Chapter 2: No Turning Back

This no be the first time Morayo use break up threat against me. My friends sabi our matter—if dem see us for party, dem go count: one, two, three, who go vex pass? But this time, my voice steady like Lagos conductor.

Ever since two years ago, when Femi return and invest for her company, our wedding date just dey shift like NEPA light. We argue tire, threaten break up more than once. Family people dey ask, “Una sure say una wan marry so?”

But this time, I mean am. My spirit don already waka.

Morayo, she no mean am. She sneer, "Fine, fine, make we break up then. Why you still dey here?" She fling hand, her nails sharp, paint still fresh.

I get up, go bedroom, wheel out my suitcase. I pack am since last night after seeing Femi photo. My old school bag dey on top. The suitcase zip sound loud for the silent room.

Morayo face change sharp. She no expect say I fit ever pack.

I roll the suitcase in front of her, look her tired, hungover face, sigh. "Your belle no too strong—try reduce all this drinking. I leave ginger and honey for hangover inside kitchen cabinet. Your usual supplements dey—"

Her eyes blink, like say she dey dream.

"Enough."

Morayo cut me off, cold laugh. "Since we dey break up, why you dey pretend say you care?" She pick remote, press anyhow, TV still off. She just dey vex. She rush to door, yank am open, shout, "I no wan see you again. Oya, commot! Commot!"

I take deep breath, drag suitcase pass her. "Morayo, goodbye." My voice low, steady. Corridor light dey flicker, shadow stretch for wall. Mosquito coil dey burn for corner, generator hum dey mix with faint aroma of suya from roadside.

The door slam with one gbam. Neighbour pikin for next flat jump, then peep head out. Mama Efe hiss from balcony, "Wetin I talk? Young people of nowadays, dem no sabi patience." The compound dogs bark, as if join gossip. Her slippers still dey vibrate for floor.

For compound entrance, I jam Femi. No doubt, na him drive Morayo home. His black G-Wagon occupy two spots, shining for darkness.

He sit inside the car, see me drag suitcase, come down, block my way. Sly eyes full of mockery, he dey chew gum, mouth bend like person wey no send anybody.

"Ah, see Kunle. Dem don finally chase you commot for Morayo house?"

I give am cold look. My voice dry, “Femi, abeg no start.”

He still block my way. "You wey dey chop woman food, you think say you fit compete? Bros, park well."

I stop, scoff. "No wahala, I no deserve am. Two of una fit each other. I wish una happiness—make una grow old together." My voice calm, but my heart dey bleed.

I push am aside, hail keke, enter. The keke man, Musa, greet me, “Oga Kunle, na where?” I wave hand, “Anywhere abeg.”

From rearview mirror, I see Femi spit my way, rush back inside. He no even wipe mouth.

I just laugh myself. As keke dey bounce for pothole, I think, see loyal childhood friend. Femi probably dey wait, hoping Morayo and I go quarrel so he fit rush enter as caring big uncle. Na so dem dey do for this Lagos.

Now the two of them even match better, making me look like small boy. For my street, gossip go soon full everywhere.

But before, Morayo never treat me with so much impatience. She used to call every hour. Even for small wahala, she go buy boli and groundnut for me, with cold La Casera.

I no know say my real wahala never even start.