Prologue

"But baby I miss you, you promised me you'd come over this week." Idris winced at the long-drawn and high-pitched voice from his phone which was on speaker. Then he rolled his eyes, his thumbs kept assaulting the game pad.

"Idris, are you not hearing me? Idris?" There was movement on the other end, she was obviously searching for a spot for better signal. Idris pinched his nose then sighed, "I can hear you Ronke, I can't come because I have to do some stuffs with my mom."

"Are you sure?" Idris raised his eye brow and glared at his phone, irritated. He returned to his game but Ronke was being a bother. "Or is it the sex? Was it bad?"

"Jesus!" He scooped his phone and took it off speaker, anyone from his family could be eavesdropping especially his mom. "It was good. Ronke, see I will call you back later. I can't talk right now." He hit the red button before she could whine into his ears. Ronke was a sweet girl and very pretty. When his best friend, Azeez, had introduced him to her during break time in school, it was a struggle for him to get her off his neck after that and like a fool he had listened to Azeez to give her a chance. It was hard for idris to agree after his ex girlfriend who he had really liked cheated on him with a senior, he made a decision he was done with girls but unfortunately they weren't done with him. Ronke wasn't the only one that had sniffed him out after his break up. He wasn't bothered, every guy liked a good chase. So instead of picking one bread to butter up, he picked every slice or loaf. He called it strangers with swift benefits. When he told Azeez, the tall, fair - skinned basketballer called him an absolute genius. So to heal his broken heart, Idris fucked every pretty female who came his way, willingly. At first it was amazing to be the top boy in the school but eventually it grew stale and he got excruciatingly bored. Ronke was the only girl he hadn't cut off yet because for a split moment he had feelings for her but her demanding nature was a major turn off.

"Idris Shane Smith!" Idris jumped from the weary couch in his room, he switched off his game so fast then leaped on his bed and dived under the covers. Heavy steps came up to his room, his door swung open, "who is this one faking for, you better get up my friend! I don't have all day." 

Idris' mother, Folake Balogun, was a very attractive and agile woman in her forties. She treated her children like soilders in battle because according to her the world would do worse especially to kids raised by a single parent. Idris father wasn't dead but to Folake and her family he was a million feets under. The one thing she refused to change was their surnames, despite her vengeful grudge against her 'dead' husband, she didn't want her children to forget their father. Once, he was a good man then he was the devil.

A long groan came from under the covers, Idris exposed his dark, handsome face which had very curly strands on its surface. The face of her first son reminded her very much of a man she once loved, who was a foreigner from London and maybe that was what had attracted her at first but it was his green eyes which had reminded her of a haunted, intriguing forest that she fell in love with. Glaring at her first child, she saw those eyes, green and angry. 

"Do I really need to see a prophetess before I travel to the UK? It's so weird and creepy." Idris had his full length from under the sheets, his broad shoulders stretched enough to accompany his slim, muscular  athletic physique. 

"I don't need to hear this again Idris, wear a shirt and meet me downstairs." Folake affirmed with a pointed finger, she moved to leave the den of a teenage boy who was a year into adulthood. She paused at the door which had a poster of several characters she couldn't identify, she looked at them and shook her head then she looked at her son. At that moment he wasn't a seventeen year old boy who loved football too much but was ready to sacrifice his dream for the family, instead he was her little boy that held her with his little arms when the man that was meant to protect them didn't.

"Idris." She called then strolled to the worn out couch opposite the television set, "sit." She patted the space beside her, "let me talk to you."

Idris' forehead lost its frown, his mother was the strongest woman he knew, she barely asked her kids to sit and talk. So he sat, expectantly and tried for a soft smile. "Everything okay mom?"

"Yes, I just want you to understand why I need you to see this woman." She glared into his eyes, he nodded. In a way he understood already. His mother was the biggest believer in the supernatural, most Nigerian mothers were. "I know your generation believes in only what they feel or see. But in my days we saw less but we felt plenty and we were taught not to always depend on our sights but our bellies," She tapped her stomach - a sign of gut feeling - and continued. "I'm not saying you'll be in danger where you are going to but as a mother I need to know I have done every thing in my feeble might to keep you safe. I know that you'll be safe with your father but I won't be able to take care of you or feed you right. I wish, desperately I had enough, enough to secure your future and that of your siblings but I don't. And that kills me, so please Idris, my boy, let me do this for you and for my peace of mind. Okay?" There were tears in her eyes, her face was torn and crumbled in several emotions.

Idris took his mother hand, just as he did as a child, he did his best to hold back his tears, as a man he had to be strong enough and emotionless, his grand father told him that. He grinned and nodded. "Okay mom. It's fine, please stop crying. I'll be fine, I know why I'm going away. I understand and I love you okay."

