Aunt Ife's words filled me up with a mix of emotions. I felt a sense of hope, knowing that the fabric might hold a clue to my identity, but also a sense of trepidation, wondering what secrets might be revealed and if I was ready to handle them all.
"I need to know more" I said, my voice firm. "Can you tell me more about the wrapper? Who made it, and why is it significant?"
Aunt Ife nodded, her eyes clouding over with memories. "Our mother, "Iya Agba" was a skilled seamstress," she said. "She made traditional Yoruba wears, the "Iro and buba" and "oleku" she made were intricately designed and beautifully crafted. The "iro" (wrapper) I mentioned earlier was one of her finest pieces. I know because I visited Iya Agba when she made it."
I leaned forward, my heart racing with excitement. "Do you think the woman who came to the church might have anything to do with the wrapper" I asked.
Aunt Ife hesitated, her brow furrowed in thought. "It's possible" she said. "But we'll never know for sure unless we find more evidence."
I nodded. I felt this determination rising within me. "I'll search for more clues" I said. "I'll talk to people, ask questions, and see if anyone remembers anything about the wrapper or the woman."
Aunt Ife smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. "You're a true detective, child" she said. "I'm proud of you."
With newfound resolve, I set out to investigate further. I visited the local market, asking vendors and traders if they recognized the fabric or remembered anyone wearing a similar wrapper. Some shook their heads, while others offered vague descriptions, but one elderly woman's words caught my attention.
"Beeni, mo ranti omobirin kan, o wo iro kan nigba yen- I remember a young woman, dressed in a traditional wrapper, coming to the market around that time," she said. "She was frantic, searching for something or someone. I didn't think much of it then, but now that you mention it, it does seem suspicious."
My heart skipped a beat as I listened to her words. Could this be the break I needed? I thanked the woman and asked if she knew anything about the woman's identity or whereabouts.
The woman thought for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, child. I don't know anything more. But I can tell you that she mentioned something about a secret, mi o kan mo asiri oun- I do not know what secret she was talking about ."
I left the market, my mind racing with possibilities. What secret could the woman have been referring to? And how did it relate to my identity? I knew I had to keep searching, to follow every lead, no matter how small.
As I walked back home, I promised myself that I would uncover the truth about my past, no matter what it took. And I would start by investigating the mysterious woman in the traditional wrapper.
The sun was setting over Lagos, casting a golden glow over the city. I walked through the streets, lost in thought, replaying the conversations I'd had with Aunt Ife and the market woman. I knew I had a long journey ahead of me, but I was ready.
I tried to ignore my fatigue as I walked.
When I arrived home, my father was sitting in the living room, reading a book. He looked up as I entered, a concerned expression on his face.
"How was your day?" he asked, putting down the book.
I hesitated, unsure of how much to share. But something about his gentle tone put me at ease. "I went to see Aunt Ife," I said. "And then I visited the market, asking questions about the wrapper, I'm pretty tired."
My father's expression changed, a look of understanding crossing his face. "You're searching for answers," he said. "I know you need to do this, however, you should take it easy."
I nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude toward him. "I have to know the truth" I said. "I'll try to rest, but I feel uneasy bout my past, about my identity."
My father nodded, his eyes filled with compassion. "I'll support you, no matter what" he said. "You're my daughter, and I love you."
I smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. I knew that I had my father's love and support, no matter what lay ahead.
As the night wore on, I sat in my room, thinking about the journey ahead. I felt sleepy but I still had a lot to research about. I needed a cup of coffee and so, I decided to go to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee.
I had never really liked coffee and I preferred a nice cup of Milo followed by Mama's special lime tea. But, I needed some coffee to stay awake.
After a few minutes, I was back in my room with a hot cup of butter coffee in my mug.
I spent the rest of the evening researching on the events that happened the year I was born, and I also made a list of people I wanted to talk to, including the church members who might have seen the woman in the wrapper. The major concern I had was that they might not remember what had happened.
I was too tired to think, so I drifted off to sleep.
. ***
The next morning, I woke up feeling ...feeling refreshed and determined. I knew I had a long day ahead of me, but I was ready to tackle it head-on. After a quick breakfast, I set out to visit the church members who might have seen the woman in the wrapper.
The first person I visited was Mrs. Olaitan, a kind-hearted woman who had been a member of the church for many years. She welcomed me warmly and listened intently as I explained my quest for answers.
"I remember the day you were found" she said. "It was a chaotic time, but I do recall seeing the woman you speak of around that time. She was pacing back and forth outside the church, looking anxious."
I listened, jotting down her words, "Do you remember anything else about her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Olaitan thought for a moment before shaking her head. "Ma binu, omo- I'm sorry, my child, I don't remember anything else. But I can tell you that she seemed like a desperate woman, searching for something or someone."
I thanked Mrs. Olaitan for her time and left her house. I was worried. I didn't have much time until I had to go back to school. I had barely 10 days to the resumption date and I couldn't risk resuming late. Star University had a strict policy.