Chapter 6: New Beginning

"So how do you feel?" Mom asked me. It was finally the day that we were scheduled to leave the shores of Nigeria. It was 30th December, 1997. We were at the lounge of the Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos, around 11:34 pm waiting for our flight to New York.

I looked around the whole airport. People were milling around, going in different directions according to their destination. I sighed; "I don't know. Some part of me will always miss this. At the same time I am excited as I can be."

"Any regrets, second guessing?" Mom was looking at me with a serious concentrating gaze. Somehow, I knew that this wasn't making conversation. We were talking about our future, my feelings.

I looked mom straight in the eyes; I had gotten good in it. "I will always miss this." I gesticulated, showing that I significantly meant Nigeria. " ... I know that it will be difficult adjusting to life in America; I know that it wouldn't be easy with all the strangeness of the place and all. But I know that I have nothing in here anymore. They turned their backs at us when we needed them most. I am excited to go to America, to start afresh. At the same time I am scared to the bone, because I don't know what the future holds. But I am not going to allow that to hold me down. So, as for second guessing, it will always be there, but as for regrets, there is none whatsoever." Mom let out a huge sigh of relief.

"I thought that maybe you don't want to do this anymore."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" I said waving my hand in a dismissal manner. "So what of you, how do you feel?"

"I am really excited, especially about this new job and all. I am really looking forward to it." If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she gushed. But who was I to blame her? The excitement was boiling in us.

From there, it was a blur. Things happened that I couldn't even put them down even if I wanted to. We boarded our flight to JFK airport, New York. It was a long flight, but I never remembered ever getting tired or falling asleep. Every experience was a treasure. I was so excited that it was difficult to sit on my seat for more than thirty minutes. I am normally a laid back kind of person, but being on that flight defied all laws of nature. It got to a point that mom was exasperated. I couldn't blame her. I was an energy bomb waiting to explode and she was just caught in the cross fire.

The air hostess had to step in and take me away from where mom was. Instead of being suspicious, protective, mom was actually relieved when I was asked to join the air hostess. The air hostess that took care of me was a great person. She made me think I had her attention all the while. I talked about everything and nothing. I was definitely out of my element.

Arriving at JFK airport, I knew that no matter what happened to us in America, we would enjoy our time there. The first thing that hit me was spending a day twice. I guess that was the only downside to the whole experience. I wanted to shout, but I knew that that would be taking it to a new level. There was an immigration officer that met us there. Mom quickly went over some of the papers and we waited for our flight down to LAX.

The flight to LAX was a deviation from what the flight to JFK was. The whole excitement became tame, the adrenaline that had been pumping in my body disappeared and I was just left with a body that was so tired; a body that hadn't slept in 28 hours. The fatigue caught up with me, so my flight to LAX was spent sleeping all through.

We also met with another immigration officer, only that this one was a lady, a very matronly lady. She introduced herself as Mrs. Eliana Hensen, a very good friend of Mr. Anderson. Mom gave her a letter that Mr. Anderson said we should give her, after reading the letter; it was as if we became VIPs. She practically oversaw our transport from LAX to Bay Ho, Clairemont. She was very helpful in seeing that we were perfectly settled in. She wrote a letter to the head of the Middle school there, explaining our predicament. Whatever Mr. Anderson wrote in that letter, I will forever remain grateful for that.

Our apartment in Bay Ho was a two bedroom apartment, but it was light years from our house in Nigeria. Mrs. Hensen was actually there when we moved in. The whole place had been furnished with the money we set aside for that kind of expense. The neighbors were all staring when we moved into the neighborhood in that way that is synonymous with many neighborhoods. We could practically feel their curiosity. They didn't even wait for the movers to leave before they started trooping in groups, introducing themselves. Some of them were a little put off by the fact that we were black, some were even disgusted when we told them that we moved from Nigeria. We didn't let it get to us though. They were entitled to feel whatever way they liked.

There were still others that accepted us for who we were, one of whom was Mrs. Beth Ferguson. Mrs. Ferguson, Beth as she told me to call her, was my first glimpse of how beautiful American women can be. She was this tall, lean, tanned woman, with raven colored hair. She was probably 5'7, has good sizeable cleavage and has an almost perfect face. I was speechless when Beth introduced herself to me. How could I not be? The woman was a goddess and she knew it. No matter how I describe her, I could never do her justice. She was simply beautiful and she knew it. She quickly became friends with my mother. They even went as far as calling themselves the B-Singles for Beth was divorced. Beth was very helpful in our moving in to that neighborhood.

That evening, Beth invited us to her house for dinner. Mom refused, saying that she would never be a bother to a fellow lady, but Beth would hear none of that. So around 6:30 the day we came to America, we were knocking on the door of the Fergusons.

"Oh hello, there you are. I'm glad you could make it." Beth said on opening the door for us, at least that was what it sounded like. Mom was speechless; she didn't know how to reply to that, as was I. I didn't dare look at Beth. She wore a shirt that accentuated her breasts with a blue jeans; that woman was beautiful.

"Well, come in. We were about to serve dinner." We followed her into the house. Her house was actually nice looking, the decoration was perfect, and the seats were arranged almost perfectly. The whole thing was so impeccable. That was the first glimpse into the personality of this woman that has shook my world like a hurricane.

