Chapter 12: Village News, Old Wounds

Weekend, me and Morayo travel go village...

As we drive enter her village, the red sand just dey fly for back. Old women dey wave us, small children dey run follow motor. Morayo dey gist me about every compound wey we pass, how her grandpapa use to own cocoa farm for back. I fit smell fresh fufu from neighbour house, hear distant drum from church youth practice. As we park, Morayo mama rush come out, dance small shaku shaku, shout, "My pikin don bring husband!" Neighbours gather quick, some dey peep through window. For village, news dey run faster than goat wey thief cassava. Me sef dey smile like politician, but my mind still dey reason old memories, dey weigh how far journey carry me come.