Chapter 3: WhatsApp Wounds

The business wey Chuka dey run now, na him and one of him uni padi start am.

Dem try well-well, you know as business dey hard for Naija. Dem hustle, struggle with PHCN and all. But na dem dey run things, dey hire staff, dey even dey pay tax. Sometimes I dey proud, sometimes I dey vex say e no fit carry me along.

When that padi wan marry, na our house dem send the wedding invite come.

The invitation land with style. Dem put my name join Chuka own, envelope fine, ribbon dey. Na so I begin dey reason: maybe this one na my time.

Me, I just believe say Chuka go carry me go the wedding.

I dey dream small—see myself wear fine Ankara, dey snap selfie with am, dey dance shaku-shaku for wedding video.

I select gift for the couple sharp-sharp, book makeup artist, even pick dress wey fine but no go pass the bride own.

You know Naija levels: you fit fine, but make bride still shine pass. I run go market, pick better jewelry, wrap am well, even call Aunty Remi for makeup. I dey ready!

Wedding day reach.

That morning, I wake early, do face mask, even paint nail, dey arrange gift. For my mind, na today be today.

From the secret hope to the shame wey follow, na only one WhatsApp status from one mutual friend I see.

The thing weak me. As I dey scroll WhatsApp, na so I see status. My chest cut—Chuka inside group photo, dey laugh with him people. Na that kain silent disgrace dey pain pass.

Group photo from the wedding.

All of them—boys with suit, girls with gele, bride dey shine. My Chuka stand for middle.

So Chuka still be groomsman.

Groomsman, dey represent, meanwhile me dey house dey look phone. The kain thing dey pain woman, you know?

The bridesmaid wey stand near am dey look am with all her eye dey shine.

The babe dey smile, teeth white pass Dano milk, eyes dey shine like say she dey see destiny helper. As she beam, her gele tilt small for head, make her look like those Yaba market girls wey dey sell with only eye contact. I just dey look the picture dey analyze everything.

Before I fit refresh, the post don block me.

Before I fit blink, na "View Once" be that. Post disappear, like say e no ever exist. My heart just sink.

I no see am again.

I try check, scroll up and down, but WhatsApp no gree. Na then I know say the person sef sabi the matter dey hot.

I no wan be that babe wey go dey house dey cry, dey ask Chuka: "Why now?"

Me I dey package, dey pose as if e no touch me. Na Naija woman code—if you show pain, dem go carry gist.

I just bone.

I arrange my face, carry remote, put for Nollywood channel. I refuse make tears fall. I wan cry but I just bite my tongue. For Naija, if you show weakness, dem go use am laugh you.

When Chuka come back, I still dey watch my tablet.

He waka in, drop car key, e act like say nothing happen. I just dey scroll Instagram, dey pretend busy.

I just talk as e be, "You don come."

My voice flat, no ginger, but I dey try make e be as if I no send am.

As Chuka waka pass living room, I point the gift box wey I wrap for table.

I point am with chin. You know Naija style—no need to talk too much.

"Na the jewelry I buy for the bride be that. Remember give am."

I talk am as if e no pain me, but e dey pain me die. I just dey do madam.

Chuka just answer "Mm" quietly.

He nod, voice low. Na that type wey person no go even fit argue with.

That thing just leave big hole for my chest.

As he waka go inside, I feel like say breeze pass my heart. The place cold, my chest just hollow. Sometimes, silence dey make wahala loud pass shouting.