Chapter 7: The Real Story

"Oga police."

I wipe my tears, drag him sleeve.

My voice steady, small. For once, I humble. For corridor, small crowd dey gather.

"Carry me go see Deputy Director Ibrahim. I ready to talk true."

Police look each other, surprise show for their face. I dey ready to open mouth, wahala go burst.

Plenty police, as dem hear say the hard nut wan break, dem gather for door dey peep.

Even police wey hate me, dey stretch neck. Story wey don scatter everywhere, now wan get answer.

Even though na only Mr. Ibrahim and note-taker dey sit, I know say eyes plenty dey watch for camera.

Na so e be for Nigeria—news dey spread, even wall dey listen.

The note-taker talk for nose:

"Wetin she wan talk again? She just dey wicked. I no believe she go talk anything better."

E roll eye, dey tap biro. But I dey see say e dey wait for surprise.

Still, e dey look me, dey wait.

E no fit hide him curiosity. For this station, everybody wan hear last word.

I look up, laugh small.

The laugh come from deep—na laugh wey get pain inside. My eye red, my voice low.

The laugh come big, turn to wild laugh, tears dey drop.

For room, the sound dey bounce off wall. Even Mr. Ibrahim mouth open. Nobody talk. My own laugh dey mix with cry.

Just as dem think say I don finally craze—

For small second, everywhere freeze. Even the ceiling fan stop to blow. I swallow spit, then drop the bomb.

E be like say everybody dey expect madness, but my next word different.

I talk wetin shock everybody.

My voice clear, for the first time, no lie. The room cold, but my own truth hot like pepper.

"Ngozi no be my younger brother. Na my pikin."

The word drop, heavy. For Nigeria, secret fit kill person pass bullet. Everybody freeze—note-taker pen fall for table. The truth wey I hide since, na now e come out. For my mind, na like say I drop load from my chest. Police dey look me, camera dey roll, world dey wait for answer. The real story don start.