Chapter 1: The Day Kindness Killed

I carry one small girl from the bush, her leg dey bleed, her cry loud pass monkey for market. My nose dey block, lips crack, everywhere dry like old garri. Harmattan dust just dey everywhere, cover the whole village like powder. I feel say I dey try, say I fit change something for this world. As I waka those rocky paths, sweat and hope dey mix for my heart. Dem call me 'that city girl wey sabi book,' but I no send. To help na my calling.

My parents treat her with all their heart, loving her like their own pikin. We go gather round mama’s pot of egusi, sharing meat, laughing as papa tell old Lagos story. Whenever she enter, my mama go shout, “Ngozi, come chop! No just stand for there like person wey no get people.” Papa go find small change give her, make she buy chin-chin from Mama Sade after lesson. Our compound full with her laughter, her shy greeting, and mama’s voice calling her ‘my dear pikin’.

But for the end, she poison our food, kill my whole family. Kindness kill us for this house.

The day e happen, sky just heavy, thunder dey vex like angry spirits. One by one, my parents just fall near pot of food. I remember the bitter taste, pain for belle, confusion and fear as strength dey finish. The person wey we trust pass turn snake for our midst.

"Why your own life go better pass my own? Wetin make I dey serve you? People like una suppose die."

Her voice still dey ring for my ear, sharp and cold, words like stone wey dem throw for my chest. The bitterness choke like bitterleaf, too strong to swallow.

When I open eye again, na the same day I start my volunteer work—day wey Ngozi first come meet me, dey beg say dem dey bully her.

Cock never even finish crow, I just jump wake, sweat dey my face. Same dusty table, exercise book, chalk dust—everything still dey as e be before darkness fall.

I just smile, talk, "Oh."

My lips no move well, but inside, my spirit dey boil. I don see her real colour. This time, I no go be her mugu.

I really wan see, without me, how she go escape from wahala this time?

Make she face life as e be. If no be my hand, she for no smell that new life wey she enjoy. I cross myself quick, whisper small prayer, "God abeg, no let devil play with my mind." I fit forgive, but I no fit forget. This time, I go stand for corner, dey watch as her story unfold.