Chapter 2: Pepper Soup, Threats, and Secrets

Harmattan for North cold no be small. For one village compound for outskirts, three men gather round charcoal stove dey chop pepper soup.

You go see as dem dey drag stool come near fire, dem wrapper tie for chest, everybody dey hug soup bowl. The air cold like inside fridge. For Naija, harmattan fit bite like snake.

Even as steam dey rise, you go still notice one of dem—him fine no be here.

E get as him skin dey glow against charcoal fire, nose sharp, beard trimmed, you go know say this one no be local champion.

At 28, Musa tall, sharp, and e too fine. Even for outside Eziokwu, e fit carry best-looking man for all Kaduna.

People dey always ask whether na jazz, because nobody understand how person fit fine reach this level. Musa dey move with confidence, like say na him papa get town.

Musa dey play host well—e dey dip meat, pour palm wine, dey ginger him two boys till their face red, body dey hot.

As e dey serve dem, e dey talk story, dey make everybody laugh. Palm wine dey sweet, the meat dey pepper, and small by small, the cold dey comot for body.

“If you chop this meat, you go get liver like lion,” Musa talk, eyes dey shine as e dey push Bala and Tunde make dem chop.

Musa voice deep, e dey sweet like radio OAP. As e yarn, e dey push meat go dem mouth, dey do as if na big brother wey wan make pikin strong.

The two men gree, even as dem dey fear, dem force the meat enter their belle. After the first bite, dem chest con strong small.

Bala and Tunde dey look each other eye, dem dey try form tough. Pepper dey bite dem throat but dem no wan dull Musa. The meat strong for tongue, but after e enter belle, you go feel body dey gather.

Sharp sharp, dem finish big plate of meat, everywhere dey smell nice, atmosphere dey lively.

Small fly dey dance for air, charcoal dey snap, palm wine dey foam for cup. That kind evening, nobody dey think say wahala dey near.

After food and drink don enter body, their mind con dey hot. Musa call two women from back room make dem join.

As he shout, one curtain for corner move, two women waka enter like say na film. Aroma of perfume and palm oil mix together for air.

One na the sexy side chick, Halima; the other na Musa wife, Ifeoma, wey face just dey normal.

Halima body dey set, her wrapper fine, gold chain dey shine for neck. Ifeoma just carry straight face, her wrapper no too new, but her eye dey sharp. Two women wey no fit ever be friends if no be Musa.

Both women don fall for Musa well. Once e wave hand, dem just siddon for him side like say na jazz.

If Musa call, dem no go ask question. Na so e dey control dem, e get that power wey dey scatter woman head.

Right there, Musa carry Halima enter him arm, kiss am with force.

Everybody hear the smacking sound. Halima blush, Ifeoma just look another side. For that moment, Musa feel on top world.

As Musa dey enjoy with women for both sides, Bala and Tunde just dey look dey envy.

Dem dey sip palm wine, dey wish say dem fit get this kind life. But for their level, na Musa dem dey follow chop remain.

Who go blame dem? Na just errand boys dem be.

Dem dey do Musa dirty work—run message, wash car, even help am hide things. For small town, as you no get work, you go follow who dey run things.

After more drinks, Musa con high small.

E begin laugh louder, gist dey flow more, and e face dey change. For Naija, if man high, sometimes true colour go show.

“Guys, to talk true, work no easy these days. Money no dey like before.”

E tap table, sigh. Everybody feel am—economy don bad, even for those wey get hand for street.

“Na so e be o! We dey risk life just to see small change. This our work, na head for ground... hic,” Bala add, face squeeze like person wey chop bitter leaf.

Bala rub him face, side eye Musa. The wahala plenty, hope small. Na real street talk.

“People dey talk now say, ‘If you wan die, come Eziokwu.’ Outsiders no dey gree come again.”

Na true. For village, anytime kasala burst, dem go use am scare pikin. Eziokwu name don dey smell for outside.

Since, money never show face.

Everybody quiet small. Even the fire for stove reduce. Time dey move slow.

As everywhere con dey dull, Musa raise eyebrow, him eyes turn cold, wicked as e glare the two boys.

Musa get that look wey dey cut person soul. E just dey size dem up as if dem be chicken for Sallah eve.

