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My Husband Lock Me Out / Chapter 1: Strawberry Palaver
My Husband Lock Me Out

My Husband Lock Me Out

Author: Peggy Jensen


Chapter 1: Strawberry Palaver

My daughter, wey dey live far for overseas, specially send me one box of strawberries wey she say cost die. The box cold small, still get that oyibo shop smell, like supermarket for abroad.

Na the kind gesture wey dey make person belle sweet, especially as person for obodo oyibo dey reason your side for Naija. For my mind, I dey picture am: my Zainab, wey small when I dey bath her with pap water for compound, now dey buy oyibo fruit send from that far place. Strawberries no be beans o; na beta sign of how pikin fit remember where e from.

I wash am three times with salt water, just as she talk, happy dey my body as I wan chop am. Na that time my small grandson, wey never even reach one year, start to cry.

Na so I drop plate, rush go carry Baby Tunde wey dey open mouth cry like say dem pinch am. You know as e dey—small pikin wahala no dey give notice. I quick breastfeed am, sing small lullaby, bounce am for waist. The smell of strawberry still dey my hand, I dey hope say e go wait for me, na so I dey pray make Tunde sleep sharp sharp. "God, abeg, make this boy sleep quick, make I chop my strawberry in peace."

Before I finish feed am come back, na only small strawberry leaves remain for the coffee table.

I just freeze. My eye see red. Her chest stuck like eba when water finish—she no fit move. Na so I check under table, behind chair, everywhere, but nothing remain. The thing pain me for chest, like say na my own childhood dem thief.

My husband, wey I don dey with for thirty-five years, begin blame me say I no get sense, say na basket wey get hole I use keep the strawberries.

For this house, small thing dey turn wahala. Baba Sule na correct old Kano man, e mouth dey sharp, e no dey take nonsense. Him voice loud reach street. E dey forget say na pikin matter dey cause all this gbese.

“Na so you go dey waka up and down, nothing dey your hand. See now—the coffee table don soak finish.”

As he talk am, e dey knock table small small with him knuckle, as if na me put water for table. If na before, I for just keep quiet, but today, the thing pain me for bone.

My son, as he dey finish the last strawberry, still dey play game, no even raise head look me.

No be say Musa get wicked mind; na just say e dey behave like many of this our new generation boys—dey inside him phone, dey chop life, no dey reason say person effort dey behind am.

“Oga, you dey chop like thief for night. You no even ask person.”

“Mama, these strawberries sweet die o. Abeg ask my sister where she buy am. I wan buy for Kamsi. The girl dey suffer, she deserve better.”

He even use style take shine, dey mention girlfriend wey him never bring come house. I for vex more, but the way he talk am show say the boy still get small soft mind.

As I dey look the water wey full the table, my mind just off. Life just tire me.

I just dey stare—my hand dey shake. Sometimes, one small thing fit open wound for person heart, all the things wey you swallow for years. My heart heavy like agbalumo stone.

So I turn call my daughter: “That visa wey you talk last time, e still dey possible?”

My voice low, but Zainab sabi wetin dey my mind. She just reply me with quick, “Yes, Mama. I go run am sharp sharp.” My voice dey crack, but she dey understand.

Later, my daughter post video of me for overseas, dey pluck big big strawberries, dey laugh like say she don young by ten years.

Dem put filter wey make my skin shine, my teeth white pass as e be. As I dey pluck, I dey laugh that kind belly laugh wey I never laugh since I marry. Na so happiness dey return when person reach where love dey.

That father and son, na so their eyes red.

Dem dey look phone, eye dey do like say dem see ghost. You know say Nigerian man pride no dey gree am show say e miss person, but for their body language you go notice.

“Na just strawberry na. Why she no gree come back?”

Dem talk am as if na play, but pain dey their voice. Everybody dey notice when woman comot from house—especially the one wey dey glue family together.

Mama Ifeoma, hope no wahala o!

Life just tire me. But I swear, this one no go end like before. Something inside me don wake.

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