It was a full moon on the twenty-third night after Tonia arrived at the orphanage. It was its magnificence I looked at while making up my mind to stand from my bed. I tiptoed through the aisle of bonks, stopped at Tonia's bonk space, and slipped under her cover, cuddling her from behind. I knew she was awake and was aware it was I who climbed into her bed.

Before then, we hadn't said a word to each other, only exchanged awkward stares at the dining, and on the playground; anytime I molded sand around my foot to build a sand house, Tonia copied with an undisguised stare which resulted in me either scatter the house or obstruct her view. Everything changed that night, lying beside her, inhaling her natural smell, imagining us on the playground where I would allow her to imitate my sand house and build hers next to mine.

Screams woke me the next morning. The high-pitched sound came from outside and startled me. I and Tonia exchanged a perplexed glance. Fear of the unknown laced the rims of her eyes. Apart from fear, my eyes conveyed other emotions.

I stood up and followed my other siblings heading towards the screams, fingers entwined with Tonia's who tagged along.
I don't remember the faces or names of most people in that orphanage but I stood behind someone barely taller; everyone was barely taller even Tonia and watched as Moaka threw herself to the floor, rolling left to right, soiling her white T-shirt, the one she mostly wore on Mondays; the one with the orphanage's name imprinted on the back. Other auxiliaries tried to stop her as she screamed and palmed the interlock. In between her screams she said, "Pre ooo, Pre ooo... pre... Where...have you gone too? Where is Pre?"

I looked towards Prica's bonk and at the faces around and noticed her absence. Her albino skin, just like Tonia's, wasn't hard to pick out from a crowd. Moaka had noticed her absence when she entered our room to do her regular room check by 3 a.m. She kept it quiet until she was sure Prisca was gone. Mr. Moses, the religious auxiliary, had us kneel to form a circle and asked us to hold hands and pray for Prisca's return but she never returned.

That was sixteen years ago, now, another child, the seventh since I started counting, is missing in one of Dad's orphanage in Nigeria. It trends on Twitter and I scrutinize every post, reading every comment and reaction.

The missing thirteen-year-old boy's name is Chukwuma, translating to 'god knows' and he is a boy who can be easily forgotten like Culkin because of his quiet nature amid people. It wasn't until yesterday when his morning Akamu had caked that one of the Auxiliaries noticed his absence. It wasn't the first time the boy left without permission. It has happened twice. The first time, a year ago, he said he felt trapped within the walls of the orphanage. The second time, two weeks ago, he said he felt the presence of his mother around, so he went looking for her.

The auxiliary who was interviewed believes he will return. It is not the first time he left without permission, she said again.

Two days pass and the boy does not return. The police establish a search party, accompanied by civilian volunteers who comb the bushes.

The media flashes the boy's picture almost every hour, social media does its thing and resurrects old news about other missing children from that particular orphanage.

Questions are asked but not the ones I expect. Buhari, Nigeria's acting president, makes a speech about the little boy. Tinubu, a presidential candidate makes a speech too, but the paper he reads from is held by quivering hands. Aside from that, I know they both know dad, but they don't mention him at all.

"Won't you drop that phone and eat?" Hanna says and I raise my head from the screen, contempt evident in my gaze. She has finished eating and is moving to the kitchen with her plate. There is no appetite for the Jollof rice on my plate. Chimdi suffers the same faith because she just uses her fork to tamper with the surface of the rice.

"You girls should better eat, you girls are turning to bones." With that, Hanna enters the kitchen, her bare feet slapping the tile. On her last birthday, I stood behind her door rehearsing the words I over-rehearsed before a mirror and while eavesdropping before entering her room, I heard her tell Chimdi, "I keep the floors clean enough for the freedom of that."

Chimdi also finds it weird but she doesn't react to the loud slaps of Hanna's feet against the tiles. She is lost in thought and is not aware of my gaze. She has been like this since she returned from the trip with
her fiancé.

"Chimdi.
Chimdi!" I call her again with a slightly raised voice and she jolts.

When she pays me attention I say, "What is the problem? You have been like this since you returned."

She sighs, "I really don't want to talk about it." She pushes the plate of rice to the side, the fork falls dropping grains of Jollof rice on the glass table.

"Another child is missing in dad's orphanage. Again..." I say.

"I know, It is everywhere. I pray the boy comes back." Her already sour mood thickens and she leans on the backrest. "He will come back." her voice is not too loud or too small but it is firm enough to convince me. "He will come back."

She doesn't pray and the only person who had tried praying was Hanna and indeed, it was a mid-life crisis.

"Why does it always happen?"

She spares me a reserved look, "What do you mean? Why does what happen?"

She talks before I could begin to form words.

"Zere, please I am not in the mood for all that stuff now." She pushes her chair back and stands. My eyes follow her upstairs.

Later, she would tell me her fiance cheated and their relationship is over but now, I feel the vibration of the door she slams beneath my feet.
I return my attention to my phone only for Dad's call to come in. I wait until the last ring before I answer.

"My Zere, how are you?"

"Fine. You?"

He sighs and I imagine he finger combs his grey afro, "I am not so good, another child is missing from Dethero."

"I have se...."
He cuts in, "But I have a strong belief he will come back. It is not the first time he is doing such. He will come back. He will." His tone is vague, and it sounds like something he reserved to tell the tabloids.

And because I hope for his return too I say, "I want him to come back."

"Zere, he will. Trust me."

De javu collects itself but the scenes start becoming too vivid, it starts turning into memory. I remember he said those exact words when Prisca went missing.

My voice is low as I say, "What if he doesn't come back... Like Prisca?"

"Zere, don't say that."

I remain silent, wishing I didn't utter those words but the idea is already birthed, hovering in the air like a vulture circling a wounded animal.

"Please don't say that again. Be positive... Please be positive. Anyway, I called you to tell you something..."

The silence in-between makes my heart race.

"What is it?"

For a moment, I think about you. I don't know why I think that.

"Are you not ready to go back to school?"

This again.

"Don't sigh," he says, "I have told you that education is key."

I want to remind him that he didn't go to school but I say, "I am too old for the class I dropped out of."
"Yes, I know. I can arrange your admission into a university."

I huff.

"It is your choice, I won't force you to do what you don't want. But it will make me happy if you accept."

"Can I think about it?"

"Sure, why not? But promise to get back to me... Sooner than later."

"Yes, I will."

"You know I love you more than anything in the world?"

The question is rhetoric because I can name other things he loves over me.

"How is your work going?" He refers to the painting of you that is still incomplete.

"Slow."

"I see, this one is tough ehh?"

"Yes... But it is nothing."

D E S I R E S
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