Chapter 2: The Beating Never Ends

My papa na full-time drunkard.

For our street, everybody sabi am. If you pass that Gutter Junction by 8pm, you go hear him laugh before you see am. E no dey waka straight, always dey lean on wall, dey shout greeting to people wey no get time for am. Sometimes, small children dey run when dem see am, dem dey fear the way e smell.

Every night, he go waka come back from that yeye beer parlour, body dey smell like ogogoro.

If you near am for parlor, na pure odeku and sweat go jam your nose. He go stagger enter house, shoe one leg, shirt half button, dey curse weather or Buhari, anyhow mood take catch am.

Once he enter house, if anything just vex am, na me and my mama go collect the anger.

No matter wetin trigger am—maybe light no dey, or soup never done—he go just find who to blame. Me I don master the art of hiding under table, but na my mama dey collect pass. Sometimes, I dey wish say we fit get one big uncle for police wey fit come drag am one day.

I no fit even count how many nights our compound dey echo with my mama scream and my papa shout like animal.

Neighbour dem sabi the matter but everybody dey do like sey dem no see am. Sometimes, small pikin wey dey play for balcony go pause, peep, then run enter house as my papa shout begin loud. For night, na so breeze go carry my mama cry reach another street.

Neighbours no wan put mouth. Dem go say na family matter.

Dem go just lock door, reduce TV volume, whisper for parlour. Some go peep through window, if you catch dem, dem go pretend say dem dey find something for floor. Na only one time I hear one woman say, 'E no good o, but e better make dem settle inside.'

I don beg dem tire, but after that, dem no even dey open door for me again.

My knock go loud for compound, but nobody go answer. One time sef, person off bulb as I dey shout for help. I just sit down for stair, dey wipe my face, dey ask God whether na only me he forget for this life.

One Uncle Sani even tell me through door make I call police.

As I dey beg am, na only his dry voice I hear: 'Pikin, police dey for phone, call dem.' His own wahala na make he no get him own hand for our family palava.

I run go house, carry my papa phone—na when he dey throw punch e fall—and call police, hand dey shake.

My hand dey shake so tay, na number three times I dial before dem pick. I dey whisper address, eye dey my papa side, fear catch me say if he wake see me... e for finish me there. My mind dey race, I dey count seconds till siren go sound.

Police carry my papa go, but after some days, dem release am, he come back. As he enter, na kick for my belle straight.

The day him return, compound people gather dey watch, dey whisper. Na so he just walk enter house, see me, no talk anything, just raise leg—gbam. Na so pain blind my eye, I roll for ground. Nobody even try help.

Na that day I know—my papa no dey fear anybody. Nobody fit control am again.

From that day, na so power enter him head. Even if chief for street talk, he go just laugh, say na 'my family, no be your own.'

Anytime my mama chop beating, as soon as my papa storm enter room, I go rush go meet her, help clean her wounds.

Sometimes, I go boil small water, find clean rag, dey dab her face gentle, dey blow on the cuts. My hand dey tremble, but na so I go try put small balm, dey talk soft, 'Sorry, Mama. Sorry.'

I dey hate myself say I too small, too weak to protect her.

Sometimes I go look my hand, small like broomstick, and I go swear inside my mind, say if I ever big, nobody fit touch my mama again.

Dem say my papa used to fine—get future—but after work wahala finish am, e change.

My mama go show me old picture—young man, brown skin, gap-tooth smile. E get hope before, before all this beer and street wahala turn am to another person.

I no understand.

No matter how I try reason am, I no fit see why man go wake one day, turn to lion for house. I dey always ask God inside mind—wetin we do?

Why me and my mama suppose dey suffer for his own wahala?

If to say na film, dem for say we get bad karma. But me, I no fit believe say God go just throw us give person wey no get joy for body.

Na because we be the weakest?

Sometimes, e dey be like say na only poor people dey use suffer do pillow for this world. I dey always hear say 'na who dey fear dey lose,' but sometimes fear dey strong pass stone.