Chapter 2: The Snake Test

I no understand. Na so my brain just jam—wetin snake dey find for my bag this early morning?

I wake up early, pack my things quietly, even close my door.

But e be like say Tunde snake get master key. So how this Tunde snake still enter?

“You—you, abeg, no come near me.”

I shrink enter one corner.

The small snake, black like charcoal, stop for the door, tongue dey flick, dey hiss—ssssss.

I just dey feel like say e dey look my Ghana-must-go for ground.

And e no happy at all.

As I dey wave am: “Abeg, just stay there. No near me. No move.” I dey remember wetin pastor talk for church last Sunday, say make person no dey fear small things, but this one pass me.

The small snake no move o.

E just dey use those black eye dey look me. The way e dey focus on me, e be like say na only me full room. E even tilt head, as if e dey reason my wahala.

I breathe out, continue to pack my load.

“So early—where you dey go?”

Door creak open.

Tunde lean for the doorframe, dey look me, talk am slow: “Fi-an-cée.” He drag the word, as if e dey remind me say I suppose dey proud to answer am fiancée.

I jump like rabbit, dey stammer: “I—I dey travel, just for fun.” My mouth dey shake, as I dey talk, my hand dey fumble with zip.

“With who?”

“My friend—you no sabi am.” I force smile, but na that kind smile wey pain dey hide for corner.

He narrow him eyes.

He waka come near.

My body just dey move back on its own, like say ground dey push me go wall.

He frown. “As if say to fear snake no do, you dey fear me join?”

Truth be say, I no dey fear am.

But that babe wey dey show for his snake room these days… E just dey make me feel like mumu. The kind smile Halima dey give, e get as e be—calm, like person wey sure for her mind.

I turn face, bite my lip, no talk.

“Fine.”

Tunde bend down, carry the small black snake.

The snake wrap for his wrist, raise head, hiss again.

He look me straight: “Touch am.”

My face change, fear wan finish me. My hand begin sweat, even breeze nor dey for the room again, everywhere just standstill. Inside my mind, I dey pray: "God, abeg, make this snake no bite me for my mama sake."

The air for where Tunde stand come cold like harmattan.

He repeat: “Touch am. Keep am for one night. If you fit, I go let you travel.”

Tunde dey vex quick, but him no dey break promise. Na so e be from small, once e talk, e go do am.

So I gather mind, stretch hand. As the snake poke head forward, my hand dey shake, e just climb me sharp-sharp.

“Ah—!”

I scream.

The small black snake wrap my whole wrist, tail dey rub up and down. E cold, like water from clay pot for harmattan—my skin just dey rise.

“Mmm.”

Tunde just groan small.

Him face don change, but him cheek red anyhow. You know say when Yoruba man face dey red, e mean say wahala dey.

I look am, confuse. Tunde just bone, vex and shy together: “Go. Return am tomorrow.”