"I love you too, my boy." Folake weary heart swelled with pride, she held his cheek and nodded. "Good, now that's over. Brush your teeth, shower and be downstairs fast fast. I have to pick Jumoke from choir practice and also take Ayomikun to the hospital, his fever is getting worse." Like it never happened, she was gone. She was a father, a mother and sibling sometimes.

It took him fifteen minutes to brush, shower and wear his black hoodie on a grey sweatpants and black Nike palm. Breakfast was akara - beancake - and pap. He ate it quickly because his mom was already home with his junior sister, Jumoke and she gave him the stern glare only a typical Nigerian mother can, for him to hurry up. He grabbed his phone and left the apartment to the car while his mom gave his fifteen year old sister instructions on chores. She left the house and he waved back at his junior sister who pulled out her tongue at him after his mom turned around. He laughed and flipped her off. It was a lovely dynamic they had and he would miss it. 

They drove through Lagos traffic, out of the island into the intense rural area of the mainland. Thugs brushed the streets freely and the air was polluted vehemently. It was busy and loud, car horns screamed at the universe and bike drivers communicated with theirs. It was the Lagos dream in sight, all hustle and impatience. Everyone had a goal and everyone else could be a potential obstacle. Yet, it was idris' home and the united jostle and cruise despite the acute difference of the tribes was unique to the African Giants. Their journey ended at an old bungalow, the walls were cracked and brown. Idris raised his brow to his mom but she ignored him and came out of the car. He did too. "Mom, I'm not drawing blood or whatever yeah?" 

"What?! No na. You watch too much film abeg. Oya follow me." She began to walk into the creepy building. She never looked back to check if he followed, she could hear his cautious, loud footsteps. They met a young boy who directed them to a room that had a huge wooden obstacles and two large holes drilled on the object, beside each other. They sat on a mat placed directly before the wood. Minutes seemed to crawl by without any mystical appearance as Idris expected. 

He was about to mummur then he heard a soft, edgy voice, "don't be impatient boy. Only a fool lacks patience especially when his future is about to be whispered in his ears." Through the holes came wrinkled, black hands. Her skin tone was unknown to idris and his mother but the color was as it was painted, jet black. "Now only the boy is allowed to speak. It's only his voice my sisters wish to hear. Stretch those fine arms boy." Idris hesitated, he couldn't see prophetess' face, just her elbow and fingers. "Hands boy. Don't be a fool and a coward."

Slowly Idris placed his hand on hers, he was suprised how soft and smooth they felt. The old lady began to mutter in Yoruba then she seemed to switch to several dialects easily. Then suddenly she burst out in laughter. She held on tighter to his wrists and laughed loud and free like she was the luckiest being in the universe, her laughter drowned out, cynical and silent. She let him go then spoke, "Becareful with your kindness and avoid the good samaritan. You have nothing to worry about child, your future is going to be one for the books, I'd love to tell you how it begins or ends but it's already in the middle and the applause are about to begin." They could hear the smile in her voice, then it chilled, "but know one thing boy, sa vie est à toi comme la tienne est à elle. Remember this."

On their way home, idris tried to remember the prophetess last statement but G****e gave him ridiculous answers, he didn't know what language it was, it was hard for him to figure the words out and for some unknown reason it bugged the abyss out of him. After dinner, he did well to escape to his room, his mom had not gotten the usual 'be careful of friends, stay away from girls or be a good boy and there are enemies waiting for him abroad', so she was in a stern mood.

He took off his clothes, replied some texts, deleted a nude picture sent to him then laid on his bed, facing the white ceiling, listening to music as he tried to cage the raging feeling he had, it wasn't just the visit to the prophetess. The idea of a new life with a father and step mother he hardly knew, away from the life he thought he'd own forever was uncomfortable and scary. He sighed and ran his palm across his face then paused at his jaw, he sat up and stared at his wrist, confused. His bracelet was missing. It was a gift from his grandfather. He began to search for it, flinging every item in his path. His mother stormed into his room, shocked and furious. "Are you mad? What is wrong with you?" She shouted.

Idris began to pace, his fingers gripped his black, silky hair. He wasn't the careless type, his grandfather had given him that bracelet years ago, how did he loose it now? He thought, angry at himself. Then like a light bulb went off in his head, he stopped and faced his mother, "mom I think that old prophetess stole my bracelet."

The look he got from his mother was that of disappointment and concern, "this behaviour because I asked you too see a prophetess?! Haba Idris. You're accusing an innocent woman. I raised you better than this. Now go to bed, tomorrow we have to see the pastor before your flight." She slammed his door and left. Idris sat on his bed, his face in between his palm. That bracelet was all he had of the only man who was the closest thing to a father to him. He felt incomplete and unsettled without it and he hoped when he checked his mom's car tomorrow it would be there.

It took him a while to find sleep, but while he did an old lady was wide awake, she was preparing for a journey as well which was risky and paramount to the future after her true visions about the boy. So with her bags packed and ready, she too found sleep after she checked her bossom and smiled, the bracelet was safe and would serve it purpose soon enough.