It was so peaceful, a walk in the most beautiful garden. I had never seen anything like it in my life. 

The sky was the perfect blue, the clouds were an immaculate white, not the dusty grey ones that afflicted the sky in Port Harcourt. Children ran aroundThere were butterflies, and no fat pregnant flies playing an orchestra past my ears. I could walk barefoot on the grass without any fear of a broken bottle or careless refuse.

The flowers were beautiful colors, most from the rainbow and others I couldn't recognise. 

I let the breeze caress my skin as it sang past my ears. I took in a deep breath and smiled. I knew I was sleeping, but I didn't want it to end, so I laid myself out on the grass, and rested. 

Rest. Only in my dreams could I have a taste of what that felt like. Once my eyes were open, it was one burden, task, chore or the other till I closed them late at night, and opened them again before the sun would rise, so I made sure to make the most of these moments. 

Until it clicked, this sleep is a little too sweet o. I flung my eyes open and was immediately not so graciously greeted with the blinding morning sun that seeped in through my curtains. Panic flooded my chest and it instantly felt tighter, my mind began to race.

"Shit-shit-shit-shit"! I jumped up from my bed and almost tumbled to the floor cause of the rush of blood to my head. I steadied myself and held my head, still cursing under my breath. 

It was a Monday morning, and I was up after sunrise! Not just any Monday morning! It was the Monday for my job interview by 8:00 am and the sun was already shining?

Had the rapture happened? Where were my 4 siblings that shared the bed with me and were supposed to wake me up?

When the room had stopped spinning I rushed to the extension where my phone was charging and almost screamed when I saw the time.

"Jesus! 7:27?" I unlocked my phone as I held my chest, almost ready to shout at my alarm, only to open my app and see that I never actually turned it on. 

I hissed resoundingly as I pulled at my hairnet and the miserable strands of hair pulling out of my rough all-back. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

"But you know who is even more, Stupid?" I thought to myself, in a bid to share the blame "those four useless children that got up from the same bed." 

I tossed my phone over to the side, before realising I had a cracked screen already. I made a mental note to check for damage later while praying it had soft landing.

"Chisom! Silas! Chima! Joel!" I screamed. I could imagine the veins popping at the sides of my head. 

I heard their tiny and large footsteps rush towards the room, and before they opened our room door, I could've sword I heard Chima say "Matron Don wake" I took another mental note to knock his freshly barbed head when he entered.

They all filed in and stood in a straight line before me as I was in a squat beside the socket.

I narrowed my eyes at them, the 17, 14, 14 and 8 year old respectively that stood before me. "So none of you could wake me up? The sun is shining and none of you could wake me up?" 

They looked between themselves, communicating in some code language they had intentionally created to exclude me. 

Then Joel, the youngest was nominated to speak. He stepped forward. 

"Sister Ama," He paused, calculating his words. Chima, one of the twins nudged him from behind, "yesterday night, you said we should not wake you, that you had set your alarm."

I thought back to the night before, i had sat them down and warned them REPEATEDLY not to wake me up, just right before we all went to bed. 

I looked at Chisom, the oldest of the four, "So you!" Chisom gave me an unreadable look, I wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh, "you knew that my interview was today, and you let me sleep for so long?"

She shook her head. "I forgot."

As I opened my mouth to lash out, something assaulted my nostrils, a stench I knew all too well. At our house, it was a Monday Morning diffuser, signature air-distaster.

Burning beans.

"Is mommy awake?" Was my first question as I then noticed the smoke coming in from the kitchen.

They all nodded, and as if on cue, her voice rang through the atmosphere, "ChimAmaNdA!"

I got up, the four parted the red sea and I rushed out of the room, through the corridor and into the kitchen.

I squatted to turn of the camp gas, as Chisom rushed in, closed the kitchen door behind her, and opened the back door and the windows.

I carried the pot of beans outside, and placed it on the floor, and opened the pot. 

The pottage was irredeemable. I used my finger to ease the creases in my forehead. 

"Sister Ama, sorry." Chisom whispered, as my mother fumed from her room and her voice echoed as she moved through the corridor, and got louder as she moved into the kitchen and came out from the back door. Lashing out curses at me in fluent and unhinged Ikwerre. 

She stood before me, hands tieing and re-tying her lappa as she yelled at me, and mind you, only me. 

"Your own, dem born you to dey waste food. Na just to dey waste food." She fumed as she picked up the pot and threw it back down.

I just stood there, staring at her. 

