‎PART 2: ONE CALL. ONE MISTAKE. A LESSON TOLA WILL NEVER FORGET

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lagos. The local time is 3:15 p.m. Please remain seated with your seat belts fastened until the aircraft comes to a complete stop and the seat belt sign has been switched off. On behalf of the crew, thank you for flying with us," the pilot announced.‎The plane descended slowly toward the runway. Tola sat between his parents. He peered through the window and his eyes met rows of rusty zinc lined endlessly below.‎His brow furrowed. He had never seen anything like that before.‎The planed touched the ground. It rolled along the runway before it finally came to stop. ‎The passengers stood, collected their belongings and filed out of the cabins ‎The moment they stepped out, the blazing sun welcomed them.‎Tola was the first to complain about the sun. ‎Sweat gathered on his forehead and he wiped it with his handkerchief.‎"Dad, Nigeria's weather is harsh," he lamented.‎Tola's father and Clara exchanged an amusing look, before they smiled‎"Welcome to Nigeria."‎The driver was already waiting for them outside the arrival terminal.‎The dual-lane road stretched endlessly. The streetlights stood tall on both sides of the road. ‎Cars blazed horns anytime they sped past and overtook their car.‎"Honey, Nigeria has changed," Tola's father said from the front seat. "I am impressed with the development."‎Clara looked around and nodded in agreement ‎"Yes honey, I can see it too."‎Tola did not pay attention to their conversations. Throughout he fixed his eyes on the window, darting from one side to another. He was enjoying the scenery.‎At the traffic stop, the hawkers gathered around vehicles, balancing their trays on their heads, calling out motorists and passengers, trying to make sales ‎Tola watched them in awe. He had never seen someone selling in the middle of the road.‎As soon as they alighted the car, a group of traditional singers and drummers surrounded them, welcoming them with the melodious traditional songs and rhythmic drumbeat.‎Tola's father smiled and swayed his waist briefly to the rhythm of the drum, as they moved towards the house ‎The house was full to capacity with relatives, neighbours and well-wishers.‎At the corner of the house four men were skinning the cow slaughtered for the occasion.‎At the front of the house, the elders sat, drinking palm wine, laughing and exchanging stories‎Tola folded his arms watching as everything unfolded.‎"But are they celebrating the death of Grandpa or what," he muttered in disbelief. "What's all this?"‎He could not understand why everyone laughed, ate, sang, and danced in his grandfather's burial.‎To him, funerals were meant for tears. But in Oko, a long life was considered a blessing worth celebrating.‎It was their way of giving the dead a joyful farewell rather than a sorrowful goodbye.‎Clara held his hand and gently led him to the elders‎Tola's father prostrated and Clara genuflect respectfully. Tola, though hesitated prostrated.‎"Welcome,Akin," one greeted.‎Tola's father looked up.‎"Thank you, sir," he continued "I greeted you the elders of our land."‎"Kilara, how are you?" Another elder asked "So both of you just forget your roots"‎He chuckled before turning to Tola‎"This must be your son."‎Tola forced a smile. But deep inside, he knew one thing that Nigeria was never a country he had imagined.‎The days of celebration of life came to an end and gradually the relatives returned to their homes. ‎Tola found it difficult to adapt to the new environment. The constant power outage irritated him. The slow Internet annoyed him. ‎Every dawn , the rooster robbed him of his sleep. He couldn't take it any longer ‎"Daddy, when are we returning," he asked ‎"soon." ‎Soon turned into a week. Then a week turned into a month.‎One afternoon, Tola's father asked him to help fetch water from the well.‎Tola stared at him in disbelief.‎"I'm not doing that."‎Tola's father frowned.‎"What did you say?"‎"I said I'm not doing it. I'm not your servant."‎The neighbours looked up from what they were doing.‎He slowly walked toward Tola.‎"I asked you to fetch water for the house."‎"I don't care," Tola snapped. "You can't force me."‎Tola's father's face hardened and before anyone could intervene, he landed his palm on Tola's cheek.‎Tola froze, as the pain rushed into his skull.‎His father had never slapped him before.‎"You hit me?" he shouted. "You actually hit me?"‎Without another word, he stormed into the house, grabbed his phone, and dialed the police emergency number.‎"Pls come to my rescue. My father assaulted me," he said. "Please send officers immediately."‎The neighbours erupted, "Ha ha ha!"‎Some clapped their hands, "Na wa ooo."‎Some laughed quietly.‎Others simply shook their heads‎Twenty minutes later, a Police vehicle arrived at the house.‎Two officers stepped out.‎"What seems to be the problem?" one of them asked.‎Tola walked confidently toward them.‎"My father slapped me. I want him arrested."‎The two officers exchanged a glance before turning to Tola's father.‎"What happened?‎He calmly explained the disagreement.‎Neighbours in the compound confirmed the story.‎The senior officer turned back to Tola.‎"So your father asked you to fetch water, you refused, insulted him, and he slapped you?"‎"Yes," Tola replied. "That's against the law."‎The officer was silent for a moment.‎"Young man, how old are you?"‎"Fifteen."‎"And this is your father."‎"Yes."‎The officer sighed.‎"So you called the police because your father disciplined you."‎"Yes."‎The officer shook his head.‎"You've wasted our time."‎He then turned to his colleague.‎"Bring the cane."‎Tola's confidence dropped.‎"W..what!"‎The second officer returned with a cane.‎"Lie flat on the floor."‎"But I didn't do anything!"‎"You disrespect your father, insulted him, and called the police over family matters."‎Tola hesitated.‎"I said... lie on the floor," the officer repeated.‎It was then clear to Tola that Nigeria was nothing like the life he had known abroad.‎Different lifestyle, places and culture entirely.‎Hot water filled his eyes. ‎Reluctantly, he obeyed.‎The officer gave him ten quick strokes of cane.‎Tola cried out in pain.‎When it was over, the officer pointed toward his father.‎"Now go and apologize to your father."‎With tears rolling down his cheeks, Tola slowly walked over and prostrated.‎"I'm... sorry, Daddy."‎Tola's father looked at him for a moment before helping him to his feet.‎The senior officer turned to him.‎"Sir, continue training your son. But please, don't let anger get the better of you."‎"I understand, Officer."‎The officer nodded.‎"As for you," he said, facing Tola, "learn the difference between abuse and discipline. If anyone truly harms you, the police will protect you. But don't waste emergency resources because your father corrected you."‎"Yes, Officer," Tola replied quietly.‎The officers returned to their vehicle.‎As they drove away, the neighbours smiled among themselves.‎One of them leaned toward another and whispered with a grin,‎"The boy has learnt his lesson."‎Tola said nothing.‎He stood quietly, rubbing the back of his arm,as tears trickled down his cheeks.‎For the first time since arriving in Nigeria, he realized that understanding a country required far more than simply knowing its name.@Olarewaju‎

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