The rooster from the neighbor's yard had crowed at least three times before Glory finally stirred. She had slept lightly, waking at intervals to the cries of Emem's baby, and her head still carried the weight of broken rest. As she lay staring at the low ceiling, she heard the soft thud of footsteps and the shuffle of fabric. Emem was already up.
Glory pushed herself upright, adjusting her wrapper, and stepped into the sitting room. The sight drew a reluctant smile: Emem, hair tied with a scarf, was perched on the edge of the raffia mat, rhythmically bouncing her son against her shoulder. The baby cooed happily, grabbing at strands of her scarf with his tiny fists.
"Ah, good morning, Uyo big madam," Emem teased, glancing up. "You people here wake up late, eh?"
Glory scoffed, suppressing a yawn. "Is it late? The sun hasn't even stretched properly."
Emem laughed, the sound full and easy. "In Port Harcourt, by this time, people have already shouted, quarrelled, and entered traffic. But here, it's still like night. No wonder you people look fresh."
Glory leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head at her cousin's usual exaggerations. She had always admired the way Emem could find humor in the smallest things, even when she was bone-tired from caring for her child.
After setting water to boil, Glory swept the sandy floor of the compound, enjoying the cool of the early morning. Emem came out to join her, baby balanced on one hip. Together, they moved slowly around the small space, exchanging snippets of gossip and laughter. Their voices filled the compound, and for the first time since Chiburuoma's departure, the silence did not press down so heavily.
When they finally settled with steaming cups of tea and sliced bread, Emem leaned back against the wall, her eyes scanning the yard as if measuring the quietness of her cousin's world. Then, casually but with curiosity sharpened in her tone, she asked:
"By the way, Glory, where is Mama Ekaette? I expected to see her bustling around here, scolding children or arranging vegetables. I haven't seen her at all."
Glory's smile softened at the mention of her mother. "She travelled some weeks ago. She went to Ikot Abasi to look after her sister, Mama Margaret. She hasn't been feeling strong."
"Ohh." Emem nodded slowly, tapping her cup. "So that's why. I was wondering why the compound felt…light, as if something was missing. That woman's voice alone can carry across three streets."
Glory chuckled, picturing her mother's commanding presence. "It's true. Without her, the house feels empty. She likes to keep everywhere busy. Sometimes I miss the noise, even her scolding."
Emem tilted her head, watching her cousin closely. "So you've been running this place on your own since she left? No wonder you look thinner. You didn't tell me Uyo turned you into a housewife overnight."
Glory made a face. "Please, don't exaggerate. It's not that hard. And besides, I manage."
"Manage?" Emem arched a brow. "Hmm. I know that word. That's the same word women use when NEPA hasn't brought light for one week but they're still pretending they can see in darkness."
Glory burst out laughing, almost spilling her tea. "You and your mouth! You haven't changed one bit."
They shared another round of laughter, before Emem grew thoughtful again. She rocked her son gently as he drifted into half-sleep, his head nestled against her chest. "Still, Glory, I don't like it. You're too quiet here. Too alone. Mama Ekaette is away, and you just stay here keeping yourself busy. Don't let silence swallow you. Even strong people get tired."
Glory felt the words sink deeper than she wanted to admit. She looked away, watching two children chase a football across the street, their shrieks breaking the morning calm. She wondered if Emem saw through her more than she let on.
"I'll be fine," Glory said softly, forcing a smile. "And besides, now you're here. So I won't be alone again."
Emem's lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "Good answer. At least you know my worth. A whole Port Harcourt aunty in Uyo—don't play."
Glory laughed again, shaking her head. "Aunty indeed. You're only older by a few years. Don't come and be claiming seniority."
"But I'm still your senior," Emem retorted, tapping her chest proudly. "And if I catch you misbehaving, I'll remind you every day."
They fell into another round of teasing, their voices carrying into the compound. For a while, the worries that had been gnawing at Glory receded, replaced by the warmth of companionship.
Later, after breakfast, Emem insisted on helping with laundry. The two of them crouched side by side at the basin, the smell of soap filling the air. Emem chattered about life in Port Harcourt—about the constant noise, the neighbors who always quarreled over water, the little market women who knew how to inflate prices. Glory listened with genuine amusement, realizing how much she had missed this kind of easy company.
As the sun climbed higher, they spread the clothes on lines strung across the yard. The baby, now wide awake again, kicked his legs happily on a mat. Emem stood with hands on her hips, surveying the compound. "You know, this place is peaceful, but sometimes too peaceful. If not for you, I would have died of boredom by now."
Glory grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Uyo has its own kind of rhythm. It just takes time."
"Hmm." Emem's eyes glinted with mischief. "Well, one thing is sure—you won't be lonely again, not while I'm here. I'll shake this place small. At least give Mama Ekaette something to talk about when she comes back."
Glory shook her head with a laugh, but deep inside, her chest felt lighter. For the first time in weeks, she wasn't counting the empty spaces left behind by her mother's absence and Chiburuoma's departure. Emem's presence, noisy and unfiltered as it was, filled some of those gaps. And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what she needed