“Make una work well for me. If una try, palm wine and meat go dey flow. If una slack, una go end like the dead body for cellar.”

E voice low but e sharp. If you no wise, you go think say e dey joke, but for Musa house, threat no dey play.

As e dey talk, Musa jam butcher knife for table—na real madman.

Knife head shine for fire, the handle dirty. Everybody quiet, air cold.

The knife dey shake, just like how Bala and Tunde body dey tremble.

Dem leg dey vibrate under stool, sweat dey back neck despite harmattan.

Bala whisper, "God abeg o, make this one no vex today."

Nobody talk. Dem just dey look the bones wey dey on top chopping board, cold catch dem for body.

For Musa kitchen, once silence enter, you go hear knife drop, you go know say trouble dey cook.

Musa no dey joke—if e vex, e fit really cut person.

Stories for street dey plenty. People dey fear Musa because dem hear say he fit slice goat head like bread, human own no go hard am.

Suddenly, gbim gbim gbim, knock land for door.

Knock heavy, like police wan break door. All man freeze. Even Musa pause, hand stiff for air.

“Wahala!”

Bala whisper the word, everybody chest tight. For Naija, if knock land for night, na wahala dey knock.

Musa heart miss one beat, goosebumps rush him body.

E try bone face but sweat don land for him nose. Nobody dey above fear, even king of the house.

“Chei, I never even clear the thing wey I just chop finish.”

Musa curse under breath, arrange wrapper. E dey paranoid—every small sound dey mean big trouble.

E signal Bala make e quick cover the bones for chopping board with nylon.

Bala rush, scatter things inside bag, use big nylon cover bones. E dey sweat, hand dey shake, nearly pour pepper soup for ground.

Anything wey wan happen, dem go handle am. Whoever dey for door, no wahala.

For Musa mind, no matter who, e dey sure of himself. E fit talk way out or bribe way out. Confidence dey him body like perfume.

Door open—na the landlady.

Mama Adama, old woman wey get mouth for compound. She bounce enter, slippers dey slap ground, head tie high like mountain. Her wrapper na real Ankara, face strong like rock. She sabi all the gossip for street.

The old woman stand for door, look inside, pinch her nose, begin complain, “Wetin dey happen for una house? E dey smell every time. I dey perceive am from my side.”

She purse lips, shake head. “I never see compound wey dey smell like this one. Una dey roast what?”

Musa dey use toothpick clean teeth, reply, “Mama, na only correct meat dey smell here. If you chop am, you go young by twenty years.”

Everybody laugh small, tension break. Musa dey throw cruise, Mama shake head, eye am from head to toe.

The old woman know say this boy dey play, she just wave hand, waka commot fast.

She mutter, “God go punish bad thing,” as she waka. But for heart, she dey mark Musa house for watchlist.

Musa too fine, but people dey always get somehow feeling about am.

For town, dem dey whisper—beauty fit hide evil. Na so dem dey warn pikin for North: "No let fine face fool you."

Everybody for inside house breathe out—problem don pass.

Halima shift closer to fire, Bala and Tunde exchange eye. Na so dem dey live, always on edge.

“E be like say we no fit stay for this place again. Once dry season enter and everywhere warm, those plenty dead body wey don get ‘patina’ go smell scatter. Police go rush come.”

Musa reason am, rub chin. For Nigeria, corpse wey dey rot for heat go disgrace owner. No place to hide.

Musa decide say e go carry Halima and Bala go south go find better money, then come back move everybody go new place.

If money drop, everybody go relocate—start fresh for another town. E dey plan as sharp guy.

Because, this house too close to police station.

If wahala burst, police fit waka enter any time. Musa no like that kind risk.

Tunde and Ifeoma go dey house dey watch.

Dem go mind place, dey hold fort. Everybody get role for Musa crew.

Before e travel, Musa tell him wife: “Every two weeks, I go reach you. If you no hear from me for long, just know say kasala don burst.”

He tap her shoulder, eye steady. For Ifeoma mind, she no know whether to pray or to fear.

E no know say na prophecy e talk.

Life get as e be; sometimes mouth wey dey run no sabi say e dey call trouble. That small talk go later mean plenty.