Chapter 1: When My Wahala Start For Lagos Sun

The day I awakened the succubus inside me, Lagos sun no pity me at all.

My whole body just dey somehow as I squat by the roadside, tears pouring for my face. Keke dey blast horn, one hawker waka pass dey shout, "Gala! La Casera!" Some people dey look, others dey mind their own. I no even send them; the wahala dey inside me. E be like say all my senses just dey high, as if the sun itself dey shine spotlight on top my shame.

Tunde, looking vexed, drag his roommate come. "Abeg, help me handle her. I get somewhere I dey go."

The way he take talk am be like say person dey drop load wey heavy for another. Ikenna just reply, "Mm," nod im head, no wahala for im face at all. Na real Naija guy—no time for unnecessary drama.

He waka come meet me, voice gentle: "Ngozi, tell me wetin go make you calm down. Abi you wan pure water?"

E voice calm, gentle pass wetin I expect. E just dey try make everywhere cool. People for the roadside dey watch small, some dey whisper, but me, I no send anybody.

I careful pull my skirt down, dey fear say he go notice my grasscutter tail.

My hand dey shake as I press my skirt, dey pray make breeze no blow open am. For this Lagos, if person see anything wey resemble tail, dem fit record am put for Instagram sharp sharp.

But na wahala, my ears sef dey misbehave.

As I bend down small, e be like say my ears dey stretch, dey disturb my head. Sweat dey my back, my armpit dey pepper me—Lagos sun no get mercy. I just dey hope say nobody dey notice. One small pikin even dey point, but her mama sharp carry am go.

I just bite my lip and beg, "I want kiss."

My mouth dey heavy, shame dey hold me. But the wahala for my body no gree me keep quiet. My voice low, but e carry all the wahala for my chest. If to say na spirit, I for don vanish. But as I dey talk, my heart dey race like bus wey conductor dey drag for hold-up.

Ikenna raise eyebrow. "Which kind kiss you dey talk?"

Im eyebrow arch, eye dey sharp. No be the normal playful style, na serious question. My heart just skip.

I press my restless ears down with my hand and whisper, "The one wey go make me feel well well."

The words come out like prayer. I dey beg for relief, for escape. As my fingers dey tremble for my ears, I dey hope say Ikenna go understand say my wahala pass ordinary heartbreak.