Chapter 7: A New Place, A New Peace

7.

Morayo say: “My mama na so she be. She raise me alone, e no easy. Make Ifeoma just bear am.”

“But... but your mama no dey stop. She dey curse her steady. She talk say she wan move out.”

“Make she move, no wahala. To bring her back later, na just one call.”

“Okay, I no go stop her.”

Of course, I no hear all this. But with the bullet comments, I sabi everything wey dem dey talk. After I pack all my load finish, my bestie Zainab help me call moving company. Moving van jam hold-up for Third Mainland, but Zainab just dey gist with me, dey distract me from my wahala.

“Fifi, you sure say you dey okay?” she ask gently. She see with her eye how I cry for days. “I dey okay.” I shake my head. “I just wan find new place move quick quick.”

She remember: “My brother get apartment. Since he travel abroad, the place empty. You fit stay there for now till you find your own.”

For Lagos, good friend na blessing. Zainab na that kind friend wey go cook jollof rice, bring am for your door, no ask question, just dey there. She hug me, squeeze my hand, say, "E go better, no let all these men carry your joy run."

Bullet comments just scatter:

[Our dark villain finally dey show face! The original book no give am chance, but I like his style die.]

[The message wey he send our babe, she never reply, dark points +10086]

The villain, Hakeem. I no even get him WhatsApp, just the old Facebook Messenger wey I add since secondary school. That Messenger self dey send spam link every month. I dey fear virus, so I no dey open am. I set am to ‘Do Not Disturb’. Na so I miss the message he send last week—'You need help?'

For Naija, old padi wey you no see for years fit just pop up when your wahala start. As I dey look that message, my mind dey wonder: Hakeem, na you go save me from this gutter?

That night, news of the rescue team search for Morayo spread for Palm Grove Estate. My video of crying for interview go viral for TikTok Nigeria. People mourn Morayo, pity me. Hakeem message me that day. I no see am, so I no reply. Now, I just reply politely: “No need, thanks.” He reply sharp sharp: “Alright.”

I remember the day Morayo confess. He call me meet for the mango trees behind school block. Harmattan breeze blow strong. As I brush hair from my face, I see Hakeem for corridor, hands for railing, dark eyes just dey watch my side. I look am, then look down, smile, tell Morayo yes: “Okay.” Morayo kiss my cheek. When I look up again, the boy for corridor don disappear. Only the tree branches dey shake for wind.

For this Naija, even when heart dey break, memory dey sweet you. I dey remember how I dey feel that day—like say my story go sweet pass Nollywood film.