"Pikin wey no get work. Pesin go tink say you go sabi take care of house. Na there you fall hand."

Chisom stepped forward, probably wanting to explain that it was she who was on kitchen duty today. I shook my head at her. It would only make it worse.

She moved towards me and raised her heavy hand, and graciously caressed my face with a slap.

"Useless first born. See wetin you dey teach these small small children."

She picked up the pot again, I wondered how she didn't flinch at its heat, but before I knew it she shoved it into my arms. On reflex, I caught it from it's base with my bare hands and dropped it out of shock.

"If I feed you this thing, they will call me wicked!" 

 She shoved me aside, hissed, sized me up, and turned to leave as she continued to storm through the house "you no fit do anything."

The side of my face stung. I prayed that it wouldn't swell per usual. I'd already be late for the interview, I didn't want to be late and show up harassed. I was a bit glad that it ended there.

"Sorry sister." Chisom whispered as I walked past her. She followed quietly behind me. 

As I walked into the room, the other three quietly stood off in the distance and just peered at me. It was then that i noticed they were all already dressed in uniform.

"Better find wetin una go chop, as you don burn the beans." I heard my mother yell from her room.

I walked toward my handbag, and pulled out my purse. I would need some money for transport, but all I had was 4k. A loaf of bread would be at least 1500. They would have to manage three eggs. 

I sourced out 2250 and handed it to Chisom.

"Bread and egg. There's Bournvita in the cabinet."

They all stood and watched me pitifully. 

"CLEAR." I seethed, and before I knew it they were all out the door.

I squatted to check the time on my phone.

 7:42.

I quickly rushed into the bathroom and had a shower in no particular order. And was done in three minutes. 

7:45.

 I dressed up and put lotion on the exposed parts of my body, put on my wig and put on my lip gloss. I grabbed my handbag that I had packed the night before, not checking if I had everything I needed and hoped I did. 

I rushed out the house and as I passed by the dining my siblings sat for breakfast. My stomach rumbled.

"Sister Ama." Joel ran up to me, and hugged my leg "God helps you Sister Ama." 

 I nodded. And peeled him off my leg and left. 

- 

The walk to the junction, or rather the run to the junction felt longer. Every second felt like pins in my toes. 

I feared that they would turn me away. I turned on my phone screen. 

8:03.

I picked up my pace until I got to the bust stop. 

The conductors shouted.

"Rumuola!" "Rumuogba!" "Rumuola!" "Rumuogba!" I felt a splitting headache seer through my head.  

There was a wave of people rushing into the bus of the guy that i believed shouted Rumuola which was my destination, so that I wouldn't get stampeded on, I joined the rush.

It was when we got in that I turned to an older woman who sat next to me and asked, "we dey go Rumuola shey?"

She passively nodded, and continued to rummage through her Ghana Must Go bag, that had aged because of continous use. I assumed she was going to the market.

I quickly brought out my phone and opened chatgpt to rehearse the questions I may be asked at the interview. There was a battle between my mind and my eyes - a struggle to not look at the time bar on my phone.

I was already hungry and anxious, the last thing I needed was to feel discouraged. I could only hope that I would make it in time.

After a couple of minutes, the bus came to a stop and I raised my head. My breath hitched in my throat. 

We were not in Rumuola.

I turned to the woman beside me. Furious, I yelled "You told me we were going to Rumoula!" 

She widened her yes and pointed her finger in my face "you be small pikin?" the extremely pleasant odour of stock fish fanned across my face as she spoke "you no sabi wetin tear Rumuola and Rumougba?" She stood up, grabbing her market bag, " no para for me."

I sat there defeated, as the passengers offloaded.

The time on my phone now read:

8:29. 

It felt like God was mocking me at that point. 

"How far!" The bus driver called out from upfront, peering at me through his rear view mirror. "My money."

I pulled out four 200 naira notes from my purse and handed it to him. He reached for it, and when he counted it, he seized me up from the rear view. 

"E remain 200."

What a life. 

I would have argued. But this bus driver already wasn't wearing a shirt, and his eyes were already red, and it wasn't even 8:30.

I picked a 200 naira note and handed it to him. "You go fit drop me for Rumuola?"

"You go fit pay for all these seats? If not, you go wait make passenger come". 

That would take another 15 to 20 minuets so I quietly came down from the car and joined another bus that was almost full.

As we waited for passengers to fill up, I watched the time on my phone while hot tears threatened to spill from my eyes. 

