Chapter 2: Compound Initiation

01

I just move enter this compound not too long ago, and my neighbors na one middle-aged couple.

As I drag my Ghana-Must-Go bag climb stair, caretaker just dey use side-eye check me. Na new area, but the thing wey greet me pass hello—na the sound wey waka enter my ear that first night.

I never even see them face-to-face before, but I don already know say their relationship strong like cement.

Somebody fit talk say na love dey bind dem, but I dey suspect say na something stronger pass cement—maybe na kpangolo and suya pepper joint together.

How I take know?

Na because I dey hear am. Every night, no fail.

Omo, I no fit lie. Once night reach, I dey count down like say NEPA wan take light. Before 11pm, e go start: giggle, shout, furniture shift. Before you talk ‘Jack Robinson’, wahala don wear wrapper.

The way dem dey do am, e be like say na animal mating season.

E resemble as chicken dey chase hen for backyard. I go dey my room dey imagine say na National Geographic documentary I dey listen to, just that this one na live and direct, no filter.

This resettlement flat wey I dey, the soundproofing na just story. E no dey work at all.

The walls na like pure water nylon. If person sneeze for next flat, you go fit tell whether na malaria or catarrh. Sometimes I dey feel say the landlord sef wan make we dey hear each other, so that nobody go plot evil in secret.

Once dem finish, the guy go light cigarette—I fit even hear the sound as he dey click the lighter, clear like day.

E get one particular night, the lighter no wan gree catch. Na so the man just dey click am, tchk tchk tchk, like person wey dey use remote chase fly. Even the smell of cigarette dey enter my room. Lagos wahala!

To be honest, I no want dey tell their second pikin in future, "O boy, I hear your entire childhood soundtrack live."

As I dey reason am, e dey pain me say the pikin wey never born already get story for my head. If dem born, na to just greet am, “Welcome, soundtrack pikin.”

But the worst part be the woman.

Her voice rough like say she swallow sandpaper. When she dey moan, e dey sound like duck wey get microphone. Even radio mechanic for Alaba no fit repair this kind wahala. And she get lung power die.

This one na voice wey no dey train, na natural talent. If dem put am for gospel choir, angel go resign. Sometimes, I dey wonder whether na generator dey start or na woman dey express herself.

Every night, na full-blown mad duck concert I dey get:

"Quack quack quack quack quack ha ha ha ha quack quack quack ha ha ha ha."

Omo, na real animal kingdom for here o. Sometimes she go break into laugh wey sound like she dey swallow pepper. I dey cover pillow for ear, but e no dey work.

E be like say na Donald Duck convention dem dey host for my wall.

I even reason say maybe dem dey rehearse for children cartoon. Na so my imagination just dey fly.

One night, I get nightmare. I dream say I dey do third year mock exam before WAEC. Less than one month remain, I grab question paper—omo, I no fit answer anything. Cold sweat just dey my body.

My spirit already dey panic. For dream, I dey count how many F9 go enter my result. Even biro for my hand dey tremble.

My form teacher dey eye me, next thing he carry duster throw me. As e hit my head, e turn to duck neck.

If you see as my classmates burst laugh—na real humiliation. For that dream, I nearly cry. But instead of duster, na as if real duck neck land for my head. E shock me.

The teacher open mouth: "Quack quack quack quack quack."

The shock still dey my body as I dey watch the teacher mouth wide like NTA newsreader, but na duck sound dey come out. For dream, e be like say I dey for inside Fela music video.

All my classmates turn look me, begin quack together: "Quack quack quack quack quack."

If you see as dem arrange themselves, dey chorus like marching band. I wan wake up, but dream hold me tight.

Classroom just turn to duck pond, everybody dey rush me, dey quack.

I try run, but my leg no gree move. Na so I dey feel wet like say I fall inside real pond. The sound just dey increase.

I wake up with fear, body soak with sweat, heart dey run.

I cross myself small—God abeg, protect me from compound madness.

I grab towel, wipe my face. For my mind, I dey beg God make this wahala end. But I still dey alive—na real Lagos life.

Next door, the quacking still dey go strong: "Quack quack quack quack ha ha ha ha quack quack quack."

Omo, as I hear am, my hope just die. If person dey pray for miracle, na this kind situation. Even sleep dey fear come back.

I just dey look ceiling, dey reason whether make I write essay titled "Nightmare for Duckland."

Abeg, I fit submit am for essay competition. If dem no give me prize, na dem sabi. The story real pass all those I-read-it-somewhere gist.

The last time wey I hear this kind abstract noise na when my seatmate dey watch Nollywood skit for night prep, dey imitate villain laugh for my side: "Heh heh heh heh."

That one sef get as e be. But this my neighbor own get special brand—na only God go fit judge am.

Abeg, I no fit take am again.

If to say na village, I for carry old woman go report for compound meeting. But for here, na only stubbornness fit survive.

So I go knock their door.

I just bone face, tie wrapper well. If na fight, my own na to collect my own share.