Chapter 3: No Pity Pass Sense

Days just dey go as usual, I start work for canteen.

Factory life dey hard. Morning bell go ring, everybody rush. I dey slice onion, fry akara, measure rice for worker hand. My back dey ache but I dey manage.

Factory talk say after Mama Jummai born, she go take her husband work.

Dem pity her, say make she no suffer too much. But factory work no easy for woman with small pikin. Some people grumble, some hail the management.

Things dey miss for canteen—sometimes na groundnut, sometimes na palm oil—but na small small, nobody too worry.

Na so life be. If you see small thief, you close eye. Everybody dey hustle—nobody holy pass. If too much wahala, na meeting dem go call.

That morning, before I reach canteen, Hassan drag me go store.

Hassan dey pant like person wey run hundred meter. "Oga, come see!" E point inside store, sweat for him face. My mind jump—maybe dem catch big thief?

"Oga, see as dem thief the middle for all these ugwu—person no get conscience again o!"

I look the ugwu, see as dem cut the sweet part—center just hollow. My mind dey vex, but I try hold myself.

"Who do am? You get clue?"

My voice calm but sharp. If dem thief small, e fit grow to big wahala. Factory people no dey like story.

Hassan say dem see pikin dey waka near there, but nobody sure if na the pikin thief the ugwu.

He talk with fear, dey look back as if thief go jump out from wall. For Nigeria, people dey fear to point finger; if you no sure, you better quiet.

That time, to thief na big crime o.

Dem fit flog person, even disgrace you for town square. Small thing fit become big talk for evening gist.

"Make we dey take turn dey look the place."

Na so we agree. Security tight small, but no be prison. I tell Hassan make e open eye, but for my heart, I suspect wetin dey happen.

I know na Danjuma. Na so e be for my last life. As I think say him papa just die, my mind soft for am.

I see small shadow for corner—same look, same hand wey dey sharp. I know say na Danjuma. But pity wan carry me—after all, e dey suffer.

For that life, I use more than thirty naira buy ugwu cover am.

Thirty naira that time fit buy you big soup. I do am because I no want wahala for small boy. But now, my eye don clear.

But for this new life, I talk say: I no go cover you again.

If I continue, e go spoil am. Sometimes, you need let pikin learn lesson. I decide say I go let things flow.

Na just ugwu. Make I see how e go be.

For my mind, ugwu no be gold. If dem catch am, e fit stop. If I hide am, the boy go get boldness to try more.

Few days ago, for Danjuma papa burial, I see Mama Jummai.

She dey cry—voice hoarse, belle round. People dey hold her, dey say, "Take heart." Old women dey beat chest, children dey run up and down. I stand, look, but my mind blank.

She wear white, her belle big, dey cry anyhow. But me, I no feel anything.

No tears. Maybe na pain don block my heart. Maybe na shock.

Danjuma grandma hold am tight: "Ah my pikin, how we go survive now? Why God no just carry me go..."

People gather, some dey pray, some dey wail. For Nigeria, when death land, everybody join hand—even enemy fit come chop rice.

For my last life, as I see Mama Jummai dey suffer, I carry her and the children join my house. As I see the old woman lose her pikin, I pity her. Mama Jummai say she go dey give her mama five naira every month, I gree.

That time, five naira na better money. I dey hustle extra, but I agree because my heart dey soft. People talk say, "You try o!"

I too mumu. Danjuma grandma fit no like Mama Jummai, but she no go ever throw away her grandson—her son only pikin, she dey pamper am. Which kind grandma go drive her grandson comot?

No be Naija grandma go leave pikin for street. Even if dem dey quarrel, blood still dey thick pass water. Dem say, "No matter how river bend, e no go forget him source."

If I think well, na plan dem plan am.

I dey reason: how come na me dem rush meet? Wetin make dem choose my head?

Why dem pick me—

I dey think tire. I no fit sleep. E be like say dem see say I dey soft.

After I reason am, I understand.

Na because my hand clean. I get sure work, I dey responsible. People trust me, so dem see say I fit carry family without wahala.

My canteen work sure. I fit survive with just small food.

Na so dem dey look for man wey get small comfort. My pot dey always boil, even if na only yam. Hunger nor dey my house.

My cooking skill sabi well for area. Any wedding or burial, na me dem dey call.

Sometimes, dem go call me to cook for big party. I dey use the money support my pocket, people go hail me say, "Baba Musa, your hand dey sweet!"

This extra money pass my salary.

True talk—if not for this, I for don give up. E dey sweet when people respect your handwork.

That time, money hard to spend, but this kind extra earning make me dey proud, so I no marry quick till late twenties.

My friends marry early, but me, I dey chase money. I reason say, when time reach, I go settle.

Na that time Mama Jummai come talk say make we settle. Me, I dey eager to get family.

Na loneliness dey worry me. I no wan old alone, so when she come beg, my heart melt.

Widow na widow, stepchild na stepchild—at least, I go get house.

People gossip, but I no mind. My people dey say, "Man wey find love no dey look face."

Now I sabi say the family wey I dey happy build, na excuse dem use dey chop my sweat.

As I dey remember all the food, all the help, my chest dey pain. I dey pray make I fit do better this time.

If I no miss am, Mama Jummai go soon show face.

My body dey alert. Once my heart dey remember her, na sign say she go soon come knock.

Talk of devil. After lunch, as I reach house, she don already dey wait.

She stand for veranda, dey frown. Sun dey burn, but she no shift. Her hand dey waist, she dey bounce leg. Na old style, when woman dey plan serious talk.

Na Mama Kudi block me for gate.

She sharp—before I fit enter, she hold my hand. "My son, shine your eye. Some people dey plan for themselves, no for you."

"You this boy, no let small kindness blind your eye."

Her words heavy. For Naija, old woman word na like oracle—if you wise, you go listen.

For my last life, Mama Kudi try stop me too. That time, pity catch me for orphans and widow, I no listen.

If I get sense, I for hear word. But as young man, my body dey hot, so I ignore advice. Regret come later.

After I marry Mama Jummai, anytime I wan carry food give Mama Kudi, Mama Jummai go say she don already do am. Later, Mama Kudi just dey far from me.

Na so dem dey use small lie scatter better friendship. If woman no want you get friend, e fit cause wahala for long run.

If I look back, Mama Jummai do plenty things behind my back.

Many things wey I no fit count. Sometimes, my eye dey red, but I no talk—na so marriage dey blind man.

My old bedsheet and pillow, my dirty work cloth, all dey dry for sun.

I dey look am, dey reason if this na true love or just arrangement.

House clean, everywhere dey shine. But my spirit no rest.

House neat, e no resemble bachelor house at all.

Neighbors begin gossip: "See as bachelor house change, woman hand sure!" But inside my heart, na worry full my mind.

But for Naija, love story no dey end for one chapter—wahala fit show any time.