The road to minna wasn’t a bumpy one but my sister had already vomitted six times, the driver wound down the car windows to get rid of the putrid smell of vomit, he scrunched his nose in disgust but didn’t say a word, he understood that it was grief.

The playlist had been playing in an endless loop since we departed from Abuja, and I could recite every lyric by heart if someone had asked. A throbbing headache had settled in, brought on by the incessant songs blaring from the car's radio, the lingering scent of my sister's vomit, and the tears I had shed until there were none left to cry.

I gazed out the window and saw the ambulance that held my fathers body

I was mistaken,

I had tears and they rushed out like a flood