[music] How far is the old neighborhood from here?
Not far, madam.
Traffic is light.
We can reach there before 8.
Good.
I want to surprise my daughter before anyone tells her I’m back.
After 10 years, that will be some surprise.
Tund, slow down.
What is that girl doing behind those shops?
Looking for leftovers.
I think not again.
I told you yesterday, stay away from these beans.
The food is already being thrown away.
Pull over.
Madam, this lane is too narrow.
Then stop here.
I’ll walk.
Move away.
Customers see this and think my kitchen is dirty.
I only wanted the rice you were throwing out.
Excuse me.
How much is one fresh plate of rice?
2,000 naira.
Give her one.
I didn’t ask you to buy me anything.
I know.
I just don’t want you.
I just don’t want you eating from there.
Then don’t watch.
Where did you get that bracelet?
Why?
Because I made one exactly like it for my daughter.
Dami, don’t call me that.
Look at me.
It’s me.
It’s mom.
My mother doesn’t know what I look like look like anymore.
Damola, please.
I came home to see you 10 years late.
Why are you here like this?
You really don’t know.
Let me take you somewhere safe.
Safe with you?
Yes.
With me?
You are still a stranger.
Take this for today.
Keep it.
You need food.
I needed a mother.
I sent money every month.
That is all you know how to send.
What does that mean?
Ask your Ask your sister.
Dami, leave this place.
I kept food for you.
I’m coming, mama.
Who are you?
Someone who stayed.
Why are you following me?
Because you’re my daughter.
That didn’t stop you leaving.
Exactly.
I went away to provide for you.
Then why was I sleeping behind her stall?
Enough.
Let the girl eat.
Dami, please tell me what happened.
Not today.
Then let me at least sit here.
Sit.
Don’t pretend we’re family.
Give me that old container and eat properly.
I’m not hungry anymore.
Please eat.
I won’t ask another question.
You’re really going to stay quiet if that’s what you need.
For once, yes.
She first came to me when she was 16.
16?
Mama, please.
Exactly.
I won’t question you.
But was Bisah there?
She put my bag outside.
Let her eat.
Moduk.
She slept behind this stall for three nights.
You don’t have to tell her.
Somebody does.
Why didn’t anyone call me?
I tried the numbers I had.
They worked.
Not for me.
I called home almost every week.
Who answered?
Bisah.
She always said you were busy.
Of course she did.
She said you were doing well at school.
Which school?
The university she enrolled you in.
The university she enrolled you in.
That’s almost funny.
She told me you stopped sending anything.
I never stopped.
Not even once.
Not once.
So, where did all the money go then?
Where did it go?
I sent everything through Bisola.
Then start asking your sister questions.
Dami, you missed the registration meeting.
Moduk kun.
So you finally came home.
I landed this morning.
I landed this morning.
And you’ve already found what everyone hid from you.
You knew she was leaving like this.
I knew she needed help.
Why didn’t you tell me?
How?
Don’t turn me into an argument.
I’m trying to understand.
Then listen instead of defending yourself.
She studies evenings at our center and works whenever she can.
For how long?
Long enough to stop waiting.
You could have found me somehow.
I didn’t have your number or address.
Neither did I.
She asked me twice if I knew where you lived in London.
Klay, she deserves to know that.
You were looking for me once, then twice.
Twice.
Why did you stop?
I learned to.
I never knew you were trying to find me.
That’s the problem.
I trusted what I was told.
Exactly.
When they stopped letting you speak to your daughter, why didn’t you come home?
I thought she was safe.
I thought she was safe.
You thought You’re right.
I should have come.
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
To hear what Bisola says to my face.
She won’t tell you the truth.
Then I’ll know by how she lies.
Don’t underestimate her.
You don’t have to come.
I wasn’t going to.
I understand.
Do you?
Modupe should have called before coming.
She has been away 10 years.
Exactly.
10 years.
Sister, you didn’t even tell me you landed.
Where is my daughter?
What kind of greeting is that?
Dami is at school.
Where else would she be?
Try again.
What are you talking about?
I found her searching rubbish for food.
