Chapter 13

The vague look was still on Ntone’s face when Nkoro poked a smiling face through the doorway. She didn’t remove her gaze from the book lying on her dressing table when he walked inside the room. He had both hands buried inside the pockets of his bell-bottom pants.

“Sister, I’m not happy with you. Your convocation ceremony is today and we really hoped to celebrate with you. But here you are, letting depression steal your happiness.”

“What’s there to celebrate about? Should I celebrate the fact that I graduated from the university at the age of thirty three?”

“I understand how you feel,” the young lawyer replied. He sat beside her, following the direction of her eyes. “But would it have been better if you had remained in jail?”

There was no response from Ntone. She had braided her hair for the convocation ceremony at her mother’s insistence. The braids now hung loose like curtains draping across her face.

“Barbara died.” She said, trembling visibly.

“I know that, but I don’t think Barbara’s dream for you was to be despondent. Neither was it for you to stare idly at your ‘Dreams from Prison.’

He offered her his hand and rose to his feet.

“I come bearing gifts.”

“What gifts?” She asked casually, being certain that this was one of his quirks.

“You may want to tie your braids into a knot. I want to see your face.”

“Are you kidding?” Ntone glared, finally removing her gaze from the book. “What has that got to do with what you have to say?”

“You will know very soon.”

She reluctantly held the braids into a knot with a red ribbon. Nkoro couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the perplexed look on his sister’s face.

“A couple of Americans just flew into the country.

According to them, someone probably read your book and sent it to them online. As I speak to you, they are in our living room with a very tempting offer. They want to do a movie here in Nigeria based on your story. They also said your book has been nominated for several awards and I did hear them clearly when they said your book has been nominated for this year’s Goi Peace Foundation and UNESCO award.”

“I think you’ve been bamboozled.” Ntone gave a dismal laugh.

“I thought so too, but after a quick internet search, I discovered that Michael Pandor and Larry Ronald, members of the governing board of the Goi peace foundation and UNESCO awards are presently seated in our living room.”

She must have run faster than a deer. The sight she met at the living room left her in unconcealed shock. Her eyes met with a crew of journalists, cameramen and authors. The hours that followed ushered in an unprecedented transition into a different phase of her life as she answered question after question. The dour expression that had debased her appearance for a very long time was erased completely when the last question was thrown to her.

“What inspired the book ‘A Prisoner’s Dream.’?” “I’ve been a prisoner for too long. I’m not only referring to the physical structures that held me in captivity for ten years. It’s the prison that society made me believe was womanhood. I’m tired of the limitations and oppression that we have been forced to believe are an integral part of womanhood. I’m just one out of the many drowning women dreaming of a way out. ‘A Prisoner’s Dream’ is simply me echoing my fears and dreams to the world.”

“Thank you, Miss Ntone Francis.” The young American reporter acknowledged, extending her hand for a handshake.

For a brief moment, Ntone let her eyes dart across the room. Tears flooded her eyes as they met with her mother’s. Nna Awor and Anjor were all smiles as they watched the proceedings from the dining room where they were both seated. This time, the tears in Ntone’s eyes weren’t the ones that she was accustomed to. They were tears of inexplicable joy; an entirely new feeling.