Stepping into the dining area, I stopped in my tracks. If I ever thought that Beth was beautiful, the girl seated before me was simply stunning. One look at her, you'd know she was Beth's child, that she would grow up to be as beautiful, if not more beautiful than her mother. I had never seen an angel before then, but that was the first day I saw one. I was rooted on the ground where I stood. The girl was beautiful.

And then, she looked up at me and smiled. Have you ever witnessed the world fading away? Have you ever felt the world disintegrate before you? Have you ever felt like you were having an out-of-body experience, that you could watch events around you unfold from an elevated POV? That was how I felt watching this angel, this perfection of a woman. I didn't see the girl before me; I saw the lady that she would become, the woman she was going to be. And I imagined what it would be like spending my life with her, what it would be like waking up every morning to that smile, it was beautiful, it was calming. Never before that day had I ever thought of a future where I would be married, never had I ever thought about finding a lady and settling down. Hell, I hadn't even given much thought to girls at all. But one look at her, I felt emotions that I wasn't prepared for; emotions that were desirable at the same time being repulsive. I was confused and conflicted. It was scary going from not giving much thought to anything to wanting that thing with every fiber of your soul.

I must have stood there for eternity, for mom came and nudged me. "Eeej, are you alright? You look pale." For a moment, I didn't understand what mom was saying. Why was she speaking English to me? We never spoke English to each other when we were alone. Then I remembered: we were at the house of one of the neighbors, about to have dinner.

"I am alright, mom." I replied her in English as well. "I just remembered something." I lied to mom; I never lied to mom. I chanced a glance at Beth; she was trying to cover up a laugh that was trying to escape her lips.

"What is it you remembered?" Seriously mom wasn't getting the hint.

"Oh, Ah, Oh, it's nothing. It doesn't matter." I lied again. I haven't been in this country for more than two hours and I was lying to mom already. This wasn't good. Beth came to my rescue.

"Why don't we move over to the dining table, the food must be getting cold by now." Beth shooed us to the dining table. "Please, allow me to introduce my daughter, Bethany to you." Bethany came over and greeted mom and me. I almost hyperventilated from hearing her voice.

We were seated around the table, with Bethany sitting directly opposite me. Mom looked around the table, where only four of us were seated; "Forgive my asking Beth, but where are the other members of your family?"

"Who do you mean?" Beth replied mom calmly.

"I mean, where is your husband?" mom wasn't giving up.

"Oh, he's with his secretary in Hawaii. I am divorced." Beth replied with a wave of hand. "Oh" that was all that came out from mom's lips. "Since when?" Mom asked again.

"Two years now. We moved here after the divorce."

"Sorry to hear about that."

"It's okay. You kinda get used to it. What of you? I don't see any husband, although I see a ring."

I looked at mom. The subject of my father's death always had her on edge. "He's dead. Died more than two years ago." Mom said with emotion in her voice. "Oh" That was all Beth could get out. " I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been tough."

"It was at first, but Eeej has really been supportive. Sometimes, I wonder how he got to be this smart." Mom said looking at me with adoration written on her face. The look wasn't lost on Beth. She stretched her hand and squeezed my hand.

I was quiet all through the dinner. I never said much, never initiated much conversation. I answered whatever question I was asked, but never said more than five words. It must have been frustrating for Beth trying to include me in the discussion, but I didn't make it any easier for her. At some point, she quit trying. I didn't blame her though. I was out of my element. Back in Nigeria, mom and I talked in our local dialect. It wasn't that I couldn't understand or make statements in English, it was that I wasn't used to using English as the primary means of communication. I also wasn't used to people speaking that fast when talking, with an accent. It was but my first day in America, and I found it difficult adjusting.

Mom and Beth became quick friends. There are friends, but there are quick friends. After the initial awkwardness of getting to know themselves better, they started talking as if they had known each other for ages. Mom was completely unbelievable. I hadn't seen her that chirpy since my father died. It was like both of them were sisters.

Bethany was another matter all together. She was quiet as was I, but she contributed little to the conversation, little more than I did. She smiled all through the dinner; it was as if the smile never left her face. I would steal glances at her, to know what she was doing; to see that angelic face again. For some second, it would seem as though her face would focus on other things apart from me each time I stole glances at her. But for the most part, I totally ignored her, as much as I did other events happening around me.

I had always known that I was an analytical person; that I tend to break down events that happen to me into simple pieces and try to make sense out of them. That was what I did. I was there, bombarded by an arsenal of emotions that were foreign to me, coupled with the fact that that was my first day in America, it was confusing at first. I began to analyze those emotions flooding through my brain. It must have been the excitement of my first day in America. It must have been my hormones kicking in. I had read an article that said that teenagers, especially boys were highly hormonal and tend to be uncoordinated. I knew that technically I wasn't a teenager, but I was aware that this hormonal changes could start late or early in some people given their body chemistry. So I analyzed most of the emotions, yet it wasn't making sense to me. In the end I decided to do what I did best: to stay away from people, especially the person that caused these emotions in the first place. These thoughts were going through my head when I went to sleep that faithful day for the first time on my new bed in a foreign country. It was kinda cosy (borrowing Beth's word).