Chapter 3: Fish Table Disgrace and School Palava

Grandpa drive old Peugeot, dey live for one kind old house for outskirts.

The car dey cough as we dey drive, but Grandpa just dey whistle. The compound get old guava tree, front door paint dey peel. But peace dey inside. Compound dey quiet, only sound na generator hum and distant amala seller dey shout for gate.

He wan cook, but fridge empty.

He open freezer, shake head, check container—na only pure water remain. For here, if food finish, e mean market run soon.

He gree make we go chop outside.

He look pocket, count small change, smile. “Amara, no wahala, we go flex!” Him voice get that old man swag. We lock door, waka go main road.

I see Indomie for cupboard, suggest make we just cook noodles.

I dey try help, make things easy. Indomie na Naija survival food—everybody sabi am. I pick pepper, onion join.

Grandpa look me: “No be say I no fit buy food for you o!”

He laugh, eye dey shine. For old men, e dey important make dem show say dem still get power.

Then he start to complain, like that Mama Nkechi for village: “Wetin I gain for born pikin? Dem no dey grateful. When dem need you, dem go dey your body like glue. Once dem don collect everything, dem no wan see your face again…”

He shake head, sit for plastic chair. He remember the past, voice low, pain dey underneath. For Naija, elders dey always talk story join.

I don hear this thing tire for last life. E no dey new to me.

I remember how e dey repeat am, every time wey wahala show face. I go just nod, dey act like say I dey hear am for first time.

But Grandpa dey talk true.

For this Nigeria, family fit turn back on you quick. Sometimes, na only your hand fit clean your own tear.

All this company and compound, na Grandpa and Grandma build am. After Grandma—wey get strong mind—die, my parents dey visit Grandpa every day, dey pamper am till e soft. At the end, na only small pension remain for Grandpa; dem collect all the property.

I remember Grandma voice, strong like iron. Her photo still dey for Grandpa wall, powdery with dust. Property matter, na wahala.

Not long after, my parents begin show say dem no like Grandpa again. He no fit take am, fight dem tire. My papa vex, chase Grandpa commot, even change compound gate key.

He try talk sense, but nobody gree. Even compound boys stop greet am. Grandpa pride suffer, but him spirit no break.

Grandpa stubborn, so he buy old house for outskirts, stay alone.

He fix the place himself, plant ugu for backyard. Sometimes him neighbour, Mama Ibeji, dey bring small soup come check am.

But Grandpa still miss family. He go visit dem, but every time na quarrel.

He go with fufu, dem go send am away. Sometimes, he go dey cry inside car before he drive go house. For Naija, blood dey pain when e cold.

Last life, I see say my parents, brother, and Halima dey treat Grandpa like outsider.

They go lock room when e dey come. Even for Christmas, no food for him side. My heart dey break for am that time.

And outsider no ever get true welcome.

For Nigeria, if dem don mark you outsider, e hard to change their mind. Na so e be for me and Grandpa.

That time, I still dey hope, no know say me and Grandpa be the same outsider wey no fit belong.

Hope dey kill person sometimes. But now, I sabi the game. Me and Grandpa—na we be the real family for each other.

Thank God, life give me second chance.

I tap chest, say, "God I thank you." No be everybody dey get second chance for this life, but as e come, I grab am.

This time, any house wey no want me, no be my house. I no go force myself again.

I go where I dey wanted. Na so life suppose be—make I no dey beg love again.