Chapter 1: Night Wahala

I get one habit wey dey follow me sleep. I no dey fit sleep unless I squeeze my sleep companion doll between my legs.

For Naija, everybody get those small, funny quirks wey dem dey hide for their chest, and this one na my own secret. Sometimes if NEPA take light and heat choke, I still go hold my doll like say na chilled bottle of malt for harmattan night. E be like comfort wey dey pass all this adult wahala. I never gree tell anybody, but for my mind, na my own small escape be this.

One night like that, I just hear my secret crush inner voice for my ear.

[No dey hold am so tight abeg.]

[I dey nearly suffocate.]

My whole body just freeze. Na who dey talk this kind thing? Night breeze blow enter the room, my heart jump reach my throat. My mind begin turn like blender. Whether na dream or sleep-paralysis, I no even sure again. For Naija, if person hear voice for night, first thing you go think na say winch dey. I nearly shout "Blood of Jesus!" but I just bite tongue, dey peep my room for corner. But this one come be like play.

Fear hook me, I sharply fling the doll commot from my body. Next thing, I hear one deep, hoarse groan for my ear—na my male god voice.

E resemble say village people wan use play catch cruise with my sleep, but deep down, I dey suspect say wahala don wear shoe.