Chapter 2: Second Chance

I hear the early morning cry of the muezzin from mosque down the road, mixing with the smell of burning firewood from Mama Rashida’s kitchen.

"Morayo, I dey go work. Remember to go see supervisor later collect back your suspension application."

His voice still dey ring for my ear, sharp like morning bell. The way he talk am sef, e be like say he dey do me favour. Na so husband and wife dey behave for this country, ehn? Sometimes, na stranger go treat you pass family.

As I hear the door close, na then I jump up from bed.

The spring for the mattress creak as I bounce, heart dey race. Sunlight dey crawl enter the small window, dust dey dance for air. I touch the wall, cold cement wey don see many harmattan. The place get that old paint smell mixed with kerosene stove. Na real old Naija house, e be like say time stand still.

I look the old house, the kind wey dem build thirty or forty years ago, and na that time I realize: I don really come back to life.

Even the fan for ceiling dey whine small, e no too dey blow breeze. I hear children voice from compound next door, dem dey play ten-ten. My heart dey beat, mixture of fear and joy.

Na 1977.

You fit feel am for the air: the way women dey tie wrapper go market, the sound of radio playing Ebenezer Obey for distance, even the kind bicycle wey dey waka for street. E no get as e be, this na another chance.

This na the second year of our marriage.

Me and Tunde Olayinka both get admission to Kaduna University of Technology.

We dey proud that time. Kaduna na big place—people dey talk say if you reach there, your level go change. Even my papa dey tell people for mosque say him pikin dey go university for North.

But just last night, because Tunde mama break her leg, we decide: I go withdraw my leave application, give up my chance to go university, and stay behind dey work for the military factory.

E pain me small, but family matter na strong thing. If you no support your in-law, dem go talk say you dey selfish. My mama-in-law fit stubborn, but na old woman, and for our place, we dey respect elder.

He, as e be, go still follow plan go Kaduna go school.

The thing still dey my mind. Sometimes, e go look me, squeeze hand, say, 'No worry, Morayo, I go make you proud.' I believe am, but fear dey my chest like cold water.

Next year, my plan na to write WAEC again, but I come get belle, so I put the plan for one side.

Na so e dey happen for plenty Naija women. One small delay, next thing na baby. I remember the first time I carry my pikin for hand—sweet but bitter memory.

After that, we no see each other for more than ten years.

Neighbours begin dey ask, 'Where your husband?' I go smile say, 'E dey school.' Dem go nod, but I see pity for their eye.

For all those years, na me raise our pikin alone, dey take care of my papa and mama, still dey work join.

E no easy, abeg. Early morning, I go fry akara for pikin, rush go work. Evening, I dey help my mama pound yam if e get visitor. Sometimes, power no dey, so I go fetch water for well.

But when I finally become technician and just enter the research institute, na that time Tunde return.

People begin dey look me as strong woman. But for night, as breeze dey blow inside old window, I go think, 'Na so e suppose be?'

With all the fine certificate wey he get, dem make am director for the research institute.

He enter office, dem give am new Peugeot 504. Staff dey greet am, dey shake hand, dey call am Oga. My chest dey swell with small pride, but pain dey hide under am.

From there, I struggle for ten years dey try get promotion, but every single year, na him dey block me.

People for staff room dey whisper. Some dey talk say, 'Her husband dey there, she go get am.' But na lie. I dey see the way Tunde dey arrange list.

First year, he remove my name from the list.

As I see the list, my heart just drop. My friend Bose pat my back, say, 'Na wah o.'

Because I be him wife, he say he no want make people talk, so he remove me.

I try argue with am that night, but e just dey talk say 'Dem go think say I dey favour you.' I no fit talk again.

He tell me make I try again next year.

Next thing, he pat me for back, say, 'No vex.' I just dey look am—wetin concern me with people mouth when my future dey for ground?

Second year, he say I still fit try, make I focus learn more technical skills and knowledge.

So I begin dey take night class, dey read engineering book, dey practice small electronics for backyard. Even my pikin dey help me join wire sometimes.

Year after year, reach the fifth year, still, nothing change.

Na so shame dey hold me every year. My friends go come greet me, dey shake head, say, 'God go do your own.'

Shame catch me, I ask am why.

One night, after I cook ogbono soup, I wait make he finish chop. Then I ask. Voice low, eyes dey red.

Why all the leaders for the institute dey talk say my technical skills strong, but na only him dey always reject me?

People even dey tease me for work, 'Oga wife, e be like your certificate dey hide.' But I keep quiet, dey swallow pain.

He quiet for long, then talk:

"Morayo, you suppose give younger people more chance. If old people no step aside that time, how we for enter the research institute so easily?"

Him talk am like old proverb, but the pain dey my chest. Sometimes I dey wonder, is this man really my own?

The last year, as I know say if dem no promote me, I go have to step down, I beg am with tears.

I kneel down for parlour, voice no strong again. I hold him leg, beg am. I forget my own pride.

But the next day, the first name for the promotion list na him office darling—the woman wey he dey always admire from far.

I see the handwriting, clear like day. The name shine for top. My own, dem just waka comot as if e no dey matter.

This time, the man wey dey always pride himself for fairness and integrity…

He use all the connection wey he get scatter my name from the list again, collect my last chance for promotion.

Na rumour begin fly—say director don use power block him wife, give another woman the seat. But nobody sabi the kind hurt wey dey my heart.

Na that time I realize:

For all those years wey we no dey together, person dey always near Tunde.

Dem say two no fit walk together unless dem agree. I see the way dem dey look each other—longing, soft laugh. I be like observer for my own marriage.

That woman, she no marry, no born—she just stay near am.

Some people dey call am 'Aunty Sade'. She gentle, soft voice, always dey help Tunde arrange file. Some say na 'office wife' she be. But to me, na stranger.

In the end, he no fit watch her leave the institute, so na me he sacrifice.

I dey recall the moment—he no even look my face that day. He just dey sign paper as if nothing happen. My pikin dey ask, 'Mummy, you no happy?' I just smile, hide tears.

As I see the list, my eye just waka go meet the two of them.

I walk past, my leg dey heavy. Na so dem dey—he dey smile, she dey wipe eye. Happiness dey shine for her face. Pain dey press my own heart like stone.

Tunde look like person wey relief catch, that woman dey cry happiness.

People dey surround dem, dey congratulate. Nobody even look my way.

As for me, e be like say dem use me do sacrifice for their silent understanding.

For Naija, sometimes na woman dem go use do sacrifice for another woman happiness. E pain me, but I swallow am.

As I think am, my body dey shake, I use my hand cover my face. Tears rush comot my eyes like bead wey cut, soak the bed sharp sharp.

The pillow just dey soak. I try hold myself, but na flood—real salt water. I dey alone for room, no friend, no family—just me and the pain.

That foolish decision—na my whole life I use pay for am.

I remember my mama warning, 'No put all your life for man hand.' But e don late. I just dey cry.