Chapter 2: Stand Your Ground

“You don old, yet you still dey careless. I no even know how you take manage be grandma.”

Baba Sule, my husband, just dey cross leg for him old sofa, smoke dey dance from him mouth like spirit wey no wan gree comot. Him voice dey carry that him stubborn pride, wey I don dey hear since NYSC days for Jos.

“You still dey dream say you go fit be nanny for another person? Thank God say dem never chase you comot.”

That kind talk fit break person spirit. Him eye dey red, e dey form say e no send, but na fear dey inside too—fear say I fit waka leave am, fear say house fit scatter. Na old African man way be that.

As I look that face wey I don dey see for thirty-five years, na so my belle turn, like say I jam rotten dog shit for backyard.

Memory flash back—how I for dey carry children run from rain, how I go dey laugh for market when Baba Sule dey chase after me, promise heaven and earth. Now na so life turn, e dey call me careless.

I waka go near am, comot the cigarette from him hand.

I use left hand, because e know say na only when wahala don pass be that. My heart dey beat, but I still hold face. If you see the shock for Baba Sule face, e no fit talk for like five seconds.

The way I do am shock Baba Sule well. E just dey look me like mumu.

I use style take put hand for waist, bone face, like all those senior Igbo women for village council.

“You wan use smoke send pikin go hospital? Abeg, respect yourself.”

“Wetin dey worry you?”

E voice don low, but pride still dey e throat. Na only stubborn man fit talk like that after woman comot smoke for e hand.

I carry rag wey dey side, begin clean the water for coffee table. “Our daughter-in-law talk say make nobody smoke inside house. Baby Tunde still small, e no suppose dey inhale all this smoke.”

As I dey clean, I dey shake head. I remember say Sade nearly cry last time when Baby Tunde cough. I dey do my own as mother and as grandma.

Baba Sule eye me.

E no wan talk, but I see as e dey measure me. For him mind, e dey wonder which kin woman dey challenge am so. Old man pride dey strong pass cement.

“I no even dey smoke near my grandson, so wetin be your wahala? The smoke go clear.”

E dey try explain, as if air wey dey circulate for parlor dey obey only him wish. Sometimes, I wonder if men dey ever really reason wetin woman dey talk.

As he wan light another one, I throw the rag on top table. “I say, no smoke.”

That my voice carry that kind weight wey fit make neighbours pause TV. Even my heart dey drum small drum for chest, but I no let am show. Na so woman dey test power for her own house.

My voice loud, na so my son, Musa, finally look up from phone. E look me, look him papa, no talk, just waka go bedroom, still dey shout:

“Go, go, I dey level up, abeg make una free me.”

Musa just dey form big boy, but inside him heart, e dey fear wahala. If to say e get mind, e for stand up defend person, but e choose to waka commot.

People sabi me say I get soft mind. All these years, I hardly quarrel with Baba Sule. If I just show small vex, he go start: “Mama Ifeoma, you don dey get mind abi? You forget how many years I don hustle for you? Person suppose dey content.”

I fit count for hand how many times I don raise voice for house. Baba Sule always use history take weigh me down—dey remind me of all him struggle. For our compound, na so dem dey see me—quiet, dey greet, dey manage everybody wahala.

Na so e still be now—once I raise voice, Baba Sule neck go stiff, begin form hard man.

You go see am adjust him wrapper, chest go swell, like say na wrestling match. Sometimes I dey wonder if na only men get right to vex for this Nigeria.

“I think say you don dey craze—dey misbehave for nothing. If you no fit stay this house, carry your load go. If you get mind, go now.”

Na the normal threat be that. Old men sabi talk am, but to really see woman waka? Dem dey fear am well.

“This house na my own too. Na marriage property. Why you go dey pursue me?” Now law dey back woman for Lagos, no be like before.

I carry my voice high, remember wetin Zainab teach me. No be only man get right for house matter. Property for Naija fit be joint, no let anybody run you street.

Na Zainab teach me this one.

