Chapter 1: Old Faces, New Wahala

For five hundred thousand naira, I pretend say I be my brother, come dey look after him blind fiancée.

That money heavy for my hand that time, e be like say na God dash me luck. But I no sabi say wahala wey follow am go weigh pass the cash. Person go dey reason say money dey solve problem, but sometimes na more palava e dey bring.

The day she get her sight back, I sharply waka commot, no drop even goodbye.

I just vanish like say breeze blow me out. I no get mind to face wetin her eyes fit show if she see my true face. My spirit weak to explain, so I waka disappear, dey pray make her life better pass wetin she don lose.

When we jam again, na for business interview.

E shock me like say world turn round, put us for same room, eye dey jam where light and shadow dey do hide-and-seek. My heart start dey drum for chest.

I don turn intern reporter.

See as life play— from houseboy to pesin wey dey hustle story with biro and jotter. My slippers almost cut, but hope still dey my side, even though salary small like eba corner.

She don bounce back, now na eldest daughter wey dey control Onwudiwe family.

No be beans o! Amara dey waka as if Onwudiwe na her surname by force. Even her step dey command respect. For that office, nobody fit look her reach finish.

During the interview, somebody ask: “I hear say when you dey sick, na your fiancé Mr. Ebube stand by you well-well, so una wan share better news soon?”

The way the pesin talk am, e be like Naija gist—everybody bend ear, dey wait make amebo drop.

She just do one small smile, raise hand to show ring. “Yes, me and am go soon do engagement.”

But her eyes—whether mistake or not—rest for my side where I dey sit, just for one quick moment.

Me sef, my chest shake that moment. No be ordinary eye contact. Something dey inside that look, e cut me like blade. I sharply look away before anybody go notice say my mind dey run upandan.