A Distant Shore

The ocean is the first thing that Tunde had seen when he was eight years old. It was at Bar Beach, Lagos and the vast expanse of water left him with a silent pain that was inexplicable to him. Baba Sola, his grandfather, had been standing, leaning over his crooked walking stick, beside him. The old man smelled of palm wine and salt, although that had not set a foot into a boat in many years. Baba Sola had said, "far over there on the other side of that water, there is a shore, I once buried something valuable. One day, you will find it." Tunde did not forget these words. The tale of the far-off coast had become a smouldering fire in his thoughts after the death of Baba Sola a year later. His mother and father ignored it as a tall story of the old man. "Your grandfather was always more fond of stories than life," said her mother shaking her head. Tunde took the memory to his heart, like a stone that he had to bear.  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-beach-beach-chair-feet-1845311/) Years passed. Tunde developed as a young man, irritable and inquisitive. He was a carpenter in Ilorin, having nothing to do with the sea, but never dreaming of the distant shore. On moonless silver nights he would dream of the curling of waves on a beach he had never visited. The dream always had an identical conclusion, when came a faint voice of laughter, as it were, on the wind, as Baba Sola called his name. It was a humid evening and as Tunde was sanding a piece of wood on a chair in his little workshop, he heard the grating voice of a radio trader outside. "Passenger boats being off to Bonny Island to-morrow! Cheap seats available!" Something in his chest felt tight because of the words. Bonny. A place of water and islands. A shore. By the morning he had taken a small bag and shut his shop without leaving any note. It took hours to have the boat ride and the sea was churning under the wooden hull. Between Tunde sat a woman carrying baskets of fish and a man who was singing to himself. In his hand he held the old walking stick of Baba Sola, the only object he had inherited of his grandfather, and gazed out upon the bottomless water. By the time the boat had come to the docks of Bonny Island the air was fragrantly wet wood and seaweed. Palm trees bent on the wind and their leaves rustled. It was like he was being drawn towards the island as though the islands were waiting to see him. "First time here?" Upon seeing the broad eyes of Tunde, a boy who was selling roasted corn came over. "Yes," Tunde said. "Do you know... a beach that seems like it is far away?" The boy grinned. "All the beaches here are so distant, brother. Take the route through the mangroves. You will see."  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/beach-sand-sea-sandy-beach-3369140/) The path was narrow and damp. Birds of a red plumage twittered among the trees. Tunde continued walking until he smelled of salt. At last he came out on a white sand. There was no one on the beach save the bashing of waves and the hissing of foam on chert. It resembled the location of his daydreams. He walked up and down the shore, the stick being partly in the wet sand. He did not have a map or a sign, but a sense. His foot hit on something hard then. He went on his knees and swept away the sand and found a little box rusted. His heart thudded. The lock was weak. With a careful push, it opened. There was nothing in there, no gold or jewels; there was only a piece of cloth, old and shabby and worn. Tunde picked it up, and discovered under it a note in Baba Sola's tremulous hand. To him who happened to find this it said, knowest that the journey worketh the greatest treasure. Nevertheless, I bequeath to you this cloth. It is on the sail of the boat which last spring took me over these waters. May it make you remember that the sea will always be calling to the listeners. Tunde was sitting in the sand with the cloth on his heart. The sun went down, and the waves were fire-colored and honey-colored. He was thinking of the years he had been waiting, of the chartered fire that it was that had brought him here. There was no treasure in the box, but the shore was full, alive and complete. The wind was playing with the palms behind him, and brought a faint laugh over the water.