You found Damola.
Now answer me.
She ran away.
Modukqu at 16.
She became impossible.
I tried everything.
Impossible?
How?
She skipped school, broke rules, took money, and your answer was throwing her out.
I never threw that child out.
She said you put her bag outside, then she lied.
Femi, were you here?
There were arguments.
Fei, that wasn’t my question.
What school is Dami attending now?
Lagos Metropolitan University.
Which department?
Business.
Something business related.
I paid her fees every year and I managed everything here.
Then show me the receipts.
Then show me the receipts.
Receipts.
After I raised your child for 10 years, I asked where the money went and I heard accusation.
You left.
I handled school, sickness, everything.
I paid for everything you asked.
Money wasn’t parenting.
You want someone else to carry your guilt.
My guilt doesn’t explain her hunger.
Neither does mine.
Tomorrow, show me school records and what you did with my transfers.
No, tonight we’ll settle this with the family.
Bring whoever you want.
You should hear what Damiola put us through.
She’ll speak for herself.
Why have you called us urgently?
Modukqua came home blaming me.
She blames me for Damila’s choices.
For 10 years, I was the one here.
That much is true.
That much is true.
Then let’s discuss what happened here.
So, you finally decided to come.
Mama Tola asked me to.
She came to speak, not be judged.
Tell your mother why you ran away.
I didn’t run.
Then what do you call then?
What do you call disappearing?
You put my clothes outside the gates because you threatened to leave.
You told me never to return.
Fei, is that what happened?
It was a terrible night.
That isn’t an answer.
Ask her how often she skipped school.
After you stopped paying, there was always money for school.
I sent school fees every year.
I never saw them because children don’t manage household money.
I sent school fees.
Modukqu, when did you last see this girl?
Before today.
Before I left Nigeria.
10 years ago.
10 years ago.
Yet today you arrive and call me a failure.
I asked for the truth.
I asked for the truth after 10 years of absence.
Both of you keep talking about yourselves.
Dami, nobody asks what those years were like for me.
We did our best with you.
Don’t.
I’m telling the truth.
You are telling your version.
Stop fighting over who failed me more.
Please don’t leave.
I already learned how.
Give us space.
I will.
So now you believe strangers.
I believe I need facts.
That went badly.
Worse than badly.
What do you need?
Everything you have on Dami.
These are her registration forms and attendance records.
How far back?
Almost two years.
Look at her emergency contact.
It says none.
She said she had nobody she could call.
Did she ever tell you about university?
She said she started once and stopped.
She couldn’t afford to continue.
Bisa told me Dami was still enrolled.
Then call the school.
I’m going to put it on speaker.
I want you to hear every word.
I’m calling about Damola Adi.
Was she ever enrolled there?
Yes, I can see an old admission record.
Is she still a student there?
No, she left after her first year.
Please come tomorrow.
Tomorrow we can review the record properly.
Was her first year tuition paid?
Yes.
The account shows payment before she resumed.
Why did she stop attending?
I can’t discuss the full record by phone.
Bring identification tomorrow.
I’ll be there tomorrow morning.
Thank you.
Ask for me at administration.
Do you believe Dami now?
I should have believed her before the records.
Then tell her that.
You came back.
You came back.
I said I would.
People say many things.
The school confirmed you left after first year.
So now I’m believable.
You were believable yesterday.
I should have come home.
Even if Bisola lied, especially when she stopped letting me speak to you.
Then why didn’t you?
I thought money meant you were protected.
Money can’t notice when you’re gone.
That night, Bisah gave me 10 minutes to leave.
What did you take?
Whatever fit in this bag.
This was mixed with my things.
Bisa’s phone, her old one.
It stopped working.
It stopped working years ago.
Why did you keep it?
I don’t know.
Maybe because throwing things away became difficult.
May I have someone check whether anything rem remains on it?
You won’t give it to Bisola?
Never.
If you find something, I hear it first before anyone else.
Before anyone else.
Then take it.
Finding the truth won’t repair everything.
I know.
Good.
Because I am not a problem evidence can solve.
