###The Man at the Gate
Some visitors carry a whole new season in their pocket.
By Friday afternoon, the air hung heavy with the promise of rain, the kind that hides behind clouds and waits for the perfect moment to announce itself with thunder.
Tobe had spent the last five days in a strange state of half-enjoyment. He watched his favorite cartoons, but the Justice League didn't hold his attention the way it usually did. He read his Indomitables comics, but even the fight scenes felt flat. His mother said he couldn't go out to play with Chike because he needed to prepare for the trip, which made no sense because all his clothes were already packed.
Every bit of fun he tried to grasp slipped through his fingers, chased away by the thought of spending five long weeks with a man he'd never met in a town he'd never seen.
Around five o'clock, a low horn sounded outside, two short notes that somehow sounded like a polite greeting rather than an impatient demand.
His mother wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and moved to the window, peering through the curtains. Though she wasn't as tall as Tobe's father, she could reach the kitchen cabinets and most shelves without help. Yet she almost always asked Obinna to get the ceramic plates and glass cups stored high above, just to steal moments with him and ease his ever-busy mind away from work and newspapers.
When he wasn't around, she'd call Tobe instead, asking him to help her open "this strongly tight jar" or lift the "heavy mortar." And when he did, she'd smile with relief and call him her strong man, even though he knew, and she knew he knew, that she'd already loosened the jar's lid beforehand and the mortar wasn't really that heavy.
She had a way of making everyone feel needed, of keeping the family close even when silence tried to build walls between them.
"He's here," she said now, her voice soft but certain.
Tobe hurried to the balcony just as the gate creaked open on its rusty hinges.
A dark-red SUV rolled into the compound, dust from the street settling around it like a shy halo. The vehicle was clean but not new, well-maintained but not flashy, the kind of car that suggested its owner cared more about function than status.
The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out.
He was tall, taller than Tobe's father, with a lean build that suggested strength without bulk. His skin was dark, the deep brown of well-oiled leather, and his shirt was simple linen, sleeves rolled to his elbows in a way that looked both casual and deliberate. His trousers carried a faint scent that reached even the balcony: dry leaves, moist earth, a hint of woodsmoke, as if he'd traveled through forests and time itself.
But it was his face that caught Tobe's attention.
A neatly trimmed greyish beard framed a mouth that seemed to hold the possibility of a smile even in repose. His eyes, dark as wet earth after rain, held something Tobe couldn't name. Not a stare, not a search. More like recognition, as if he'd been expecting Tobe, as if he'd known him long before this moment.
"Good evening," the man said, his voice deep but warm, like distant thunder that promised rain rather than danger. "I'm looking for Mr. and Mrs. Amakeze. Is this where they live?"
Ik, one of the tenants who lived on the ground floor, pointed up at the first story, directing Uncle CJ's gaze toward their balcony.
Tobe ducked back immediately, heart suddenly racing, though he could have sworn the man's eyes had found him for just a fraction of a second, had seen him and smiled.
His father was already at the staircase entrance on the ground floor, walking carefully with his stick, but his face was bright with genuine pleasure. "CJ! You haven't changed a bit!"
Uncle CJ crossed the compound yard in easy, unhurried strides. The two men embraced with a quiet clap on the back, though Tobe noticed his father seemed more cheerful, more animated than the visitor. Uncle CJ's greeting was warm but contained, like a candle flame that gave light without consuming itself.
There was no grand announcement, no dramatic pause. Just a calm that seemed to fill the space like steady music when Uncle CJ entered their apartment.
Tobe's mother gave him a warm welcome, ushering him to the best chair, asking about his journey, already moving toward the kitchen to bring refreshments.
When Uncle CJ turned to Tobe, those dark eyes settled on him with that same strange recognition, and for just a heartbeat, they seemed to brighten, to glow with something that might have been starlight or lamplight, or some other light entirely.
"You must be Tobe," he said, extending his hand with a gentle smile. "I've heard a lot about you."
Tobe managed to shake it, surprised by how steady the grip felt. Strong, but not the kind that tried to prove anything. The kind that simply was.
His mother brought out chilled malt and a plate of jollof rice that she must have prepared specially. They settled in the living room, and the adults talked like old friends rediscovering a shared language: his father teasing about school-day football matches, his mother asking after relatives Tobe didn't know, Uncle CJ listening more than he spoke, answering with quiet laughter that somehow made the room feel both bigger and safer.
"Your son has grown well," Uncle CJ said at last, glancing at Tobe. "I'm glad he agreed to spend his holidays with me."
Tobe's father blinked, a faint flush crossing his face. His mother gave that particular laugh she used when she'd been caught in a gentle deception.
Of course. They had planned the holiday. Uncle CJ hadn't actually asked Tobe; he'd asked his parents.
Tobe shifted in his chair, about to speak, but before he could, his mother was already fussing about his packed bag. "Everything's ready," she said, patting it like a loyal pet. "Snacks, extra shirts, Vaseline, his Bible—"
"And his sketchbooks," his father added with a knowing smile.
Uncle CJ rose smoothly, like water finding its level. "We should leave before the rain decides to follow us."
Outside, the evening had deepened into that particular purple that comes just before darkness claims the sky completely. The air smelled of damp soil and distant cooking fires. Neighbors watched from their balconies, curious about the tall stranger with the quiet smile and the mysterious air.
As Tobe's father loaded the bag into the SUV, moving carefully with his stick, Uncle CJ hovered nearby as if ready to help but too polite to offer unless asked. His mother knelt to straighten Tobe's collar in one last motherly inspection.
"Call when you arrive," she said, her voice firm but her eyes soft and slightly wet.
"I will," Tobe promised, feeling his stomach flutter like a trapped kite.
Uncle CJ opened the front passenger door for him. "Ready, Tobe?"
No. He wasn't. Didn't want to go. But it made no difference now.
The engine purred to life with a sound that was somehow more musical than mechanical. As they rolled out of the gate, a soft wind swept through the compound, carrying the scent of first rain. His mother and father stood framed in the rear window, and some of the neighbors peered from their doors and windows.
Tobe saw Chike walking out of the gate just as they drove away, his friend's face a mix of sadness and disappointment, probably there to say goodbye, arriving just a moment too late.
They all grew smaller in the side mirror, then smaller still, until the street swallowed them completely.
Tobe sat very still in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, watching the familiar streets of Awka slide past. The SUV's interior smelled faintly of old books and something else, something like cinnamon or cloves, spices he couldn't quite name.
Uncle CJ drove with the same careful ease he seemed to bring to everything, one hand on the wheel, humming softly to a tune Tobe didn't recognize.
"Nervous?" Uncle CJ asked after a few minutes of silence.
Tobe considered lying, then decided against it. "A little."
"That's honest," Uncle CJ smiled. "Honesty is a good place to start."
They drove on, leaving the city behind, the roads growing narrower, the buildings giving way to trees. The rain that had been threatening finally began to fall, light at first, then harder, drumming on the roof of the SUV like gentle applause.
Tobe didn't know if he was heading toward the worst holiday of his life or something else entirely.
But as the streetlights of Awka flickered on one by one behind them and the road stretched dark and glistening ahead, he felt that tug again, stronger now, more insistent.
Like a door he couldn't yet see had not just swung open.
It was calling him through.