“No!” I leap from my chair, toppling it over. Again, no one notices anything out of the ordinary. I throw myself against the door, trying to stop the beast. I push my shoulder and my foot against the door, noticing two more creatures in the backyard. They look like shiny gold aliens with bulging black eyes. One is eating plums off a small tree. Its mouth is smothered in dark juice as it crams more and more fruit into its face. Another is fishing in the mint garden, fishing rod in its awkward hands and a small bucket of fresh smelt beside its naked bum. It turns and sees me and smiles a stretched-out row of translucent shark teeth. I scream for help again and again, but no one comes to the rescue.

I look over my shoulder. My family. Where did they go? There’s only a gathering of glowing will-o’-the-wisps around our dining table.

“Storm’s a brewin’,” says a high-pitched voice. “Perfect weather for a wedding.”

I turn my attention back to the door. The boar is now a person, two feet taller than me with dead anime eyes and a wide toothy grin. It isn’t pushing the door open anymore. It’s reaching for me. My last cry for help is cut short, gagging in my throat as the dead-eyed creature smiles, squeezes, and smiles even more. Slowly, I begin to lose the battle for my life. My eyes flutter. My legs kick. Everything goes dark and quiet.

“Ima okina-EE-to, okurema-SOO, yo …”

“What?” I sit upright.

I look around the big round table, covered in white linen with a huge bouquet of flowers in the centrepiece. At least ten empty dishes lie in front of everyone sitting at the table. All the women are dressed in their finest kabas, and all the men sport kente vests under sharp-looking suit jackets. Couples. If they’re not engrossed in conversations with each other, they are scrolling and clicking away on their smartphones. No one seems to notice I’m even here.

I’m in a violet-pink lit room full of people sitting at similar-looking tables in heterosexual pairings. The shouting and thumping bass are loud. Somewhere behind me, off toward one end of the room, tables have been moved away to make space for an already-packed dance floor. Several onlookers are snapping away on cellphones or giant cameras on tripods. Something tells me that is the part of the room I should be in. Not here, the only single girl at the table.

I stand up. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me down. I can’t place who it is, but the couples on either side of me are now staring at me intently. “Where are you going?” the women ask in unison. “Come on, talk to us. How was China? The food was obviously good there, eh?” I feel fingers jab at my stomach and my sides.

“Leave me alone,” I stand up again, violently this time. My chair topples over. Déjà vu.