BACK HOME

Clutching onto my satchel and purse at the airport, I don't fritter any second exploring the airport or savoring the fresh tranquil aura. I instead scan for my chauffeur, Mike, and my eye hunt for him doesn't take much of my time. I spot him without much hustle and stroll to him in haste, the ailment of my father being the only thing echoing in my mind.


"Hi, Mike!" I greet him, and he turns to me.

"Hi, ma'am. Welcome back." A broad smile is portrayed on his lips as he extends the pleasantries.

"Thank you, Mike," I respond as he opens the door for me and wanders off to settle my satchel in the boot.


Ooh, I missed my baby Lamborghini. Life at home, huh? I hope everything welcomes me with a luminous expression.

"To your house, ma'am?" Mike implores as he ignites the engine.


"No. To my father's. And please hurry!" I respond.

As we hit the road towards home with Christopher Martin's Let her Go Jazz playing in the stereo, the anticipation of the condition I will find my father in and the desire to see him again are creeping in really bad. The anxiety is killing me as we steer through the very familiar boulevards of the great Nairobi city. Today, I am not even prying at its beauty. I am homesick. I am thinking of the situation that is awaiting me at home.

Gladly, the drive did not take this long. The roads are almost clear this morning, as I expected. No traffic at all. It was a fast drive, with the car gliding smoothly along the empty streets as if eager to deliver me to my destination. With each passing mile, the city fades into the background, replaced by the quiet hum of the engine and the rhythmic beat of my heart.

Entering through the gate, we park in the parking lot of the castle, and I leap out almost immediately.

The castle looks dull, with its once vibrant facade now shrouded in a veil of gloom. The servants move about with a sense of dismay and concern etched into their features, their usual bustling energy replaced by a palpable heaviness that hangs in the air like a thick fog. The aura stinks of stinging fear and dread, as if the very walls themselves are mourning some unspeakable tragedy. In this bleak atmosphere, the word "okay" seems like a foreign concept, a distant memory lost in the depths of despair. Nothing seems okay. Nothing feels okay.

"Greeting, my child!" I turn away from scrutinizing the castle to the forlorn face of nanny Aisha, her eyes reflecting the same sorrow that permeates the air. Despite her attempt at a cheerful greeting, there is a heaviness in her voice that mirrors the somber mood of the castle.

"Hello, Nanny Aisha," I reply, my own voice tinged with sadness as I take in the sight before me. It is clear that something is amiss, something that goes beyond the usual troubles of running a household.

The environment here feels more tragic than I speculated. It says it all. Something serious has happened that has numbed everything. Not even the mood that ensued that morning when I left this place equals this of today. This cuts deep.

"Welcome, my child. And thank you for coming," she pulls me for a welcoming hug. 'Your father will not approve of my decision to call you, but he will have to forgive me. You did well to honor my plea," she explains after hugging me.

"Does he know I am coming?" I query, my voice filled with apprehension.

"No. I haven't told him or anyone else. I am honestly afraid of what he will do to me once he learns that I told you about him," Nanny Aisha retorts, her words heavy with worry and fear.

"Okay. What's his condition, nanny? How long has his ailment lasted?" I curiously inquire, my feet still rooted in the same spot as I absorb the gravity of the situation.

I want to understand the situation before budging in on him. There's a sense of urgency gnawing at me, but I know that rushing in blindly could do more harm than good. So, I listen intently as Nanny Aisha fills me in on the details, her voice trembling with emotion as she recounts the events that led to this moment.

"I wont lie to you, my child," she starts, 'His condition is critical, and it all started when you disappeared. He kind of changed from that night of the party. He became enraged and so temperamental compared to the boss we all knew, and the situation kept getting worse and worse." She is trembling as she explains, but she is avoiding the question I am dying to know the answer to.

"What is the diagnosis, nanny?" I go straight to the point, my voice steady despite the growing sense of unease gnawing at my insides.

She breathes out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging with the weight of the burden she carries. Her response sends a shiver down my spine, filling me with a sense of dread that threatens to consume me whole.

"I better let the doctor explain it to you, my child. But you need to be strong, my dear," she replies, her words laced with a hint of caution that sends a chill down my spine.

Is that a trigger warning to a deadly discovery? I should be strong? The implications of her words hit me like a ton of bricks, filling me with a sense of foreboding that leaves me reeling. Why can't she just tell me?

I am like a dead zombie as I stroll behind her as she leads me to the foyer of the castle—my home. It is not time to feel at home, though. Not when I don't know about my father's factual situation. Not when I haven't seen him. Not when I am not guaranteed that he will be fine.