Chapter 5: Family Walls and Bitter Smiles

This small fight just die down by evening.

Na so e dey be—rain fall, sun shine, marriage still dey road.

When I came back from work, food dey hot for table, fruit sliced, birthday cake set.

He even buy small cupcake with "Happy Birthday, Zainab" written with pink icing. He arrange flowers, set table well.

He came out with a bowl of soup, smiling like nothing happened. "Just in time, go wash your hand come chop. I make your favourite catfish stew."

His voice warm, eyes begging for peace. I smell the uziza leaf from the kitchen.

I dropped my eyes, slowly put my bag on the cabinet by the door, then looked up and smiled too.

I push old feelings away, decide to enjoy this one moment.

"Happy birthday."

My voice soft, but grateful. Thirty-one no be beans.

He laughed it off. "Thirty-one—old man already."

He rub his head, joking about grey hair wey I never see.

During dinner, he said casually, "Yesterday night I went to warn Baba Efe, then came back straight. I no wan wake you, so I sleep for the other room."

He try explain, but his eyes dodge mine. I just nod, no argue.

I nodded, nothing more.

No need drag matter. My mind still dey work, but my mouth lock.

After dinner, as I was getting up, I suddenly remembered something and turned to him:

"I never dey sleep well lately. Why you no just dey sleep for the small bedroom for now?"

My voice cool, not quarrel—just fact. If we need space, make we take am.

He paused a bit.

His spoon mid-air, eyes linger on mine. But he just sigh, put plate down.

"Okay."

Simple answer. Na so we dey take step back when heat too much.

For a while after that, me and Musa returned to normal. I was busy with interviews and onboarding new staff; he was busy launching a new project at work.

Our schedules full like Lagos bus, so silence fit hide under noise. No time to remember old fight.

Like nothing happened.

We exchange small talk, laugh at TV, share house chores. Nobody go know say cold wind pass between us.

Both of us are more rational than emotional. Whatever we do, we weigh the pros and cons.

Na so dem raise us: head first, heart later. We dey calculate every move, like chess game.

I thought that was the good thing about marrying someone logical.

My friends dey envy me, say "Zainab, you lucky. Musa na correct man."

But soon, I realised I was wrong.

Sometimes logic dey hide wound, cover gash with plaster, but blood still dey flow underneath.

My younger brother, Seyi, called me out of the blue.

I see his name flash, my mind race. Seyi no dey call unless e get gist or wahala.

He’s six years younger than me, just finished his master’s, and dey find work.

I remember when I carry am go register for JAMB, now him don grow finish.

He beat around the bush, then finally asked:

He clear throat, voice low. "Sis, how you and brother-in-law dey lately?"

I was confused. "If you get something to talk, just talk."

No time for story; I dey tired.

He stammered, and as he finished, I just vexed.

I hear pain for his voice, small shame. E pain me too.

Seyi studied materials engineering. In recent years, anybody from his school who wanted to stay in this city could easily get a spot at the parastatal Musa now manages.

All his friends dey work there. Only him waka alone. My mother don dey ask if e offend Musa.

But Seyi said he was dropped after interview. Reason: upper management didn’t approve.

Seyi voice shake, but he try form man. "Na management say make I try next time. But only me dem reject."

"Sis, out of the eight of us who stayed in this city, na only me dem reject. I just dey wonder if brother-in-law get another reason…"

His words bite my heart. I no want believe, but suspicion dey rise.

After the call, I took time to calm down, then called Musa straight.

My hand shake, but I hold phone tight, waiting for answer.

He didn’t answer.

I call three times, no pick. My mind dey boil.

Ten minutes later, he called back.

His voice calm, like nothing dey happen.

"Wetin Seyi do wey no fit your company requirement?" I asked straight.

I no dey smile. This one na family matter.

He paused for two seconds, then replied gently:

His tone soft, as if he dey beg me no vex.

"Zainab, he’s qualified."

His answer too short. My chest dey tight.

