It started raining just after dusk. The kind of cold, drumming rain that wraps the house in a soft hush. In the silence, I moved quietly, my bare feet brushing the smooth tiles of the corridor.
Mama had gone out again. She said something about attending night prayers at the church. Papa hadn’t come home. He rarely does these days. And Amaka, my younger sister, was in the sitting room, folding her school uniforms the way I used to show her. She never got the sleeves quite right.
I stood in the hallway outside our room.
The door was slightly ajar. That surprised me. Mama usually kept it closed. She always said it brought back too many memories.
The room looked exactly the same. Pale green curtains swaying gently, my school bag hung from the back of the chair even my old wrapper was folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
A thin smile pulled at my lips. I sat. Hummed.
It was a song I always sang for Amaka.
Soft.
Wordless.
Comforting.
I used to hum it on Sunday nights while oiling her scalp and weaving her hair. The sound carried through the house more easily now. Everything echoed.
That was when I heard her footsteps. Light. Hesitant. She was walking down the corridor. Slower than usual.
She was coming to the room.
I paused my humming. Just listened.
The floor creaked beneath her weight. She stopped just outside the door, like she wasn’t sure whether to enter.
Then, in a whisper:
“Adanne…?”
My heart swelled. She still remembered. Still said my name like a prayer.
She pushed the door open wider.
Her eyes darted around. They didn’t settle on me right away. They never did. But then they did. And something in her changed.
Her hands trembled.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
And in that moment, that very moment, I remembered.
The fever. The shouting. The pain.
The crisis that wouldn’t let go.
Mama’s voice, crying. The doctors rushed in. The white ceiling, spinning.
Sickle Cell Anaemia.
It had always lingered like a shadow in my blood, a silent thief in my bones. But eventually one fateful night, it came for everything.
The cold.
The darkness.
The silence that followed.
I remembered not waking up.
I remembered I was dead.
And now, Amaka… could finally see me.
Janefrances Regina Udeh,
AuthorCoaching by BAC.