Chapter 1: Papa’s Secret Abalone

Dad’s seafood stall na legend for everywhere, especially because of the wild abalone wey he dey claim say na only men suppose chop—e no dey ever reach everybody hand. The abalone dey shine for plate like fresh pomo for buka, but e get one rubbery bounce wey no be snail.

You sabi as e be, even for next street, people fit gist about Papa’s abalone like say na secret cult dem dey run. Some people go talk, “Abeg, na only men fit chop am, abi? Na why the thing get power.” Even taxi drivers wey never even smell am before dey brag say dem know person wey know person.

People wey don chop am before dey always yarn say the abalone strong, get one kind bounce, and just one bite go make you feel like say you don enter heaven proper.

People dey describe am for their friends, mouth full, say, “Guy, if you taste am, your body go sweet you like say na winch touch you for dream.” Some even dey argue say na juju dem dey put inside, because the feeling dey too much. One customer sef don joke: “Na this oyibo snail wey una dey call abalone? Abeg, e strong pass periwinkle?”

Because of all this, people fit spend any amount just to chop am once.

For my area, abalone be like small gold—na big men and politicians dey first chop am. I hear say one local chairman buy am for birthday, serve give him friends, and dem hail my papa for months after.

But me, I notice say anytime Dad open the abalone stall, my sister go just fall sick, dey roll for bed with her face red like fire.

Na every abalone day, na so my sister go dey behave like fowl wey chop pepper. She go dey sweat, dey shiver, even her voice go change. E weak me because e dey too regular.