That girl no dey carry last. Since she begin work for bank, e be like say sense just dey flow for her body. She dey reason gender matter well, dey open my eye every day.

Since she start dey work, she dey always talk say I too soft, say I let her papa ride me for years, say make I learn to stand for myself.

Sometimes when I dey complain, she go laugh, say, "Mama, no let these people finish your shine. You still get time to enjoy small."

“Woman sef dey important, Mama. You wan dey let dem use you till you old finish? You never even reach sixty—better follow me see life small than dey do housegirl forever.”

E dey use style talk say make I try enjoy small, no just dey serve everybody like say na my destiny.

Me, I just dey mumble, no sabi argue.

Na so I dey reason life—always humble, always dey manage. My tongue dey slow, but my mind dey quick. Now, small small, I dey learn say woman voice get power too.

Na so I take live since. Nobody ever talk say e dey wrong. My mama wey die early, and Zainab’s grandma, dem all talk say man na sky, woman suppose endure, family peace bring blessing.

As I dey remember those old sayings, I dey hear my mama voice for my ear: "Na patience dey keep home." Even when my body tire, I dey tell myself say na for peace sake. Nobody dey teach woman say her own happiness matter.

But Zainab talk say e no dey so—family na two people matter. Man dey work, woman dey raise pikin, all na work. Nobody talk say woman suppose dey serve man.

I dey learn, dey open eye. E shock me how new generation dey reason life—no be only to dey endure, but to dey chop beta, to find small peace inside wahala.

She talk am tire, I come dey learn small small, na so I use am today.

Na this new ginger I carry stand Baba Sule today. If no be Zainab, maybe I for still dey apologize for strawberry.

He shout, I shout too.

My voice shake at first, but I no stop. For my heart, I dey pray make I no collapse. Baba Sule eye open like goat wey see masquerade.

Baba Sule never see me strong like this before. E just confuse, dey breathe like old cow. Last last, e no light that cigarette again.

Silence dey everywhere. If pin drop, person go hear. Small victory dey sweet me for chest, but I no let am show for face.

I lower my head, look the empty strawberry basket, talk small:

"Na strawberries wey Zainab buy for me. I no even chop one."

As I dey talk, tears wan drop, but I chew my lips. Strawberry—na small thing, but for me, e mean plenty.

“Wetin?”

Baba Sule no understand.

He dey wonder why the thing pain me, as if woman no fit get want for her own.

I repeat am.

This time my voice low, but I repeat am like person wey dey talk for burial ground. "I no chop even one."

E look me like say I dey craze.

Baba Sule eye dey wide. For him mind, maybe e dey reason say I wan use small fruit cause big wahala.

“You dey vex because of strawberry? How old you dey, still dey do like pikin?”

If na before, I for laugh. But now, I no fit even squeeze smile. E no know how e pain me.

Yes, na just strawberry.

But I don serve in-law, run house, train two pikin, all these years, I never chop strawberry.

The thing pain me pass words. Sometimes na small small enjoyment dey pass woman for life, as if say na sin to chop good thing. For my own house, na only when remain dey, I dey see better.

I remember when I small, na only orange we dey see—strawberry na for TV.

When I small, money no dey. Now I old, I say make I chop, my husband call me greedy.

For inside me, I dey remember how, for market days, I go dey look oyibo fruit, dey price am for mind, dey walk pass. Now pikin send am, still, I no see mouth put.

“Abeg, if you wan chop, go buy half kilo. I never see old woman wey like food reach you.”

E talk am with nose up, like say e do me big favour. For my mind, I dey shout, but for mouth, I just swallow spit.

Baba Sule face squeeze, like say e dey do me big favour.

For our place, men dey feel say once dem bring money, woman no suppose complain. But me, my own pain dey inside body, no dey show outside.

E think say I go gree as usual, but this time, I no send am. I no even care for my grandson again. I just waka go room, carry ID card and passport, comot house.

My leg dey shake, but I waka straight. Even the wall for corridor notice say I no get time for joke again.