Chapter 2: Shame Under Canvas

Tunde Garuba don land Makurdi, soldiers dey camp five miles outside town. I carry food flask come greet am—inside, na coconut chin-chin, him favorite, na me bake am.

As early morning dey break, I arrange chin-chin well, tie ribbon for flask mouth. Na the kind thing woman go do if she still dey try hold her man. I sabi say army wahala full ground, so I wan give am small home taste—maybe e go remember say person dey care for am.

With the general mansion token, I waka pass all checkpoint, reach command tent. Soldiers eye dey follow me, but once dem see the token, dem clear road. For Naija, that kain token na big thing—nobody wan lose job because of general wife. As I waka pass, some greet me, some just dey peep, dey whisper.

"Tunde... abeg, take am easy..."

Na faint voice I hear, low, like say dem dey beg or dey do romance. My ear prick, heart begin beat. Wahala fit dey. The tent even get small shake, as if breeze wan scatter am.

"You no fear say person go hear?"

The voice blend with laugh—soft, small, but I know say no be ordinary gist. For Naija camp, people dey fear gossip like juju.

"You be my woman. Husband and wife to dey together no be bad thing. Anybody wey wan come, this general no dey fear."

The voice blend come heavy, deep, mix with authority. Na that kind confidence wey army oga get when e sure say nobody fit challenge am. Na so him pride dey waka for camp.

Inside, woman voice dey sweet and soft, mix with man voice wey dey breathe hard. Na Tunde Garuba voice. Strange scent dey for air—my nose catch cheap perfume hide under sweat and palm wine. Na the kind odour wey follow secret affair.

I stand outside, eye nearly dark. My leg dey shake, hand tight for flask, body cold even though sun dey shine. I just dey pray make ground swallow me. Shadow for tent dey move, like say two people dey close.

"...Aisha na small girl wey no sabi anything. Apart from tea and knitting, wetin else she fit do?"

As I hear am, the words bite my heart. The way the voice mock me, e be like hot slap. Dem dey talk about me like I no matter, like ordinary pikin.

"She no even reach one small part of you... Now na this time you wan dey talk about her..."

E pain me. I wan shout, but my mouth stiff. That talk cut deep, as if knife dey slice my spirit. My leg heavy, heart dey pound, whole body dey burn with shame and anger.

My hand hold the flask tight. I dey look the shadow inside, my blood dey rush for my ear. Disgust hold me, I nearly vomit. My eye red. I feel like say I wan break something. My hand dey shake so tay I nearly drop the flask. For that moment, I just dey beg myself make I no fall.

I don hear before say Tunde Garuba dey keep adviser for army—a woman wey dey disguise as man, dey give am advice for day, dey warm am for night, dey sleep for him bed. I think say na just talk. But now, as I hear am with my own ear, I know say truth worse pass rumour. Rumour no dey carry half the pain wey real life fit give person. As my mind dey remember all the signs—late nights, strange perfume, sudden smile—everything clear. Now, e be like film for my eye.

Halima, my maid, bend her head, pull my sleeve. "Madam..."

Halima voice soft, almost like whisper. I fit feel the pity for her face, her hand cold for my skin. She sabi say if wahala burst, na her go help me gather my pieces.

I breathe deep, turn go one side tent go wait. I use all my strength hold myself, chest dey rise, fall. I waka slow, find corner tent, just dey try regain myself. Halima dey behind me, no talk again—she know say word fit spoil everything.

Half hour later, tent open sharp sharp. Tunde Garuba enter, cloth never straight, sweat for forehead. As he see me, he frown. "Wetin you dey do here?"

Him face hard like stone—no smile, no welcome. Anybody wey see am go know say im mind dey somewhere else, no be with me.

I look down, give am the food flask. "You be my man, you just land Makurdi, e no pure make I no come greet you."

My voice dey shake, but I bone face, no let am see my pain. I no want make e see say I don dey cry. For Naija, if woman show too much weakness, dem go say you dey do drama.

I no sabi kitchen work well, but I wake before day break do am. My hand cut from knife. But now, he still dey vex. As I talk, I flash my cut finger—blood never dry. Na love push me, but e no move am at all. E still dey look me like stranger.

"Na military camp be this. How woman go just waka enter? Wetin be this one?"

He raise voice, hand dey fly everywhere, like say I offend am big. Some soldiers hear, dem peep from far, dey form like say dem no dey look.

That time, one person waka enter—a man wear blue kaftan, hair tie up, but the neck and small powder show say na woman. She think say I be mumu. The powder for neck dey show. Na only woman fit do that kind subtle touch. For this part of Naija, e no dey easy for woman to pass as man, unless she dey disguise well. But for sharp eye, e clear.

She smile, "No be the general fiancée be this, Madam Aisha?" She stretch hand, smile no reach her eye. E get one coldness for her voice, as if she dey size me up.

"Madam Aisha, Tunde don stay for army long, he no sabi romance. Abeg no vex for him wahala."

She try calm me, but e get that sly undertone. E be like person wey dey pour honey for soup wey don sour.

Tunde Garuba introduce am quick, "Ngozi na my adviser."

He rush the introduction, eye dey dodge mine, like say if we look each other too long, wahala go burst.

He talk, "Na military camp be this. Nothing dey here for you. Abeg, go."

His voice hard, e want make I carry myself commot sharp sharp. For public, man dey like control scene, especially when him hand dey dirty.

I drop the food flask, turn, waka commot. As I dey go, my back stiff. My pride dey hold me strong. Halima follow me, her hand dey guide me small, as if she fear say I fit faint.

Ngozi follow, press the food flask back for my hand. As nobody dey, she drop all the acting, raise eyebrow, smile small. "You too dull. No wonder general no too like you."

Her voice sharp, like person wey dey boast with hidden victory. She push the flask for my chest, eye dey shine wickedly. "You dey dull, you no sabi anything. This world no dey favour woman wey dey slow."

"Woman suppose get sense, sabi bring peace, sabi wahala, no be to just dey house dey worship man."

She lean near, her tone dey low but wicked. Her face show say she believe say real woman suppose hustle, suppose sabi how to fight and please man.

"You know say man no love you, yet you still dey drag am. As woman, I shame for you."

She hiss, turn face like say my own don finish.

I pause. Her words stab me, but I remember my mama advice: "No be every rain wey fall go spoil farm." I vow for myself—no woman go use mouth break me again. My smile dey bitter, but small relief dey my heart. I realise say, e get some men wey no deserve woman wey get peace. My back straight, my heart dey rest small. As I climb keke, I call, "Ireti, make we dey go."

Keke marwa park for outside, Ireti dey wait sharp. She eye dey search my face, but I just signal her—no wahala.

"Madam, where we dey go?"

She ask with soft voice, like person wey dey fear the answer.

"Palace."

My voice steady. I no dey shake again. Na palace be my last place of dignity. For Naija, if wahala too much for husband house, palace dey always open for people wey get royal blood or wahala wey big pass their strength.