I TRY NOT to think of him. But when I do, I hear the tides. Baba was with me the first time I heard them. The first time I felt them. They called out to me like a lullaby, leading us away from the forest path and toward the sea. The ocean breeze ruffled the loose coils in my hair. Rays of sun spilled through the thinning leaves. I didn’t know what we would find. What strange wonder that lullaby would hold. I just knew I had to get to it. It was like the tides held a missing piece of my soul.
When we finally saw it, my small hand slipped out of Baba’s. My mouth fell open with awe. There was magic in that water. The first magic I’d felt since the king’s men killed Mama. “Zélie rọra o,” Baba called as I drifted toward the tides. I flinched when the seafoam washed over my toes. The lakes in Ibadan were always so cold. But that water was warm like the smell of Mama’s rice. As warm as the glow of her smile. Baba followed me in and lifted his head to the sky. It was like he could taste the sun. In that moment he grabbed my hand; laced his bandaged fingers between mine and stared into my eyes. It was then that I knew, even if Mama was gone, we still had each other.
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