Soon we were off, and in five minutes we got to Rumoula. I paid the man a 500 naira note and rushed down and towards the building complex where I was to be interviewed for the role of a receptionist. Thankfully, it was a stone throw from the bus stop.

I couldn't fight the tears that streamed down my face. I wondered why everything had to feel like such a struggle. Like such a fight. Why couldn't I just rest? Life felt too heavy. I thought back to my dream from the morning, and instantly wished I just stayed in bed.

The only escape I would have from home for at least for a few hours, I was no longer sure of the opportunity. I wiped my eyes as the tears blurred my vision but they just kept pouring. The buses that I sat in had deceived me into thinking the sun wasn't that hot.

What a terrible day to wear all black.

I finally got to the complex, out of breath, broken, busted and disgusted. 

As I got to the counter, the fair lady on the other side barely looked up at me. She kept typing away at her computer, though I knew that her work wouldn't be that consuming.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm here for the job interview."

She finally looked up from her screen, surprised. Probably wondering to herself, who is this one?

"You're late o. Sorry. It has ended."

I shook my head and began to cry. "My alarm didn't ring. Nobody woke me up. The beans burnt. I missed my way. I live at Rumigbo and I don't have enough money to go back. Please just help me by allowing me go in."

She shocked her head, uninterested in my rant. "Sorry. You're very late and it has ended. Good luck next time."

I wanted to scream!

I just stood there for a while. And watched as life went on as usual for everyone else. 

I was tired. I was very tired.

All I could do was cry.

I cried and just began to walk, until I found myself sitting at a bust stop in Rumuola, wondering how I was going to get home. 

I got weird looks from people passing by, but I couldn't care. I just continued to cry, wishing someone would hear me and help me. 

12:00.

I had been crying for over three hours at a bust stop.

"Do you have a relationship with God?"

The baritone voice shocked me back to consciousness. I turned to see a young man, dressed in black attire like mine. He had a bright smile on his face, very different from the weary frown on mine.

I wondered who he was, and why he was talking to me.

I stared at him for a while and he didn't break eye contact. I could have ignored him, after all, what amounted to such a question. But I thought to myself, why not?

"I go to church." 

He laughed, a breathy laugh. I couldn't help but somehow feel better "Do cleaners go to schools?"

I thought back to my time in secondary school. I remembered a cleaner, Aunty June very kind and very hardworking.

Confused, I responded. "Yes?"

Still not breaking eye contact he asked me, quietly "are all of them educated?"

Ironically, Aunty June could barely speak any English, and so I shook my head "no". 

He smiled again "so do you have a relationship with God?" his stare was piercing, yet it wasn't condemning. 

I shook my head, wiping my eyes. 

"Matthew 11:28 to 30, come to me, all you who labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest, take my yoke upon you, for I am gentle, and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

I peeled my eyes off him, and stared at my bare palms in my lap for a while.

The last scripture rang in my ears. "Rest."

"Rest." 

"What would you say rest is?"

I tilted my head. "Maybe heaven."

He laughed again. The breathy laugh that made the heavy air around me, feel lighter. Having 4 clingy children around me most times made me very irritable. But I was at ease with him around, yet I knew that it wasn't really about him. 

"Do you think you'd go to heaven?" 

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "That's far abeg. I'm speaking about now."

He stayed quiet for a while. I tried to stress my breathing by taking deep breaths.

"John 17:3, and this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ who You have sent." I listened to him. I had never heard that before, I almost asked "Is that scripture?" 

The air suddenly felt fresher, despite the fumes from the various faulty engines. It should be a crime for cars to be producing such smoke.

"Heaven starts here. Rest isn't a destination. It's a person."

He sighed, and laughed gently. I smiled and had no idea why.

"Take Jesus' rest."

But who was this man?

He stayed silent for a while, and so I finally turned to ask and almost jumped out of my seat. 

"Jesus!" The young man was gone. 

Goosebumps graced my skin and my heart raced in my chest.

"What in the world?"

---

That night, after I eventually got home, I stared at the ceiling as my siblings slept. Playing the days events over in my head. 

It felt like a lot. But my mind zoomed in on the meeting with the young man, who i named Pastor since I never got his name.

I didn't think he was a ghost, but I knew that wasn't ordinary. 

I had heard of Jesus every Sunday, and on some Wednesday's during midweek, but I didn't know Him. 

That night I searched for my mother's bible, and I sat awake, looking through all the scriptures that he recited, and reading as I went on. I didn't understand much, but I knew I was going to start asking questions. 

So what are you waiting for? 

"Take Jesus' rest."