###First Morning on 16th Lane
Sometimes you have to see the world before it speaks to you.
The first thing Tobe heard was birds.
Not one or two, but a whole layered symphony, high whistles that danced above deeper coos, a clicking beat like tiny sticks tapping wood, warbles and trills that wove together into something that sounded almost intentional, almost like language. He'd barely heard birds back in Awka; the city's noise usually drowned them out by dawn.
Light filtered through blue shutters in thin gold stripes, painting bars of brightness across the wooden floor. Tobe stretched, his body remembering the long car ride, and immediately smelled something warm and sharp, ginger again, mixed with fresh bread.
Uncle CJ must really love ginger.
Outside, Palm Town was already awake. From his window, Tobe could see 16th Lane stirring to life: shop owners sweeping in front of their stores, keys jingling as locks turned, a keke sputtering down the street like a sleepy goat reluctant to start its day. The air carried both car horns and the sweet smoke of akara frying somewhere nearby. Apparently, everyone loved akara, even people in Palm Town.
Uncle CJ stood by the hibiscus hedge in the front yard, pruning shears in hand, dressed in a simple white shirt and dark wrapper tied at his waist. He moved like someone who had all the time in the world and nothing bothering him at all, each snip of the shears deliberate and careful.
"Good morning, Uncle!" Tobe called from the doorway.
"Morning, Tobe," Uncle CJ answered without looking up. "Tell me three things you hear right now."
Tobe blinked at the unusual greeting. "Uh… birds. A keke. A neighbor on the phone. Someone shouting 'pure water!'"
Uncle CJ finally turned, a half-smile on his face. "And what do you smell?"
Tobe sniffed the air. "Akara. Burning stew?"
"Good," Uncle CJ said, clipping another branch with precision. "The last one must be a neighbor's. Happens here all the time. The town speaks before you even open your eyes, Tobe. Most people never listen."
It was an odd thing to say, but somehow it felt true. Back home, Tobe would wake up and immediately turn on the TV or reach for a comic book, blocking out the world before it could bother him. Here, in the quiet clarity of morning, he found himself actually noticing things.
After brushing his teeth and washing his face with water that tasted faintly of minerals, Tobe was handed a short broom.
"Morning exercise," Uncle CJ announced cheerfully.
Tobe's face must have shown his disappointment because Uncle CJ chuckled. "Don't worry. You only have to sweep the bedrooms, the living room, the hallways, and the porch. The other rooms can wait."
Other rooms?
As Tobe began his chores, he realized the house was far larger than he'd noticed the night before. His tired eyes had missed so much. There was a library—an entire room filled floor to ceiling with books, their spines creating a rainbow of knowledge. A music room held a large, beautiful harp, talking drums of different sizes, and a gong that hung like a bronze moon. An antiques room filled with objects that seemed either ancient, precious, or expensive, possibly all three.
Some of the sculptures were distinctly Nigerian: a Benin mask hung prominently on one wall, beautifully carved clay pots sat on the floor beside a dusty wooden table, and an elephant tusk mounted on a hanger gleamed dully in the dim light. Tobe recognized some from his history textbooks.
But there were other objects he'd never seen before. A bronze box with intricate designs and colorful stones placed carefully across its surface. A wooden staff carved with symbols that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. A glass orb filled with what looked like trapped smoke or mist, swirling endlessly.
He tried not to touch anything. These things felt important, the way museum pieces feel important, like they had stories that shouldn't be disturbed.
When Tobe finished sweeping and met Uncle CJ outside, the older man was waiting with that patient smile, two cups of tea already prepared.
"Come," Uncle CJ said. "Let's walk."
They moved toward the square at an easy pace. Every few steps, Uncle CJ would pause to greet a neighbor with an easy nod, and Tobe noticed how each greeting was personal, Good morning, Nnenna; How's your mother doing, Iya Tayo; That knee feeling better, Baba Kelechi? never just generic words tossed into the air.
