CHAPTER 3

A young, lanky boy of Mexican descent, about the age of seventeen, stood, collecting mails from the mailbox of an orphanage, in Mississippi, when one letter caught his eyes.

He ran down the hall of the orphanage cathedral, holding the letter in his hand, shouting at the top of his voice, "Mother Superior! Where is Mother Superior?" He called out, asking the other kids around.

"Miliagro?! What is it darling? Is everything okay?" The Mother Superior called out to the boy, from a distance.

"See for yourself." Miliagro, the young lad said, as he handed her the letter with smiles on his face.

"Blessed Virgin Mary! Miliagro, you made it! I'm so proud of you." She exclaimed in amusement, after reading the content of the letter. She hugged him close, as tears filled her eyes.

"Nancy!" The Mother Superior beckoned to a young Nun in her mid-thirties, to come and share in the good news.

"Wow! You've been admitted to Harvard on scholarship! I never had one single doubt thou." Nancy said, after reading the letter with eyes opened in amazement.

"Uhn?! You actually told me not to take the exam cause there's only a ten percent chance they will pick me. And that, the ten percent is shared with like a million others." Miliagro replied Nancy, making funny faces at her.

"Oh common, that was just to see how motivated you are," She said with a smile. "And also not to watch you cry in disappointment if it didn't go your way." She added, whispering this time.

"Of course!" Miliagro answered, giving another weird glance, this time, at the mother superior and they both burst out in laughter. He collected the letter from Nancy and hurriedly ran down to show it to the other kids.

That night, as they gathered at the table to eat dinner at the orphanage, the mother superior, after the food, congratulated Milli (the nickname given to Miliagro by the other kids). She dished out some encouraging words and prayed for everyone, while declaring that they will all follow him to the airport, to see him off.

* * *

A seventeen-year-old lady of Indian descent walked around aimlessly. She suddenly stood afloat, with the Earth under her feet. She then started to fall to Earth. She appeared in the modern-day city of New York, but it looked isolated. She kept walking, trying to find someone or some meaning to her new environment.

Every tall building and world-class constructions were dilapidated and abandoned. She walked few meters and started to see blood and bodies lying everywhere on the ground. She saw an old, raggedy person walking towards her, suddenly, the person started to cough out blood and fell to their back, stretching their hands towards her, trying to reach for some sort of help, for their extinguishing life.

Almost immediately, a helicopter hovered above her and the radio from the chopper called out, "Prisilla Anav! Stay where you are, do not move or we will put you down! Put your hands above your head. Prisilla! Prisilla..."

"Prisilla!" A female voice called out angrily, waking up the young lady. "Prisilla! Hurry up and get down here!" The voice commanded again, in Hindi.

"Yes Grandma, I will be downstairs in a minute," Prissila replied in English. She looked around her environment, realising she just had a bad dream, and she was still in India, not New York or above the earth for that matter, as supposed by the weird dream.

"Give me a minute let me freshen up, she has taken a whole year upstairs in her room, all she does is look at that cursed phone of hers. That American mother of hers has spoiled this girl rotten. And now she is going back to America for more disrespectful education. She doesn't even speak Hindi anymore! Yes, Grandma! Yes, Grandma! like a wild dog." The grandmother lamented endlessly to herself in small muttering sounds, in Hindi, while making funny, distressed faces.

"Hey Grandma, I'm here. Sorry, I fell asleep." Prissila interrupted, coming down the stairs from her room.

"Oh yeah Miss World, don't forget the pilot won't bring the plane here to pick you up. You'll be late for your flight if you don't hurry." She mocked Prisilla, who was now downstairs and attempting to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hmmmmmn! too bad for him. I think we should fire the pilot if he can't do that, right?!" Prissila whined jokingly. "I will miss you, Grandma." She added, this time, emotionally hugging her Grandma.

"I won't miss you one bit. So unhinge me, weird lady, I call my granddaughter." Grandma said laughing and trying to free herself from Prisilla's hug.

"Hey Prisilla, are you set?" A male figure said as he entered the room. He picked up Prisilla's luggage and dragged it outside.

"Yes, uncle Arjun," Prisilla answered. She and the grandmother followed the Uncle out, with Prisilla closing the door behind them.

* * *

A young, light-skinned Nigerian boy of seventeen, ran barefooted as though he was running from someone and running for his life. As he ran through a thick bush, he turned his face backwards to check for his pursuers. He then bumped into someone and fell flat on his back. Raising his face quickly to look, his face met a scary looking, demon-like figure of a man with maggots dripping from all over him, holding a blood-stained dagger.