"Then why dem no take am?"

I no dey accept excuse. Seyi na sharp boy.

"Well, the management wanted someone with more experience this time, so one slot go. After everything, na me suggest make dem remove Seyi name. I just start work there—if I bring in my brother-in-law immediately, people go talk say I dey use power. Zainab, you suppose understand—"

He try explain, but the words dey twist for my ear. Na family we dey talk, not outsider.

"I no understand," I cut him. "Seyi’s course fit the job, and you only moved there later. Even if you no be manager, he for get the job. No be say you dey abuse power. And you say management wanted someone with experience, so one slot go—but as deputy GM, no be you dey decide?"

I no want long story. Truth dey simple.

Musa was silent for a few seconds, his voice now cold.

He shift to official mode, as if we dey office, not home.

"Zainab, you work HR too. I no believe say you fit dey so childish for this kind time. Anyway, the matter don end. No be by shouting."

He hang up quick, no wait for reply. My hand dey shake.

He hung up.

I bent over, holding my belly, my heart just dey cut like tomato for stew—pain no let me talk. The ache deep, hot tears drop from my eyes. The baby kick small, reminding me life dey inside.

When Seyi got into university, his dream was to work for this top parastatal. As his sister, not only did I fail to help him, but because of this brother-in-law, I even block his way.

Regret choke me. My own flesh and blood, and na my husband stand for his front like wall.

I felt terrible.

I cry small for kitchen, my head heavy with guilt.

Me and Musa started giving each other silent treatment.

Breakfast dey pass in silence, dinner too. If I talk, na short answer; if he talk, I just nod.

But this time, he was just stubborn, no care if I was pregnant or how I felt, no sign of backing down.

His eye dey hard, like stone. Even when I cough, he just shift small. No be my Musa again.

Seyi ended up consoling me instead.

He call me, voice soft. "No worry, Sis. God go open better door. No blame brother-in-law. Na so life dey sometimes."

"Sis, abeg, how far? I just wan check on una—make sure say everything dey okay."

His maturity surprise me. My small brother now dey console me like father.

Two days later, I ran into Amara while eating out with a colleague.

We enter Bukka Hut for lunch. I see familiar face—na Amara, sitting with two men and another woman.

She was sitting with a group of men and women, speaking in our hometown dialect—probably people from back home.

Their laughter loud, but Amara own smile dey small. I wave small, she see me.

When she saw me, she smiled and walked over with a man.

She stand, adjust wrapper, walk gently come my table, one man follow behind.

"Sister-in-law, see as we jam for here."

She dey happy to see familiar face for city. She hug me briefly, eyes shining.

I smiled and nodded. "Yes o, na real coincidence."

I rub her shoulder, noting her face look brighter than before.

The man beside her grinned at me.

Young, fresh-faced, like NYSC corper. He dey eager to make impression.

"My aunty tell me you be Mrs. Musa, so I say make I greet you. I dey work for your husband."

He greet me well, bending slightly, showing respect as per our custom.

I asked politely, "Hello, which department you dey?"

My voice official, but kind. I no want make am feel small.

He smiled, "I be new staff, just dey do internship. To be honest, na Mr. Musa help me. The company no dey take people wey no be fresh graduate. If my aunty no beg am, I for no get chance."

His gratitude clear. Amara look proud, like say she win medal for her family.

…

I lowered my eyes and kept quiet for a long time.

Inside me, something heavy settle. So Musa fit help her people, but my own brother no fit?

Amara spoke softly, "One of these days, I go tell Baba Efe make he invite you and Brother Musa—four of us go eat together. How you see am, sister-in-law?"

Her voice light, but her eyes dey search mine, like she dey test water.

A layer of palm oil had formed on the soup bowl on the table, making it look dull and somehow disgusting.

My appetite disappear. Even the food wey I order now look like poison.

I looked up slowly and smiled.

"No wahala."

My voice calm, but my heart dey roar. For this life, sometimes na only smile fit cover wound.