Page 87 of Death of the Author

“Excuse me, sah, ma,” a young man in jeans and a red T-shirt said. He was already taking Zelu’s bag from her. Zelu snatched it back. “Can I help you carry—”

“No, I’m fine,” Zelu said.

But the boy didn’t let go. “I just want to help.”

Zelu roughly pushed his hand off her suitcase handle. She was so irritated and focused that she didn’t even lose her balance. “I can roll a suitcase just as well as you can.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” Hugo asked.

The boy held up his hands. “But robot ma—”

“‘Robot ma’?” Zelu sneered. “Seriously? What... how much for you to fuck off,” she angrily said.

The young man blinked at her. “Twenty dollars,” he blurted.

She reached into her side pocket and brought out the twenty she’d stashed there just in case she got caught at the checkpoint. She thrust it at him. “Fuck off!” She shook a finger at him, her speech suddenly shifting. “And don’t you dare send any of your guys to come and harass me, o. Or I will insult you all!” He took the money and scurried off as if he’d seen a demon.

“Zelu,” Hugo said, looking impressed. “It’s like you shape-shifted into one of those Nollywood ladies.”

Zelu sighed, her adrenaline subsiding. “I’m sorry, this airport just brings it out of me. ‘Robot ma’?! What the hell is ‘robot ma’?!”

Marcy also ended up paying a twenty-dollar bribe, but at least they got out a few minutes later. And thankfully their ride was waiting right where he’d said he would be.

The hotel was nice, despite the staff staring at Zelu as if she were an alien. The room was small, but laid out such that she didn’t bump into things the way she did in most hotels. The edge of the bed was rounded and the blanket hung over it. There was a table, but it, too, had round edges, and there was plenty of space between it and the bed. The air conditioner worked.The bed was far enough from the wall that she had plenty of space for her suitcase. On top of this, an entire south wall of her room was a window that gave her a lovely view of Lagos.

That evening, the four of them opted to eat in their rooms since they were so jet-lagged. She ordered a basic yet delicious meal of jollof rice, stewed chicken, fried plantain, and a bottle of Bitter Lemon. She gazed at the window from her bed and frowned. She wished her mind would shut up. She’d decided to come to Nigeria without a wheelchair as backup to her exos. She didn’t use her wheelchair at home anymore, but there was a difference between not using something you have and not having it at all. However, since she’d gotten to her hotel room, she couldn’t stop thinking that shehadto stand up if she wanted to get anywhere.

She grabbed her phone and hovered a finger above Msizi’s name before she remembered they’d fought before she left. She sighed and called her mother instead.

The phone rang once. “Zelu!”

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh, thank the Lord! Have you spoken to your uncle Ralph and auntie Mary?”

“We only just reached the hotel, Mom.”

Her mother’s voice came fast. “Call them soon so they know you’re there. And make sure you have enough data on your phone—”

“Mom, I have unlimited data. You can call me as often as you like.”

“Oh, good. But call them right after.”

“Sure, sure.”

“How was the flight?”

Zelu sighed, thinking of the woman who had woken her. “Boring, so good.”

“What of your friends?”

“They’re fine.”

“How are you?”

“Mom.” She laughed. “I’m fine. Really.”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just stay at the palace instead of a hotel.”

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