The cries stopped when we entered. All movement ceased, all eyes fixed on us, as if we were ghosts. There were six people in the room. I recognized two of them. Auntie Rosa was seated on the sofa, sandwiched between two other women who held her arms, restraining her, whispering consoling words to her – their eyes were all wet with tears. Two men were seated on single seats, facing the women, their hands clasped and hanging between their knees. One was white-haired; his thick glasses flashed as he raised his eyes to look at us. The other man was younger; I had seen the blinking-eyed, tight-lipped face before, in front of one of the neighbouring houses. Uncle Bode was standing. He was Auntie Rosa’s husband, Bola’s uncle – his father’s younger brother. He lived in Ibadan with his family.

He had been pacing; now he stood in mid-stride, one hand in his pocket staring at us. ‘Bola,’ he said.

His voice was the cue for Auntie Rosa to give a long, drawn-out wail and jump to her feet. She flew into Bola’s arms. ‘My child, my poor child,’ she sobbed over and over again. Bola stood with his arms around her, his perplexed gaze on her husband. The other women resumed their wailing.

‘Bola,’ Uncle Bode repeated and stepped forward. He was tall and gawky – the sleeves of his shirt and the legs of his trousers were always too short – like a teenager turning into a man. His face looked more than usually gaunt; a day’s stubble covered his cheeks. He pulled his wailing wife gently out of Bola’s arms and handed her back to the two women. ‘Bola, we sent Paul and Peter to your school. Did they meet you?’

He had a deep voice. He was a barrister. I had met him and his wife once, during the last vacation, which I spent here with Bola’s family. Paul and Peter were twins, the couple’s only children. They were my age mates, twenty-two, a year older than Bola. Uncle Bode had married earlier than Doctor Akinyele, who had to finish medical school before marrying.

‘I… we didn’t meet,’ Bola said. I was standing behind a chair; I could see Bola’s profile tensing and relaxing as he tried to maintain a calm countenance. But I imagined his heart galloping like a horse’s hooves.

‘We sent them to call you…’ Uncle Bode began; he stopped, as if at a loss what further to say. He turned suddenly to the two men seated with their heads bowed. He pointed to the one with grey hair and said, ‘You know Doctor Dimeji, don’t you? He works with…’

‘Yes, Uncle, I know him. But… where’s Dad and Mum?’

There was a loud silence in the room. The women looked up sharply, their mouths petrified in silent ‘O’s.