Chapter 2: Missing Things, Heavy Hearts

Amaka rush comot. She no even talk when she go come pack her load. I take keke go house. Car go Amaka, house na my own. My friends dey talk say na me gain pass for the property matter. But me, I no too reason am like that. When we dey talk divorce, I tell her say make she talk wetin she want—if e make sense, we go reason am. But I no expect say Amaka go just look the agreement, sign am, follow me go do divorce that same day. I even book the appointment on the low, but I no expect say e go too easy like that.

Keke rider dey play that new Wizkid track, I just dey nod head, but mind dey far. All my thoughts dey on how Amaka just waka. Even conductor for junction dey hail me, "Oga, you dey fresh o!" But my body still dey shake.

I push door enter house, harmattan breeze just slap me. Window dey open; all those potted plants don dry up and bend finish. I look everywhere—everything dey, but e be like say something miss. I check the safe for study. My small collectibles still dey, plus those gold necklaces wey I buy for Amaka after marriage. Only the law books for shelf, e be like say some don miss. I touch the empty space for shelf, my finger pick dust, but my mind dey heavy.

I walk round the parlour, step dey echo. No laughter, no scent of Amaka cream. I find carton, pack all the books wey Amaka like. For bedroom, some of her clothes don waka, so I pack the rest join. After I arrange everything, I call Amaka. As usual, na that robotic woman voice pick: user no dey available. I just call dispatch, send the carton go Amaka office straight.