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Shortly after lunch on Sunday, Tiwa excused herself to her room before it was time for their usual Sunday evening ritual of watching Yoruba movies and analyzing them for a good laugh. She was sorting out her outfit for work the next day when her mom lightly knocked on the door and came in.
“Ah ah, Tiwa, so you had laundry and didn’t give it to Wasiu yesterday?” Mrs. Badmos asked.
“No, mummy, I’m just picking out what I’ll wear to work tomorrow,” Tiwa replied.
“I don’t understand this ‘wear to work tomorrow.’ Didn’t you just get out of the hospital? Or has your boss suddenly forgotten?”
“Maa’mi, that was on Friday, and really, I’m fine and ready to resume work.
The Storm
“Tiwa, it’s like you don’t understand that your recovery was a result of God’s mercy. Do you think there weren’t worse cases? Or that people didn’t die? Tiwa, I lost a husband and two children.
You were in the hospital for two weeks, stayed in bed for another year, and you just got shot. But because I walk around smiling and keep myself busy, you think I’m not in pain? Do you have to be in a wheelchair before you realize you need to be careful or slow down?
I let you work because you love what you do and because of the fact that I can’t keep you locked up in this house. You worked so hard for this, but if you push me, it might get to that point.” Mrs. Badmos walked out of the room, leaving Tiwa in tears.
It was the first time in many years that Tiwa had seen her mother act this way. She sat by her bed, picked up a picture of her father, and stared at it for a while. When she finally raised her head, she realized it was already 8 p.m. Quickly, she put the picture down, grabbed her phone, and called her boss to let him know she wouldn’t be coming to work the next day.
“Hello, Miss Tiwa, how are you doing now?” Mr. Clint asked when he picked up the call. Tiwa explained that she wouldn’t be at work the next day because she had to go to the hospital for another checkup.
“You can resume next week. Tiwa, we’re going to need you back at full strength and without any scars.” Tiwa chuckled at the sound of that. He then added, “Oh, and I’ll have Jeff, your assistant, on his feet on your behalf. Have a good night’s rest.”
After ending the call, Tiwa set her phone down and stepped out of her room to check on her mom. Mrs. Badmos was sitting on the couch, her eyes fixed on a picture of her late husband. Tiwa sat beside her, gently holding and rubbing her mother’s hand. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Have you eaten anything?” Tiwa finally broke the silence. “It’s almost 9 p.m., Maa’mi, and I’m sure you’ve been sitting here for a while. I can quickly make some pancakes if you want.”
Mrs. Badmos chuckled and replied, “You’re just like your father—always using pancakes to cheer me up. Fine, I’ll have pancakes.” They both laughed softly.
Meeting Chief D
At 10:15 p.m., breaking news flashed on the channel they had just switched to. Chief D was addressing the casualties from the alleged robbery incident. He was informed that several passersby had been hit by stray bullets, and he decided to take responsibility for it.
Tiwa seemed uninterested in the news, but her mom encouraged her: “I think you should attend this meeting, Tiwa.”
Tiwa was furious at the suggestion. “Go and do what, Maa’mi? Show off or act helpless? I only got a bruise. He should give his money to people who actually need it, not me.” Not wanting to spark another argument, Mrs. Badmos quietly stood up and went to her room.
Peas In a Pod
Cynthia, Tiwa’s colleague and only close friend, called her. “T, have you seen the news? I think you should go. This could bring in business for us, and you know Mr. Clint would be thrilled,” she said.
“Why don’t you go get shot, then tell him you’re one of the victims?” Tiwa snapped back.
Cynthia, unfazed, continued, “But it’s not every day that someone responsible for a situation steps up to take accountability. He could easily be off on another trip or lounging in one of his houses with a glass of expensive wine. Instead, he’s choosing to compensate the people affected by something he didn’t directly cause. Think about it, T.”
Tiwa sighed in frustration. “Cynthia, is there something else you’re not telling me? Are you broke or jobless? Because I know when you start sounding like this, something is up.”
Cynthia let out a sigh. “It was an accident, T. You got caught up in it, and it was unfortunate, but you’re fine now. Can’t we just let it be?”
Realizing she wouldn’t win the argument, Cynthia gave up. “Alright, good night, T,” she said before hanging up.
Tiwa turned off the TV and went to her room, picking up her tablet to scroll through her favorite blog. As she scrolled, she stumbled upon a story about Chief D. His real name was Danton, a young writer, blogger, and DJ who owned several businesses both locally and abroad.
He had adopted the name “Chief D” after his parents passed away, leaving him a family fortune large enough to last a lifetime. His father had always called him “Chief” because of his mature behavior and the solid business advice he gave to anyone who would listen. So, Danton decided to keep the name “Chief D” as a tribute.
Tiwa let out a loud sigh, thinking to herself, Maybe something good could come out of this. She then turned off her tablet and went to sleep.
Will Tiwa go for the meeting with Chief D? Watch out for Episode 4 to find out.
