Chapter 2: The Day My Heart Sank

When my application got approved, I finally breathe out. My fingers dey shake, my eyes red, but I no even notice.

I sit down for my bed, letter for hand, dey stare at the acceptance mail. My heart dey beat fast, I fit hear my own pulse for ear. I wan shout, but only tears fall. For that small room, I hug myself tight, whisper, "Thank You, God." I fit see small rays of hope for my future.

Nobody know say I don come back to life.

I dey waka for house as if nothing happen. I greet people, smile small. But inside me, I be person wey don enter new world. Nobody notice say my spirit don change, that my mind dey think plenty things wey dem no fit understand.

Twenty-one years old.

Na small pikin I still be, but my soul don old. Twenty-one, but my experience pass some elders for my area. I dey watch people with new eyes. I dey learn again how to live.

Just before I wanted to confess to Uncle Tunde.

I remember the butterflies for my belly, the way my hands dey sweat when I think of am. Na the eve of my confession, when hope still dey sweet me. Before my heart break finish.

That day, I wear the dress he spend big money to sew for me, and I book the most expensive hotel for Makurdi.

The dress na ankara mixed with lace, the tailor for Wadata sew am sharp sharp. I look myself for mirror, my hair set with beads, skin dey shine. The hotel na one of those new ones with big light, security men for gate. I wan make sure say that day go special. Money no be problem that time.

I invite plenty friends to witness the start of our love.

Even my cousin dem wey dey Lagos, I call dem. Everybody dey hype me, say na today go be the day. For the group chat, my girls dey drop voice notes, dey tease me. For hall, balloons full everywhere, and small chops dey smell for air. Zobo dey flow, puff-puff pile for tray, jollof rice aroma dey everywhere. Laughter dey, hope dey.

Since I small, Uncle Tunde always dey by my side. My mama and papa, both Doctors Without Borders, dey waka everywhere for work.

From primary school, na Uncle Tunde dey carry me go and come. He dey buy suya for me, dey attend all my school functions. My parents, dem dey send gifts from far places—postcards from Congo, phone call from Sudan, but na Tunde dey there physically.

I only dey see them small times every year.

The few times wey dem show, na like visitor dem be. I dey count days, dey look calendar. Christmas, maybe New Year, dem go try reach house. But mostly, na Uncle Tunde be my real family.

Half my life, I spend am with Uncle Tunde.

Even for my birthdays, na him dey plan party, buy cake, invite all my friends. When malaria hold me, na him dey sit for my bedside till I sleep. The man try.

Through sweet and bitter.

For every sickness, every graduation, every wahala, na Uncle Tunde dey. Na him dey defend me for street, dey settle fight for school. Through all my childish mistakes, he dey forgive.

Everybody around us just agree for mind say I be Uncle Tunde’s wife for future.

Aunty Rose talk am one day for kitchen: "Na you go marry our Tunde o." Even neighbours dey tease am. Market women for Wurukum call me "Iyawo Tunde". Na so the thing enter everybody head, even my own.

For my last life, my close friends sabi say I wan confess. Dem advice me tire, until my face dey hot.

Blessing even send voice note: "Abeg, Yemi, no go disgrace us." Another one: "If you no talk, I go talk for you." Dem dey push me, dey gist me how to talk, what to wear, how to behave. My head dey spin.

Inside me, I dey hope for the best.

I dey rehearse for mirror, dey practice smile. My mind dey draw big picture—Uncle Tunde go smile, hug me, say he too like me. I dey count seconds, dey check time.

But nobody expect say Uncle Tunde go reject me.

Na shock hold everybody. For all the party plans, nobody prepare for the rejection. The air inside the hall freeze, music stop small. My friends look each other, mouths open.

Just like before.

History repeat itself. Na like say na fate dey drag us back to square one. My heart sink.

E be like say Uncle Tunde already know wetin I dey plan.

The way he dey look me that day, like say he fit read my mind. He dey rub his thumb and forefinger together, that sign say wahala dey come. E pain me say he no give me chance to even finish my talk before e block am.

He frown small, two fingers dey rub together as he try find words to take reject me.

I see am dey swallow saliva, eyes dey shine, but he try hide am. E dey pick words carefully, as if one wrong word fit scatter everything. My friends dey look, tension dey rise.

His eyes carry one kind heavy feeling I no fit read.

He look like man wey wan cry but dey pretend strong. I dey watch for small sign say maybe he go change mind, but the eyes no give me hope.

That time, I think say maybe na because I be small girl for am, say I no sabi difference between love and just liking person.

I dey tell myself: maybe he dey wait make I mature small. Maybe he no wan spoil me. Maybe, just maybe, na my own mind dey deceive me. I dey find excuse for am.

So I smile talk, “Uncle, I like you. Anytime I see you, my heart dey beat anyhow.”

I smile, but na shakara smile. I dey force my voice to steady. "Uncle, anytime I dey near you, my heart dey fly. If I no see you, body go just dey do me one kain." My friends dey giggle for background, dey push me with eyes.

“If I no see you, I go just dey miss you anyhow. The feeling no dey let me rest.”

I try laugh, cover my fear. I dey use hand play with my ring. Everybody dey quiet now, dey wait for the main gist.

“I sure die—wetin I get for you na love.”

My voice choke small. For inside, my leg dey shake, but I no gree show am. I talk am, full chest, no turning back. All my hope dey hang on those words.

Others join the wahala, but everything scatter last last.

The hall full, people dey whisper, some dey look phone. The surprise for their face dey clear. The party mood change. Some people try clap, but the energy low. Dem dey whisper, "Chai, see as e be. Na wa o." I just dey stand for front, heart dey jump.

That day, I still smile, but the smile no reach my heart.

My lips stretch, but inside me, na only tears dey run. I try act like say I no care, but my eyes dey betray me. My friends dey fidget, dey look floor.

He wan talk, but I cut am: “Uncle, the research project wey I dey do for one year just finish last week.”

I sharply change the topic, voice still dey shake. I try act normal, as if nothing dey happen. I dey save face, no wan cry for public.

“I too happy, so I wan celebrate.”

I force laugh, raise my drink. Everybody dey look, some dey try smile back. My heart dey bleed, but I pretend say all is well.

Uncle Tunde shock stand for there.

He stiff, hand for pocket, dey look ground. My friends dey shift, dey whisper among themselves. Na awkward silence dey reign.

My friends dey look each other, wan talk.

One of dem, Kemi, open mouth, but change her mind. The rest dey eye the cake, unsure if dem go cut am or pack am go house. The atmosphere don spoil.

I just look dem small.

I give dem small nod, make dem no worry. I dey try show say I dey okay, even though my chest dey burn.

Dem smile like say dem no sure, then pack the banner wey dem hold, ‘Say yes to her, say yes to her.’

Na Chika and Blessing carry banner, but dem quickly fold am, hide for back. Nobody get strength to shout again. Everybody dey pity me small.

My confession scatter for ground.

All the plans, all the hype—just crash. My dreams, like the confetti for floor, na only sweep go remain.