You have become very involved in my family.
Your niece became hungry in front of my shop.
That wasn’t your responsibility.
A hungry child becomes everybody’s responsibility.
She was not a child.
She was 16.
You don’t know how difficult she was.
I know how hungry she was.
Those are different things.
Stay out of the next family meeting.
Why?
Because you don’t know the whole story.
Neither do you apparently.
We appreciate what you did for Dami.
Then appreciate the truth, too.
Family matters should remain private.
Hunger wasn’t private when Dami slept behind my store.
Be careful, Mama Tola.
You should have been.
If Moduk asks about the transfers, you remember nothing.
I remember too much.
Then learn to forget.
I knew money kept coming.
You never asked how much.
I should have.
If she proves anything, we could lose this house.
Then maybe it was never ours.
Don’t become righteous now.
Hello, Mrs.
Admy.
I found the transfer history.
Can you come tomorrow morning?
Yes, they found something.
The transfer history.
So, tomorrow we find out who was lying.
Anything from that phone yet?
Only that some files may still be recoverable.
I hear them first.
I verified the transfers from your overseas account.
Were they regular?
Very regular.
Payments continued across the entire period we reviewed.
Even after I left Bisah’s house.
Yes.
Where did the transfers go?
To the account details you were given for Dameola’s care.
Bisah controlled it.
Your references say school fees, books, accommodation, birthdays.
She told me nothing was coming.
I sent all of it.
How much did she get?
Enough that I recommend you review this with your lawyer.
We will.
These copies are for your records.
Thank you.
I want to see the school file next.
Damiola enrolled and completed part of her first year.
Then what happened?
Her enrollment stopped.
Did this school receive later tuition payments?
Not under Damola’s student account.
Y that’s important.
So money marked for my school kept coming.
Yes, but not here.
Correct.
Keep the bank and school records together.
I will.
There is still the phone.
You promised I would hear it first.
You will.
One old voice message was recovered.
Please tell Dami I love her.
I sent her school fees this morning.
When was this?
Another family meeting?
Haven’t you caused enough embarrassment?
Tonight, you answer the questions.
She ran away because she rejected every rule in this house.
Say it again after you hear this.
Please tell Dami I love her.
I sent her school fees this morning.
What is the date on that recording?
That message is from the year you said she forgot me.
One message proves nothing.
Then explain the money.
The bank confirmed 10 years of transfers.
Money came for the household.
The references.
The references say damola.
School fees, books, accommodation, and birthdays were specifically marked.
Families share expenses.
Not without accounting.
I knew money was coming.
Fei don’t.
I didn’t know how much, but I knew enough.
I used some to build something for this family.
With money meant for my child, I plan to replace it.
Money is the smallest thing you stole.
Then what did I steal?
10 years.
And you gave her those years because you never came to check.
You’re right.
One woman’s absence does not excuse another woman’s deception.
Auntie, enough.
There will be a formal accounting of every transfer meant for Damola.
You want to destroy me.
I want the truth recorded.
I’m leaving for a while.
You’re leaving me now?
I stayed silent too long already.
Knowing you sent the money doesn’t give me my childhood back.
I know.
Good.
What do you want next?
To finish school.
Then we’ll start there.
I don’t want to be taken to England.
Then you won’t be.
No arguments.
No arguments.
I won’t ask you to forgive me tonight.
Good.
I’ll give you reasons to trust me instead.
You’re doing too much again.
It’s breakfast with you.
Breakfast has become a project.
What time is your lecture?
9.
You’ll make it.
I’ve made every class this month.
London called again.
They the office did.
Are you going back?
Sometimes not disappearing.
Am I too early for her breakfast operation?
Never.
Ignore her.
[laughter] I’m leaving before both of you become awkward.
We were doing fine.
You really weren’t.
Try having one normal conversation while I’m gone.
Go to school.
She’s definitely your daughter.
So, are you staying for now?
And after that, I’ll decide when guilt isn’t deciding for me.
You know, I can feed myself now.
I know.
Good.
Mom.
Yes.
I’ll be late tonight.
Thank you for telling me.
