“Did you sleep?”
Anthony looked at her. “Yes.”
She smiled.
Then he added, “In my dreams.”
Her smile disappeared. “Hmm.”
She walked closer, adjusting his pillow like he was still a little boy.
“You need peace, not medicine.”
Anthony sighed. “Mama Grace, if peace was for sale, I would have bought the factory.”
She laughed softly. “My son, some things are not bought.”
He looked away. “Then they should at least make them available for billionaires.”
Later that day, Mama Grace stood outside the mansion holding her small travel bag.
“I will go to the village for a few days,” she announced.
Anthony frowned. “Why?”
“I need to see my people.”
He nodded slowly. “Don’t stay too long.”
She smiled knowingly. “I won’t.”
Then she added quietly, “Maybe I will bring something back for you.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Food?”
She shook her head. “Better.”
He scoffed lightly. “Unless you are bringing sleep inside your bag, I’m not interested.”
Mama Grace just smiled—a mysterious, knowing smile.
“Oh, I might bring something even better than sleep.”
Anthony waved her off. “Safe journey.”
As her car drove away, Anthony stood on the balcony watching, unaware that somewhere in a small village, a loud, dramatic, unstoppable girl named Ma was about to enter his life and scatter everything.
The village did not believe in silence.
If a goat sneezed, three people would discuss it.
If someone coughed, five elders would form a committee.
So when Mama Grace arrived, the entire compound already knew before she stepped down from the car.
“Eh, Grace has come back from the land of money!”
“See her skin? She is now shining like generator oil.”
Mama Grace laughed, adjusting her wrapper. “You people will not kill me with greetings.”
She walked into her friend’s house.
The air was heavy—not with luxury like Anthony’s mansion, but with struggle.
Simple wooden chairs. A small table. A tired ceiling fan that rotated like it was doing the owner a favor.
On the bed lay her friend—Ma’s mother—weak but smiling.
“Grace,” she said softly.
Mama Grace rushed to her. “Ah-ah, what is this? Why are you lying down like a government project?”
They both laughed weakly.
“I’m fine. Just a small sickness.”
“Small sickness that is carrying you like this? Don’t lie to me.”
They held hands, years of friendship sitting quietly between them.
Outside, footsteps—fast, energetic.
Then the door burst open.
Ma entered like a whirlwind, sweaty, breathing hard, holding a nylon bag.
“Mama, I have brought the medicine.”
She froze when she saw Mama Grace, paused, then screamed, “Mama Grace!”
The nylon bag nearly fell.
She ran forward and hugged her dramatically.
“Ah, you have become fresh! Lagos is feeding you well!”
Mama Grace laughed loudly. “And you? You have grown into full noise.”
Ma pulled back proudly. “Yes, I graduated from Talking Academy with first class.”
Her mother shook her head. “This girl.”
Ma dropped the medicine and sat down, then immediately started talking.
“Mama Grace, you will not believe my life. I have finished school—no job. I have sense—no connection. I have beauty—no sponsor.”
Mama Grace burst into laughter.
“Your mouth will not kill you.”
Ma placed her hand on her chest dramatically. “I am suffering with talent.”
Her mother coughed and laughed at the same time. “Instead of helping me, you are doing stand-up comedy.”
Ma pointed at her. “Mama, laughter is medicine. I am saving hospital bills.”
Mama Grace watched her carefully—her energy, her heart, her light.
Then she spoke.
“Ma, do you want to work?”
Ma froze.
“Work?”
“Yes. In the city.”
Ma leaned forward. “What kind of work? Legal work or ‘don’t ask questions’ work?”
Mama Grace slapped her arm lightly. “Don’t be stupid.”
Ma grinned. “I’m listening.”
“In a big house. As a maid.”
Silence.
For the first time since she entered, Ma was quiet.
Her eyes shifted to her mother, then back to Mama Grace.
“Will they pay?”
