No mansions in Heaven

He held the nib of the pen, gazed at the ceiling, maybe the inspiration was locked somewhere in there. He wanted to tell Mama, everything and anything: that America wasn't heaven on earth, that the stars were not different from the ones at home,  the Sun rises and sets whenever it pleases, Her Vegetable and onugbo soups tasted better than the greased meat and Macaroni and cheese he was subjected to everyday, although he had no option. 
Uchenna would reminisce about the good old days he had in Nssuka: Obinna, his friend from the coal mines, together they frequented Madam Gloria's bar for pepper soup and stout in the evenings, Adaku, his crush whom he never had the courage to ask on a date, The children who would gather to watch the bright yellow sun, perfectly canvased in the blue sky, resting during twilight, while Mama and aunt Ukamaka would chat all through the night.
He was in heaven but wanted to return to earth. 
 The one thing, he did enjoy that Nigeria was bereft of was the constant power supply. Philadelphia wasn't any different, filled with the complacence of those rich kids .  They would have surplus to eat, and throw around to their dogs,  dogs in the similitude of a Lion. It was his first time seeing one. 
He wanted to fill the lines of the letter with his own experiences but there were none, and his mind became a tabula rasa of dead memories. How did he get here?  He thought to himself. The rains were gone and an inevitable hunger greeted his lips.
He would toil all day, one menial job and another, nothing to show for it. He worked as an apprentice in a salon and received  a meagre pay monthly. 
Days culminated in weeks and weeks in months, yet he was more miserable. Months flashed before his eyes and he hadn't written nor sent some money to her.
In a grocery store, he would meet a  fair-skinned lady, probably in her forties, with striking acne on her face. He would find out that the lady is Italian, and by the name Andres Rosa. Few days later, she would call for him, he wouldn't hesitate a second. 
The relationship became more intimate, it was a give and take situation. She treated him to breakfast, and lunch, then dinner,  three-square meal intact, got him a new house and a car. He didn't love her, but had no other option. She called the shots anyway and he was ready to dance to her tune. That night, in her place, she called and he came. She was horny, he was on fire. He knew the buttons to press, to make any woman desire him again and again. His words endeared him to her. He would go nude, eager to behold hers.  In dismay, he discovered she was a shemale and he panted and ran like an antelope, head colliding against the door, opening downstairs. His l*bido had died instantly and he was on the run for his dear life. He ran past the gateman, into the dead of night. 
Few days later, he was all by himself in his small room, back to square one. He couldn't erase the event, which consistently flickered through his mind. The things he was told about America was nothing compared to the America he had experienced. 
The woman called but he didn't reply the calls, then the calls stopped coming. He was done with everything and everyone in America, he wanted to go home, but he feared the woman would call her goons on him. He had no money to board the available flight to Nigeria, since his accounts had been frozen, so he returned at night to Nigeria by sea, only to discover that mama had died a month ago and her body remained in the mogue. There, he wondered what he had used his time for. "Maybe if I had written or sent some money, or been around, mama wouldn't have taken the next flight to heaven,  he cried.