He remembered names. He remembered details. Tiny things about people's lives that most wouldn't bother to keep track of.
It made the town feel simultaneously smaller and larger, intimate enough for everyone to know everyone, yet vast in the depth of those connections.
A hawker approached with a tray of steaming moi-moi wrapped in leaves. Uncle CJ bought two parcels and handed one to Tobe.
"Eat while it's hot," he said. "Beans ground fine, seasoned with patience."
Tobe smiled faintly, unwrapping the leaf. "Seasoned with patience?" The phrase made no sense.
"You'll taste it," Uncle CJ replied, his eyes twinkling with private amusement.
And strangely, Tobe did. The moi-moi was different from what he was used to, softer, richer, with a subtle sweetness that suggested the maker had taken their time, had cared about each step.
They reached a small park at the center of the square. Children were already chasing a rubber ball across the grass, their laughter bright as bells. An old man stood studying a poster on a community billboard. Not far away, a carpenter worked at cutting and carving planks with a hand saw, each stroke measured and precise.
Uncle CJ sat on a stone bench and motioned for Tobe to join him.
"People think lessons hide in big speeches," he said quietly, watching the carpenter work. "Most times, they're in the sound of a street waking up. When you notice, you start to understand where you are, and who you are inside it."
Tobe watched the carpenter cut long and short shapes from a plank with perfect precision. Each piece came after careful measurement, no wasted motion, no mistakes. Beside the man stood beautiful new furniture, proof that patience and skill could transform rough wood into something valuable.
Something in Tobe's chest loosened, like a knot he hadn't known was there beginning to unwind.
"Is that why you know everyone's name?" he asked.
Uncle CJ nodded. "Names are stories, Tobe. If you care enough to learn them, you begin to belong."
They stayed until the sun climbed higher and the park warmed with mid-morning light, smelling of grass and earth and possibility. The world felt larger than Tobe had thought, but somehow he felt closer to it, as if Palm Town had spoken and he'd actually heard.
On their way back, Uncle CJ handed Tobe a fallen flamboyant flower, its orange petals still vibrant despite being separated from the tree.
"Keep this," he said. "It will remind you that morning is never just the start of a day. It's an invitation."
Tobe slipped the bright petal into his pocket. It felt like the first line of a secret he was just beginning to read.
Back at the house, Uncle CJ showed him how to prepare for the day properly, not just washing and dressing, but noticing. Notice the temperature of the water, the smell of the soap, the way sunlight changed the color of the walls. Notice which birds sang and which stayed silent. Notice if the wind came from the east or west, and what scents it carried.
"Most people," Uncle CJ said as they stood on the veranda watching 16th Lane move through its morning rhythm, "walk through life half-asleep. They see but don't observe. They hear but don't listen. They touch but don't feel."
He turned to Tobe, and for just a moment, his dark eyes seemed to catch the light strangely, that same brightness Tobe had noticed when they first met. "You have artist's eyes, Tobe. I saw your sketchbooks in your bag. Artists see what others miss. Don't lose that."
"I just draw cartoons and superheroes," Tobe said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"For now," Uncle CJ agreed. "But the eye that can capture a superhero can learn to capture truth. And truth, my boy, is the greatest magic there is."
Magic. The word hung in the air between them, casual but weighted, and Tobe wondered if Uncle CJ had meant it literally or if it was just an expression.
Before he could ask, Uncle CJ clapped his hands once. "Come. I'll show you the rest of the house properly, and then we have market to visit. Can't feed you on tea and moi-moi alone."
As they moved back inside, Tobe glanced back at the paintings on the walls. In the morning light, they looked perfectly ordinary, just beautiful artwork, nothing more.
But he could have sworn that the lantern in the one painting glowed a little brighter than before.
And the grass in the savannah painting seemed to bend in a direction there was no wind to explain.
He shook his head, dismissing it. Tricks of light. Morning tiredness. Imagination.
But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, Uncle CJ's comment about truth being magic hadn't been a metaphor at all.