Chapter 6: The Knife’s Edge

But bullet comments don late.

E no even give me time reason anything. Wahala don set.

I don already carry the 500 naira wey I hustle, whisper to my mama,

I lean close, voice low, 'Mama, abeg, no dey talk say you be rich person pikin again. Just keep am for mind. I go help you find your people. Before two weeks, I go carry you go meet grandpapa.'

Gbam! My papa kick door open.

The sound loud, na so everything freeze. My heart jump reach mouth.

As bullet comment warn late, my heart nearly stop.

For small second, everywhere quiet, only generator hum for backyard. My heart dey drum, dey pray say e no hear.

"You this pikin, wetin you talk just now? You dey find your people?"

E voice cold, low, the type wey dey precede bigger wahala. E eyes dey red, hand dey shake, body dey block door.

My papa eye red, dey look me like say he wan chop me, even dey eye kitchen knife.

My hand dey sweat, but I no sure say I fit grip knife if e reach that level. My leg dey ready to run, but my body dey root for ground.

[Na wah o. Chijioke don see our bullet comments, but e don cast.]

[Run! If e reach, carry knife defend yourself! You still be pikin—no fear!]

I dey reason my next move, but fear grip me. I dey bite lip, dey pray say e no move go worse.

I look kitchen knife, heart dey beat.

I dey eye am, dey wonder if na now I go use am. But my hand still dey shake.

But I swallow spit, tell my papa,

I try form calm, voice low: 'Mama just dey talk say she be rich person pikin, say make I help her find her papa. I tell her, wetin be the point? You dey dream again. Our people dey here already.'

My papa just burst, rush beat and kick again. I just cover my mama, no even know how many I collect.

The beating heavy. My head dey knock, but I dey use hand protect mama. Na so pain dey rush my body like fire.

After he tire, my papa pick the 500 naira from ground, coldly ask where I get am.

He dey twist the note, face hard. I dey pant, body dey pain, but I no let tears drop.

Face don white. Na during beating, the money fall from my pocket wey don tear.

I dey pray say make he no suspect say I dey hustle for road.

I just grit my teeth, say I find am.

Voice low, I whisper, 'I just see am for road.'

My papa give me another slap.

'Next time you find money, bring am come meet me sharp sharp! Hear?!'

Him voice dey thunder, spit dey fly. My head dey spin, but I still dey nod.

Even as my ear dey ring, I just dey nod.

My mind dey far, but my resolve dey strong. This man no go break my spirit.