Chika had been walking for hours, though she didn't know where she was going. The sun was already high, baking the dusty road in front of her. Her feet were bare, roughened and sore from the uneven ground. She clutched nothing in her hands, and her stomach ached with hunger, but it was the emptiness in her chest — the feeling of having nowhere to belong — that pressed hardest.
She had passed the small market, the corner shop where people haggled over yams and tomatoes, and the edge of the church compound. The gates of the church were wide open, white walls gleaming in the sunlight, but Chika did not enter. She had walked past hundreds of homes like hers, doors shut tightly against strangers.
"Child! Stop right there! Are you all right?"
The voice startled her. Chika froze, instinctively stepping back. A woman stood at the edge of the road, near the entrance to the church compound. She was well-dressed, wearing a neatly pressed blouse and skirt, her hair carefully styled. She carried a basket in one hand, the other gently resting on the gate post. Despite the confident way she stood, her eyes were warm, soft, and searching.
"I… I'm fine," Chika said cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't look fine," the woman replied, moving a step closer. "Walking under this sun with no shoes? Where are you going all alone?"
"I… I'm just walking," Chika muttered, keeping her distance.
"Walking… where exactly?" the woman asked.
Chika shrugged, her throat dry. "I… I don't know."
The woman studied her quietly for a moment, as though weighing her words. Then she lowered the basket. "Sometimes when we don't know where we're going, it helps to stop for a while. Sit in the shade. Have something to eat. Come with me," she said.
Chika hesitated, unsure. "Why would you… help me?"
The woman smiled softly. "My name is Esther," she said, extending a hand as though Chika might trust it. "I am married to the pastor of this church. I see a young woman who clearly needs care. That is enough reason for me."
Chika's stomach growled, and she pressed her hands against it in embarrassment. Esther laughed gently. "See? You need it more than you think. Come inside before you collapse from hunger."
The house was just beyond the church gate, a modest compound of clean, painted walls and a small front garden. Birds chirped in the trees, and sunlight spilled through the leaves, casting moving shadows across the tiled floor of the veranda. Inside, the air was cooler, carrying the smell of cooking and fresh laundry. The house was tidy but lived-in, with simple furniture, a bookshelf, and neatly arranged religious symbols in the corners.
Esther guided Chika to a chair near the table and placed a steaming bowl of rice and stew in front of her. "Eat first," she said. "Then we'll talk."
Chika picked up the spoon cautiously. "I… I don't even know your name," she said softly.
"Esther," the woman replied simply. "And you are?"
"Chika," she whispered.
"Chika. That's a beautiful name. Now eat," Esther said kindly.
Chika ate slowly, glancing around the room. The warmth and quiet of the house felt strange but comforting. After a while, Esther picked up a comb and held it out. "Your hair looks tangled. Let me help you with it."
Chika froze. "Why…?"
"Because it's messy. You've been walking for a long time," Esther said. "Sit down."
Chika hesitated, then allowed herself to sit as Esther worked through the tangles. The comb moved gently through her hair, methodical and patient. For the first time in days, Chika felt calm. She had survived on the streets, slept wherever she could, avoided trouble and people alike — and now, in this small house, she felt a strange sense of safety.
"Thank you," she said quietly after a while.
"You're welcome, Chika," Esther replied. "Tonight, you can stay here. Rest. Tomorrow, we will see what comes next."
Chika nodded. She did not know what the future held, but for the first time, she had a place to breathe. She could sleep. She could rest. And maybe, just maybe, she could begin to hope that this small house, and the woman the church called Mama, could give her something she had been missing for a long time: a chance to belong.