Chapter 1: Old Wounds, New Heat

When my boyfriend and I broke up, e no pure at all.

That year wey e love me pass, na im I collect the three million naira wey im mama dash me, I comot belle, betray am join.

E kneel down for outside the hospital room, dey cry dey beg make I no wicked reach like that.

E talk say im go hate me for life.

Six years later, as we jam again, e don find one fine babe wey get money and background like im own, dem dey plan marriage.

Me, for my lowest moment, na im I go meet am to borrow money.

E force me make I attend im wedding, make I watch as e go marry another woman carry am go house.

E ask me, “You dey regret?”

E still no sabi say—I raise our pikin alone.

That pikin dey sick, and e dey near die.

Under Ibadan sky, the heat that day thick for body; even my skin dey sweat like person wey dey run marathon. Na so pain dey press my chest as I remember all those times. For Naija, sometimes you go fit hide your own story, but e go still leak for your skin, like pepper wey person rub for eye.