Chapter 4: When Rain Fall for Poor Man

3

The first time I meet Lanre na three years ago.

That day hot, school dey buzz with students, teachers dey run up and down. I no know say na my life go change by mistake.

He donate two new classroom blocks to our school. On ribbon-cutting day, I dey do MC part-time. As I dey distracted, I pour malt drink for him body.

Small mistake, big wahala. Malt stain im white shirt, everybody freeze. Principal eye red, teachers dey whisper.

School principal vex, tell me make I go beg am.

She drag me for corridor, hiss, then say, “If you spoil this day, na sack letter sure for you.” I dey sweat, dey find how to beg.

After I come down stage, one senior tell me who I offend: the richest man for Abuja. If Lanre stamp foot, everywhere go shake.

Na that time my eye clear. I think say na ordinary donor, no know say na top man wey if him vex, even local government chairman go shake.

After event, I run follow his car for school gate. He dey inside, wear dark shades, face like stone.

Car window up, A/C blast. I fit see him silhouette—lips no move, but I fit feel the anger.

I beg, “Oga Lanre, abeg, sorry say I stain your cloth. Tell me the brand, I go buy new one.”

I talk with two hands for front, bow small. Shoe dey press gravel, spirit humble.

His PA just laugh. “Sister, you sabi how much Oga Lanre cloth dey cost?”

Man tall, fair, big wristwatch. The laugh wicked, but I no talk.

He call price wey nearly make me faint, then add, “All na handmade from Italy. You no fit just buy am anyhow.”

My head dey buzz, na only God keep me from falling. My salary for one year no reach half that amount.

I just wan dig ground hide myself.

Shame full my mind. I dey regret my village self, dey wish I dey somewhere dey sell akara.

Lanre remove jacket, talk like say e no concern am, “If e dirty, throw am away.”

Voice no high, but pride strong. I fit see say this man get level wey I no fit touch.

The car window roll up for my face, like door wey close between our worlds. Even breeze stop blow—na so I know say my own waka different.

I think say na the end be that.

I carry my wahala go house, swear say I no go near rich man again. But as dem talk, fish no dey know say hook dey water.

But some months later, mama sickness come back. She need big money for operation. We don borrow from all family, school help reach where dem fit. I almost lose hope.

Hospital bill heavy like government contract. Friends contribute small, but still no reach.

As I dey watch mama suffer, I gree go Lanre Group headquarters.

Building high, glass everywhere. As I enter, receptionist eye dey scan me like computer. My voice dey shake, but I gree write name for register.

I no know why, but he gree see me. PA carry me go up; Lanre sit for big table, cross leg.

Room cold, even my spirit dey freeze. Lanre no talk, just dey look me like he dey judge my whole life.

After I talk my matter, he drag cigarette, then ask with meaning, “You dey find help. But for this Abuja, nothing go for free. Wetin you fit bring come table, Morayo?”

Eye no blink. I feel naked, even with clothes.

“I fit write IOU for you. Put any interest you want. Once I graduate and start work, I go pay you back, with interest.”

I dey reason say maybe I fit find solution. No be only me dey struggle for this life.

He laugh, eyes dey look me up and down.

Laugh cold, no joy. I feel like pikin for market wey no fit price yam.

After long silence, he talk. “Money, I get am. But wetin I want—Morayo, you get sense. Guess am.”

I gree say I no get hope. My pride start to leak.

Then he just throw me out.

PA carry me waka, no smile, no pity. My leg heavy.

Before I go, PA give me address. “Eight o’clock tonight. No late. Oga Lanre no dey wait.”

That address dey my hand, e feel like crossroad. For Abuja, e get price for everything.

At twenty-two, na only my clean body I get.

I look mirror that night, eye red, no tears. I gree, na me get my story. Mama dey fight for life; I gree fight for am too.

That night, I wear white lace nightdress, enter his bed. That white lace nightdress tear, pride follow tear join am—nothing remain to cover my shame.

Na that kind tear wey no glue fit ever fix. Inside that room, cold dey bite, but shame bite pass.

That life last three years.

No contract, no lawyer—just silent agreement. I become shadow, moving for night, hiding for day.

We agree: I go stay with am for five years. In those five years, I must answer whenever he call, no fit refuse. When time reach, he go let me go.

I dey count days, dey mark calendar with biro. Each call na reminder—my own time dey expire small small.

But mama no last reach that time. For my second year with Lanre, she still die. At least, she no know say her proud daughter don sell her body for money.

Na that pain I still dey carry. Mama always say, "No let hunger push you misbehave." But hunger no dey hear advice.