Chapter 7: Old Friends and New Clues

Next day, I waka back to the old area.

My leg sabi road, even if my heart dey drag. Sun dey bite, but air for street thick with memory.

I waka up and down, stop for one recycling station.

Place full of broken plastic chair, old radio, mountain of bottle. Smell of engine oil and rust strong. Na place where secret fit hide forever.

I remember here—e don dey more than ten years.

As young papa, I dey bring Ebuka and Ifeoma watch cat play for scrap heap. Sometimes, I go gist with owner, buy cold pure water when heat too much.

The owner, Aunty Grace, don old well now.

She wear bright Ankara wrapper, edge don fade. Face get line, but eye still sharp, full of play and sense.

Surprisingly, she still know me.

She look me, squint, then smile wide. ‘My pikin! You don grow finish. Na God o!’ She hug me, pat my back strong.

"No be Tunde be this? Why you come back? I never see you since all these years..."

She hold my hand, no gree let go, her laugh loud. People for area look, smile for her happiness.

She greet me warm as she see me, offer me cold pure water from her fridge, then tear small piece of fried plantain for me, say, ‘Take chop, my pikin, na old time sake.’

She ask about my family, mama, old work. Her voice cool my spirit, remind me say no be all memory for here bitter.

I wan find that mad man—she sabi everything for area pass me.

If anybody know truth or even rumour, na her. She don see everybody, know every story wey waka this street.

So I greet her,

"Aunty Grace, na me o. I no believe say you go still remember me... Your business still dey go well."

She laugh, slap thigh. ‘Business no dey finish! People go always get something to throw away!’

After small talk, I ask about that strange mad man.

I describe am—wild hair, eye, laugh. Her face change, the shine for eye dull.

Her face change at once. She pause, then finally talk,

"That person, no be mad man o... na my husband."

I shock, quick ask, ‘Aunty Grace, abeg, wetin do am? Since when?’ Her hand tremble as she wipe face, sorrow deep for eye.

Aunty Grace sigh,

"E no dey normal again, e don reach years now. He no gree see doctor..."

She shake head, voice soft. ‘Since that time... children start dey miss. Something break inside am. He no dey talk like before, just dey waka anyhow.’

I dey think whether to ask why, and about that ‘children dey miss’ wey her husband talk.

Tongue heavy, no sure if I suppose push. Some pain too deep, some question bring wahala.

But then I notice—

For back of the recycling station—fenced area, bushy, hide from main road. Old furniture pile, rusted gate, even broken Danfo bus. Place look like where past fit hide and rot, nobody go know.

Goats dey chew nylon for corner, while children’s laughter echo faint for far street.

A shiver run me, like answer I dey find just dey wait, dey watch, silent.