said,
“You sound tired.”
“I am.”
“Then rest.”
“I will.”
“Okay.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
That was it.
Nothing else.
No teasing.
No unnecessary conversation.
Yet I smiled.
I hated that I smiled.
---
The following Saturday, Hauwa came into my room wearing a black abaya and holding her car keys.
“Get dressed.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“We're going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Turaki house.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“Mummy is in Gombe.”My heart skipped.I replied almost immediately “She is?” “ Yes.”
“When did she arrive?”
“Yesterday.”
“And you're just telling me?”
“You've been busy.”
I stood immediately.
“Wait.”
Hauwa laughed.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“You're suddenly energetic.”
“I miss Mummy.”
“Hmm.”
“And Hanan.”
“Hmm.”
“And Amrah.”
“Hmm.” my eyes fixed on her trying to give a don’t you dare look
“What?”
She smiled.
“Nothing.”
“Don't start
We left The Turaki’s shortly afterward.
As we drove through Gombe, I watched the familiar landscape pass by. The dry heat.
The dusty roads
There was something comforting about the city.
It wasn't Lagos. It didn't pretend to be.
It had its own rhythm,quietness and memories waiting for me.
When we finally turned into the Turaki compound, I felt a strange flutter of anticipation.
The gate opened.
The house appeared beyond it. The same cream walls.
The same manicured garden.The same wide driveway.
But somehow, it looked smaller than I remembered.
Maybe I had simply changed.
Hauwa parked.
Before we could even reach the door, it flew open.
“SE'AD!”
Hanan came running.
I barely had time to bend before she wrapped herself around me
“Hanan!”
“You came!”
“Yes.”
“I told Mummy you would!”
I hugged her tightly.
Behind her stood Mummy.
She smiled.
“My daughter.”
I walked into her arms.
“Mummy.”
She held me for several seconds.
“You've lost weight.”
I laughed.
“Everyone says that.”
“Then everyone is correct.”
Hauwa entered behind me.
Mummy immediately turned.
“Ah, Hauwa.”
“Hello, Mummy.”
“Come here.”
Hauwa smiled and hugged her.
The house filled with familiar voices almost immediately.
Jalal came downstairs.
Amrah followed.
Questions came from every direction.
How was school?
How were the lecturers?
Was Gombe treating us well?
Had we made friends?
Were we eating?
Were we sleeping?
The room became noisy.
Comfortably noisy.
I smiled.
I hadn't realized how much I had missed this.
Then, sometime in the middle of the conversation, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
I didn't look immediately.
There was no reason to.
Then Mummy called,
“Ridhwan.”
I looked up.
He had just reached the bottom of the staircase.
For a moment, his eyes moved across the room.
Then they settled on me.
There was a flicker of recognition.
A small smile.
“Se’ad.”
I smiled back.
“Ya Ridhwan.”
And somehow, after almost a year of silence, the distance between Lagos and that house disappeared in the simplest possible way.
A greeting.
A smile.
Nothing more.