This is my entry for The Ink Well community’s fiction prompt "Where did you go?" I set this story in a village in Akwa Ibom where a young girl disappears silently, leaving behind more questions than answers. I wrote it in a natural, local tone using relatable characters and emotions.
The last time I saw Ekaette she was sitting on that low stool outside her mother’s small provision store peeling groundnuts one by one like she had all the time in the world. The evening sun was already hiding behind the coconut trees that stood tall by the sandy path that led to the village square. Children were playing ten ten and clapping their hands while someone nearby was roasting plantain. The smell floated lazily through the air mixing with dust and the scent of dry leaves. I still carry that picture in my mind like it happened yesterday
Ekaette was different. She didn’t do too much or talk too loud. She just had a way of being calm and full of sense. The kind of person who would listen to you even when you were talking nonsense and still respond with something that made you think twice. We grew up together from the days of using empty tins as toy cars to fetching water with rubber buckets from the village borehole. We went to Sacred Heart Parish every Sunday and even sat in the same pew when we were still in children’s choir. Community Secondary School Ikot Etefia was where our friendship really became something else
But something changed along the line and I didn’t notice it on time. Her chats became shorter. Her laugh stopped coming freely. She started posting strange things on WhatsApp like yellow letters on black background saying things like sometimes silence is better than explanations or not everyone who smiles at you means well. I just waved it off like how people behave when they’re going through mood swings
One evening I branched her house on my way from my cousin’s tailoring shop at Udoudoma Road. Her mother was sitting outside as usual with her wrapper tied above her chest and a church program fan in hand. I greeted her and she responded with a tired nod. I asked if Ekaette was around
She looked at me then looked away like she didn’t want to be the one to tell me. Then she said softly Ekaette don go
I was confused. Go where
She said she didn’t know. That Ekaette had been acting strange lately. That one night she came to her and said Mama forgive me for everything then went into her room. The next morning her bag was gone and so was she. No note. No explanation. Just gone
I stood there like someone whose name had just been removed from a list he didn’t even know he was on. The bottle of malt I was holding slipped from my hand and rolled into the bush beside their house
This was Ekaette we were talking about. The same girl who used to make her little sister’s hair every Saturday while singing Onyeka Onwenu songs. The same girl who said she wanted to open a small reading center to teach village children how to read and write. How could she just disappear like that without saying anything
Days passed. Then weeks. No one heard anything. Her phone was switched off. Her social media quiet. Her mother stopped going to the store. Even the sun seemed to hide more often after she left
I started remembering small small things she used to say. Like that time we sat on the broken bench near the abandoned town hall watching keke pass and drinking zobo. She had said I just want to be somewhere I can breathe. I thought she meant fresh air
She said it’s not easy to be a girl here. Everybody wants to decide your life. How you should dress how you should talk who you should marry even when you should laugh. She said it like she was tired
Now it’s making sense. Maybe she didn’t run. Maybe she flew
One Sunday after Mass I passed by their house again. Her small brother Ekpo was using an old spoon to fix a broken radio. I asked if he had heard from Ekaette. He said yes she sent a letter but Mama said he shouldn’t show anybody because