The boy tried getting up to run, but the ground became muddy and started to swallow him bit by bit, as though someone was drawing him deep into the ground below, like a quicksand.

The demon figure above him raised the dagger to stab him. The boy struggled and screamed hard, trying to break free but the maggots from the demon's body, began to fall into the boy's mouth, filling it up as he chokes and kept struggling.

"Muejiz! Muejiz!" A bold male voice called out. It was the voice of an older Abubak'r, as he tried to wake up his son who is struggling in bed from a nightmare.

Muejizhan (now a tall, black-haired lad with hazel brown eyes and slim body, typical of a handsome Hausa-Fulani boy, of Northern Nigeria descent), woke up, all sweaty with fear in his eyes.

"It's just a nightmare dear. I'm right here. You're okay!." Abubak'r said, hugging his son. "Get ready quick, let me drop you off at the airport." He added and stood up to leave the room.

Muejizhan, now awake to the realization of his surrounding, looked at the table clock, "It's seven in the morning already?" He thought to himself, as it wasn't up to a minute he slept, after praying the early morning Muslim prayers.

He hurriedly rushed down from his bed and manoeuvred his way to his bathroom and quickly got prepared.

Seeing as his son climbed down the stairs, with the house help carrying his luggage, Abubak'r was moved to tears as he smiled proudly.

"Ok Dad, you've either got an amazing tear duct that pours out at every moment, or you're too emotional for an army General. And that's too bad if you ask me. I mean, did you cry your way through wars?!" Meujizhan humorously said to his father, as he met tears in his eyes.

"Muejiz! I will miss you and your disrespectful jokes!" Abubak'r said stretching his hand to engulf his boy in a lovely hug.

"Oh! I know you will." Muejizhan, now under his father's arm muttered.

"Alright, let go of me. We will continue this emotional moment when you walk me down the aisle, sometime in the future." He mocked and broke free from his Dad.

"Don't try to play tough, you better cry all you want now. I'm saving you the embarrassment of not crying on the plane or when you land and I'm not there." Abubak'r said in defence.

"Save me from what now?! I mean look at the bright side Dad, I'm not getting married to an Arabian Prince and leaving you for good, to go live in UAE like Zainab." Muejizhan fired, jokingly.

"I've just been admitted into the university and it's a good thing I accept the admission and go. Unless you want my education to stop at High-School level. That, I'll gladly do." He mocked and tried to turn back, as if not going through with his journey again.

"That's not fair, bringing Zainab into this. I'm happy she's married and has a family of her own now. Though they're far away, I am still a happy and proud father." Abubak'r defended again.

"I also want you to go to school and attain the highest level of education possible. It's what your mother would want, it's what I want." He said, with a prideful smile this time.

Muejizhan moved close and hugged his Dad, "It's also what I want. I will make you proud I promise!" He said emotionally.

"I'm already proud," replied Abubak'r, confidently.

A soldier walked in and announced to them, "Sir the car is ready. We should leave now."

Inside the car, the driver, an army lieutenant, looked through the rearview mirror and his face caught that of Muejizhan.

"So, Muejiz, Biochemistry in Obafemi Awolowo University huh?! Africa's best University." The lieutenant said.

"I'm really proud of you for meeting the admission quota. Our boy, now in the one and only Great Ife! Keep making us real proud dear. Although we are all gonna miss you badly." He added with a smirk.

"I know you all will, Sir Ali," Muejizhan replied beaming with smiles and threw a wink at the driver through the rearview mirror.

* * *

Miliagro, Muejizhan and Prisilla were being checked in, at the airport, in different locations.

Miliagro stood at the Mississippi airport, wore a dark shade, with a proud, boastful face, pressing on his phone, trying to shy away from the noise and tantrum from the other orphan kids.

Prisilla, at the New Delhi airport in India, smiling and waving at every stranger. She kept hugging her grandma and uncle at intervals, with the grandma trying to break free of the lady every time. She shook her head and laughed at the scene her granddaughter was creating.

Muejizhan at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport Abuja, Nigeria. He sat with his Dad and the driver, smiling with joy, as though can't wait to be on his way to his new destination and adventure.

"All passengers to the Obafemi Awolowo University Airport should please board their plane right now..." A female voice announced on the radio.

Muejizhan quickly jumped, made a salute at his Dad and Lieutenant Ali, the driver. And ran off to the runway waving them goodbye, as his father and Ali smiled at him leaving and waved back.