The Wrong Bag

The black travel bag appeared to be an identical one to mine.

I only noticed the mistake after I got home to Ibadan from Lagos. I unopened the bag, and I thought I was going to see my clothes, but I didn't, I saw neatly folded shirts, a notebook, a camera, and a little brown envelope that read "For my sister.

My heart skipped.

I whispered, "This doesn't belong to me."

I looked for something that might help me locate the owner. On the first page of the notebook, he noticed a telephone number.

I grabbed my mobile phone and dialed.

There was a quiet woman's voice.

"Hello?"

"Good evening. I believe that we accidently swapped travel bags."

There was a long silence.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I've been searching for my backpack all day, I have yours with me."

There was a great deal of laughter that went on, and both of us were relieved.

"My name is Amaka," she said.

"I'm Tunde."

She said she was in Abuja before taking the same bus to Ibadan from Lagos. The same type of bags were close to each other and the driver had been unloading them without verifying.

"I really need that brown envelope," she added softly.

"I shall keep it in safe hands."

"Thank you."

The next day we were to meet in a little café close to Dugbe.

The following day, the city was overcast with rain. The roads were damp and the fresh-fodder scent permeated the air. I came on time and put the bag next to my seat.

A young girl walked in, looking around and seeing me.

"Tunde?"

"Amaka?"

She looked relieved to see her smile.

Thank you for coming, I'm so happy.

"So am I."

We traded bags but neither of us hurried to go our separate ways.

"You will be able to inspect all of this," I said.

She opened the bag and very carefully took out the brown envelope.

"It's here."

She spread her smile across her face and her face caught the attention of the waiter.

"It must be something important," I said.

She nodded.

My fathers passed away 3 months ago and before his death, he requested me to hand this letter down to my older sister.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

She glanced at the envelope for a moment.

My sister was gone a long time ago in response to a misunderstanding; they didn't ever get it straight. Dad wrote this letter before his strength weakened.

I remained quiet.

"I've finally found where she lives," Amaka went on. I'm going to make a trip tomorrow to give it to her.

I saw how she gripped the envelope, as if it were somehow going to fall out of her hand if she wasn't holding it so tightly.

"What about your opinion, what about your thoughts?"

I was on my way home from an interview.

"How did it go?"

I laughed.

"I don't know - I'm not sure - they said they'll call."

She smiled.

"I hope they do."

We talked for almost an hour.

She was a photographer, and traveled around Nigeria to capture images of festivals, the local market, and daily life. I was studying civil engineering but still looking for a good job.

The discussion rolled off the tongue.

As she was about to leave, she asked, "Can I have your number? Just in case I ever have to travel with another black bag".

I laughed.

"I think that's a good idea.

Three weeks passed.

One night my phone rang.

"Tunde?"

"Amaka! How are you?"

"I've found my sister," I said.

Her voice had a happy sound.

"And?"

She took up the letter.

I smiled even though she couldn't see me.

"How did it go?"

"They cried together."

I was quiet, allowing her to go on.

Many times my sister wished to come back home, but her pride held her back.

She paused.

I don't think that they would have spoken again if Dad had not written that letter.

"I'm happy you found her, she's a good one!"

"I am too."

Then she surprised me,

"My week is in Ibadan! Do you want to collaborate with me in a photography project?"

"Me?"

"Yes, I need someone who is well acquainted with the city."

"I know enough."

"Perfect."

This project took 4 days to complete.

We walked through Bodija Market before sunrise, visited Oje old street and watched children playing football on dusty field, and see the old men, who were arguing over the games of ayo, under large trees.

Amaka was never in a hurry with anybody.

She waited patiently to take each photo.

The best stories are told when people don't know they're being filmed," she said at one time.

"I was in such a state that I really enjoyed every minute."

Sometimes we worked quite silently. At other times we discussed family, dreams, disappointments and places we still wanted to go to.

At the close of the week, it seemed as though we were friends for years, though we were just friends for days.

One afternoon she presented me with a copy of a picture.

It gave me a glimpse of the women shopping in the market laughing when one of them said something.

"I can't recall this."

"You weren't supposed to."

"It is the first decent photo of myself ever, I'm happy to say."

She smiled.

"That's because you were not trying to pose!"

I got a phone call a couple days later.

It was a job I had been offered by the engineering firm.

Without thinking, I called Amaka first.

"I got it!" I shouted.

"I knew you would!"

Whenever people asked us, how we are so close friends, we told them a story that was remarkable, months later.

I would only smile.

It all began with the wrong suitcase.

Most people laughed.

They believed that I was joking.

There is also a travel bag, which looks just like mine but is black, somewhere in Amaka's home, that tells us that some journeys start long before we know we will be travelling together.