Chapter 6: No Peace for House

I announce by myself say I no dey follow Grandma and Papa again. I talk am loud, my voice dey echo for house.

I ignore them, no gree follow them. If dem talk, I turn face, carry my book, waka pass.

For school, I dey alone, but Ijeoma dey popular—she sabi sweet talk, teachers love her. She dey laugh, dey win prize, everybody dey hail her.

But I no jealous. I dey my lane, dey mind my own wahala.

I think say I special. My own eye dey see wetin others no dey see.

I fit see hero and heroine, see wicked supporting character—she no fit see anything. My power different, my mind dey unique.

Our world no be the same. We dey same class, but na different wahala.

Besides, I no want love wey person go beg for. I go wait for love wey go find me, I no go beg anybody.

For house, na only Aunty Kemi I gree follow. She be like light for my dark corner.

She take Mama place—read me story, pet me, care for my feeling, secretly come tuck me for night. Her hand warm like new bread, her story dey sweet like honey for pap.

When I dey nap, she go dey laugh for phone. Her laughter dey soft, sometimes she go cover mouth, make person no hear.

When I wake, I go hide behind her to peep wetin she dey read. I dey tiptoe, eye dey shine, ear dey sharp.

[Cancel tomorrow engagement party, I no go disturb you.]

[I no talk say break up. You no get right to leave.]

That time, I don sabi read small, so I guess wetin e mean. My mind dey turn, I dey imagine story for my head.

I feel say I find treasure. Na like secret between me and her, my heart dey sweet me.

Na like Papa and Mama story. E get twist, e get pain, e get small hope.

“Read am for me,” I talk. My voice low, but I no dey beg.

Aunty Kemi shock. “Yaya, you don wake?” She dey panic, phone dey hide for wrapper.

“Read am for me.” I stubborn. I dey stand gidigba, no wan gree go.

Aunty Kemi try talk me out. She dey beg, "No be pikin story, abeg."

But I begin hunger strike. I cross leg, I no chop, just dey look her eye.

Aunty Kemi worry. She whisper, “Na our secret, no tell anybody.” She dey look left and right, like thief for market.

I agree. I seal mouth with finger, I smile.

From then, my bedtime story for outside na ‘Counting Stars’, ‘The Girl Who Drank the Moon’… I dey tell everybody say na those ones dey my head.

But truly, na ‘The Rise of the Silly Sweet Girl’, ‘President Fola’s Little Sweet Wife’… Na those ones sweet pass.

I dey hear story upon story. Each one dey carry me go another world, pain and joy dey mix.

All of them get the same thing: male lead get power, misunderstand female lead, hurt her, then beg her, come back. Na the same circle, na the same wahala.

I dey see Mama future for there. My fear dey grow, I dey imagine say our own story fit end the same.

She and Papa fit still dey tangle like that. No escape, no peace.

But as her pikin, I no get hope—na only pain I dey feel. I dey wish for better, but heart no dey gree.

Soon, Mama come back. Her step dey slow, her eye dey dull, smile no reach her eye.

She look sad, her smile dey fake. Her laughter dey empty, like bottle wey no get water.

Grandma dey throw shade, Mama just dey dull, no talk. Her face dey ground, she no dey answer anybody.

Later I hear say Papa don spoil all Mama job chance—any work she find, he go scatter am. He dey call, dey talk to people, dey make sure nobody hire her.

To no drag people enter wahala, Mama just come back. She no want make innocent people suffer.

The divorce paper, Papa don throw away since. No hope for freedom again.

Mama just dey like trapped animal—nobody respect am. For house, she dey walk on eggshells, every step na risk.

When she see me, Mama hug me tight. Her embrace dey long, her hand dey tremble small.

“Yaya, you dey okay?” Her voice low, but love full inside.

“I dey, Mama. You nko?” I dey search her eye, dey find hope.

“I dey too.” She try smile, but her eye dey wet.

Mama, you dey lie. I know say you dey suffer, I feel am for my body.

You no dey alright. Your pain dey leak, even if you hide am.

I smell the sadness for your body, the heaviness. Your spirit dey down, I fit see am clear.

I give Mama one runaway wife book. Na story of woman wey find courage run commot bad marriage.

I finally find am—I think say some of the things inside fit help her. I dey pray say e go give her strength.

Mama read am, laugh, then cry as she dey laugh. Her tears dey mix with smile, pain and hope dey struggle.

“Yaya, you dey worry for me? Sorry, I make you worry.” She rub my head, her hand dey soft.

I wan comfort her—no, I just wan make she happy. My heart dey shout, "Mama, you deserve joy."

But door open, Papa enter. His shoe dey make sound for tile, everywhere quiet.

Him eye land for the book. E narrow, he dey try read the cover, suspicion full his face.

“Amina, you dey let pikin read this kind book?” His voice cold, authority full am.