Chapter 7: Old Wahala No Dey Die

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Some months later, I born baby girl. I name her Anu, pray make she get peaceful life.

Labour no easy, but when I see her face, all pain disappear. I hold her close, whisper, "Anuoluwapo, you go live better life."

Anu get sense from small. During my confinement, I get breast problem, must stop breastfeed her early, but she no cry, no disturb.

Neighbours dey pity me, say my pikin too calm—dem talk say she get old woman spirit inside. I thank God, count every day as blessing.

When she reach two, she get fever for days. At night, as I dey cry, she wipe my tears, whisper, “Mummy, no cry, no cry…”

The small hand wey touch my face carry power. For that moment, I know say God dey watch us.

Many times, I thank God say I keep her.

Even when food scarce, even when body dey pain, na Anu give me reason to wake up. I fit forget my own wahala, just to see her smile.

Since my mama die, I never feel this kind happiness again.

Anu fill the hole for my heart. Her laugh dey make sun shine for my window.

Raising pikin keep me busy, time just fly. Before I know, Anu don reach three and half.

She sabi ABC, dey sing, dey dance. Her hair long, her laugh sweet. Market women dey hail her—“Anu, fine girl!”

After thinking well, I decide to come back Nigeria with her. The jollof for abroad no fit me, life just dey somehow.

My body dey miss Naija pepper, I dey dream suya. Abroad cold, people no dey greet for morning. I dey miss home.

I dey fear say I fit jam Lanre. If he find out about Anu, he fit try collect her.

I dey imagine court case, police, even family wahala. But I no let fear tie me down.

But I reason say by now, he don marry Ronke—maybe get pikin too. As for me, I just be shadow; he don forget me since.

Abuja gossip dey move fast, but after four years, I no hear my name anywhere again. Na my own peace be that.

Besides, Abuja big. If I avoid their area, we no go ever meet.

I do my maths, draw map for myself. I fit waka anywhere, just dodge their street.

So, after many years, I bring Anu back Abuja. I buy second-hand house for good school area. The old owner arrange the place well, so we move in sharp.

First week, I clean every corner, burn incense, sweep away bad spirit. Neighbours dey greet me, call me Madam Flower.

I rent flower shop near house. That way, I fit take care of Anu and still work.

Business no easy, but flower dey bring small joy. Old men dey buy rose, small girls dey pluck petals. I dey happy.

One weekend, urgent order come. The customer pick the most expensive bouquet, beg for fast delivery.

I dey calculate profit, then dey rush arrange ribbon. My staff call in sick, so na me get to do am myself.

I wait tire, no dispatch fit collect. No choice, I decide deliver am myself.

I carry small cooler for sun, bouquet big like wedding. Anu dey with neighbour, I dey pray make I finish on time.

The address na the city’s biggest estate—far from my shop.

Security tight. I show ID, smile, answer plenty questions. The place fine pass government house.

After wahala, I reach and ring bell for long, but nobody answer. As I wan call, door open.

I fit smell familiar cologne before I see face. My leg dey freeze for ground.

Lanre stand for my front, unexpected.

Time freeze. My hand dey shake, heart dey pound. Four years no be joke, but his face dey carry old memory.

Four years don pass. He slim small, but look more mature and cold.

His hair get one or two grey. Eyes sharp, chin still strong. Even in casual cloth, you fit see say money no leave am.

“Who you dey find?”

His words short, voice hard. I bow head, no wan make eye contact.

His hands inside pocket, voice impatient.

He tap shoe, dey frown. I hold gift tight, dey wish make ground open.

“Hello, your flowers.”

I talk with fake smile, voice low. My heart dey pray make breeze blow me away.

I quickly give am the gift box. Thank God, breeze dey blow and I wear mask. Compared to before, when I dey always dress up for am, today I no rub anything. I reason say he no go know me.

I even cover head with small scarf. For once, I thank God for Abuja dust.

True true, he just look me once, collect flowers, close door.

My mind dey shout Hallelujah. I fit taste freedom. I fit even smile small.

I breathe relief, turn dey go.

Na that moment, I know say old fire never really die. But I dey thank God say my waka smooth. I dey about to waka fast, heart dey drum victory.

Suddenly, he call me, “Wait.”

His voice sharp. I freeze, bouquet still dey my hand. The air dey still. My story no finish yet, na so I realize as I turn slowly, my breath held tight. For Abuja, old wahala dey wait—sometimes, e just dey hide for next corner.