FlourishBakes

“THE LOST TWIN”
(A Nigerian story of fate, loss, and rediscovery.)

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Page 1: “The Drums of Oke-Aba”

The morning mist hung low over Oke-Aba village, wrapping the red earth in a sleepy haze. The roosters had crowed since before dawn, and the air carried the smell of firewood and wet cassava. Inside a small mud-brick house, Mama Ifeoma whispered prayers as she stirred the pot of pap. Her twin sons — Chika and Chidi, barely six — slept curled together on a raffia mat, identical save for a small scar above Chika’s eyebrow.

The twins were inseparable. They fetched water together, chased grasshoppers behind the church, and confused half the villagers with their identical smiles. Their father, Papa Uchenna, often said, “When you see one, the other is not far behind. God made them with one breath.”

But that was before the river took one away.

It was the season of heavy rains when it happened. The clouds gathered thick and grey, and the little stream behind the farm turned into a furious current. The twins had gone to fetch mangoes from a fallen tree by the riverbank. When the earth gave way under their feet, Chidi fell. Chika screamed, reaching for his brother’s hand — but the muddy water swallowed him before anyone could reach.

They searched for days. The villagers beat drums, the women wailed, and the priest prayed by the water’s edge. But Chidi’s body never surfaced. Mama Ifeoma refused to believe he was gone; she swore her heart could still feel his heartbeat somewhere in the world.

Years passed. Grief hardened into silence, and life moved on — but Chika never stopped feeling incomplete, as if part of his soul had been left behind in that rushing river.

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Page 2: “The Boy from Lagos”

Fifteen years later, the sun rose over the restless hum of Lagos. Traffic horns blended with the cries of hawkers selling gala and pure water. Somewhere in Surulere, a young man named Chidi Okafor adjusted his earpiece and stepped off a danfo bus.

He had grown tall and lean, with a quiet strength in his face — though he’d never known where he came from. He’d been told he was found wandering on a flooded street as a child, rescued by a widow named Aunty Grace, who raised him as her own. She said the flood had destroyed the nearby settlement and no one came to claim him.

Sometimes, he dreamt of red earth and a woman’s voice calling his name from across a river. The dreams left him restless, but Lagos life allowed little time for reflection. He worked as a phone repair apprentice at Computer Village, saving small change to take online courses at night.

One day, while repairing a customer’s phone, a notification popped up on the screen: “Chika Uchenna added a new photo.” The name froze him. He didn’t know why it felt familiar, but something deep in his chest stirred. On instinct, he searched the name.

A profile appeared — a young man in Enugu, smiling in a photo beside a woman who looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t say why. The resemblance between them was uncanny — it felt like staring into a mirror.

Chidi couldn’t shake it off. For days, he scrolled through that profile, comparing faces. The same eyes. The same scar above the right brow. He thought it was a joke — maybe AI, maybe coincidence. But when he read the caption under one picture — “For my brother, Chidi, who the river took but my heart never forgot” — his hands trembled.

He didn’t sleep that night. Lagos noises faded into the distance as his mind returned to the dream — the rushing river, a small hand slipping from his, and a woman crying his name.

Something inside him whispered: Go home.

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Page 3: “The Journey Back”

Two weeks later, Chidi stood by a luxury bus at Jibowu Park, holding a small backpack. The Lagos sky was pale and dusty as the driver shouted, “Enugu! Enugu straight!”


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