CHAPTER 1
One could begin with the dust, the heat and the purple bougainvillea. One might even begin with the smell of rotten mangoes tossed by the side of the road where flies hummed and green-bellied lizards bobbed their orange heads while loitering in the sun. But, Tayo did not notice these – instead he walked in silence, oblivious to his surroundings. With a smile on his face, he thought of the night before, when he had dared to run a hand beneath the folds of Modupe’s wrapper. Miraculously, without him even asking, Modupe had loosened the cloth around her waist. Of course they’d kissed many times before, usually in the Lebanese cinema when all was dark, but that was nothing compared to last night. And while Tayo was lost in his thought, his father, who walked alongside, notice the smile and read it as excitement for the forthcoming Trip.
They had set off early that morning to visit relatives, as was the tradition when someone was about to embark on a long journey. They would begin with Uncle Bola in the hope to find him sober. By midday,he would almost certainly be drinking ogogoro and and this was not the day to meet Uncle Bola under the influence.
“An old man should be con templating his mortality rather than dreaming of women,” Tayo’s father said alluding to his brother’s raunchy tales, which Tayo knew his father secretly enjoyed.
Uncle B like to joke that he is still young to make babies and thank the Lord God Almighty. And he did make babies – dozens of them. As for thanking God – well, that was simply a manner of speaking. Uncle Bola believed only in beautiful women – not Allah,Christ, nor Ogun. In turn, women loved him, in spite of what he lacked by way of height, teeth and schooling. Tayo had long since concluded that Uncle Bola held the secret of woman’s heart, which was why he looked forward to this visit. But on this particular morning, Uncle Bola did not seem himself . Upon seeing them, he became quite weepy, so weepy in fact that he forgot about his atheism and offered prayer to Allah, Ogun and Jesus on behalf of his favourite nephew. With tears still in his eyes, Uncle Bola gave Tayo his best aso-ebi as a going-away present, and then insisted that they stay longer to take amala and stew with him.
“Here is some money for the ladies when you arrive ,” Uncle Bola whispered, stuffing the newly-minted pound notes into Tayo’s shirt pocket before waving a final goodbye.
Tayo had hoped to stay even longer, enjoying the company of his sentimental uncle, but there many more relatives to be visited and several more lunches to eat. Everyone insisted on feeding them and then, just when Tayo thought it was all over, they returned to find more relatives gathered to wish him well. Several of Father’s friends were sprawled across the courtyard drinking beer and palm wine while the children chased each other in the dirt path by the side of the house.
The women sat in one corner, roasting corn on an open fire, with sleeping babies on their backs.
“Tayo! Tayo!” the older children chanted as he made his way through the throng, stopping to pick up the youngest. Tayo expected his father to usher people away, but after the day’s copious consumption of palm wine, he had apparently forgotten time, preferring instead to continue boasting about his eldest son.
“Na special scholarship dey don make for de boy?” somebody asked.
“Oh yes.” Tayo’s father beamed.
In fact, the scholarship was nor created just for Tayo, but because he was the first Nigerian to win it (such things having been reserved, in the past, for whites), Tayo’s father decided that he might as well claim it solely for his son. Tayo closed his eyes while his father boasted, and thought ahead to the day after next, imagining how he would move swiftly through the crowds at Lagos Port to the Ship and sail over the seas to England .
“And the to balliol College, Oxford ,” Tayo whispered, thinking how grand it sounded.
At dawn the following day, the entire Ajayi family said prayers before gathering around Father’s silver Morris Minor, washed and polished by brothers Remi and Tunde so that it glistened like fresh river fish. Everybody was dressed in his or her Sunday best, ready for the photographs, and only when the cameraman ran out of film did five of them clamber into the car. Father sounded the horn and all the doors slam shut. The key turned and turned again, but the motor wouldn’t start, so everyone stumbled out again to push. Even Father helped, with one foot pumping the pedals and the other pushing back against the ground. They rolled it down the path, out of the compound and onto the road,until the engine jerked into action. Then, hurriedly, they all piled back in. The children followed the car down to the dirt road, running and waving, not caring about the dust being blown into their faces, but jogging along until they could no longer keep up. Sister Bisi ran the fastest thumping decisively on the car boot before they sped away, out of Ibadan and onto the main road that would take them to Uncle Kayode’s place in Lagos. In the car, Mama and Baba sat in the front, and Tayo and his two aunt in the back. Father forbade talking in the car, claiming that it distracted him, and for once Tayo was happy with the edict, knowing that otherwise his aunts would lecture him on how to behave in England. It didn’t matter that his aunts had never travelled outside Nigeria: it was their right and duty to instruct. Tayo closed his eyes and thought again about his sweetheart and their final goodbye. He remembered the poem he had composed for the occasion and the lines that did not quite rhyme. Thankfully in the end, there had been no need for sonnets.
By the time they arrived at Uncle Kayode’s house, the car was caked in dust and its weary passengers covered in sweat and grime, but all would soon be forgotten. Uncle Kayode had a luxurious home. He was a big man in Lagos, recently returned from abroad as a senior army officer. Maids cooked for him, the large fans hung from the ceilings whirling at high speed to keep the house cool. Tayo had never seen anything like it before.
“When you arrive in England, my son,” Uncle Kayode was saying, “you must make sure to contact british council and don’t forget to write to cousin Tunde and cousin Jumoke.”

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