Chapter 1: First Night on Okpoko Hills

That was the first day we met—

I still remember the small, unsettled flutter in my chest that morning. Fresh faces, shoes already dusty from that red Middle Belt soil, everybody dey pretend say dem get energy. Underneath the greetings, you fit feel the tension for air, as if the mountains dey size us up.

It was also the first day the wahala started.

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We trekked inside the mountains for over six hours, and everybody don taya. But our group leader still dey insist make we reach the top before we camp.

I remember the way sweat dey drip from everybody forehead, some people dey drag leg, others dey use mouth dey ginger themselves: "Abeg, e remain small! No let hill disgrace you for front of babes o." Even the birds wey dey sing for afternoon don quiet, na only our breathing you fit hear.

When night come, we see say the man get sense.

No be ordinary hill we climb o. For Okpoko Hills, wey dey for the border of Benue and Nasarawa, na there you go find the last untouched forest for Middle Belt. The mountains just dey roll like that, everywhere green; the Milky Way dey shine for sky. As we just lie down for the top, dey look the stars, na so romance full everywhere. That time, all the stress wey we suffer that day just clear.

The breeze cold small, but the air fresh like wetin dem dey bottle for abroad. You fit hear small insects dey sing night hymn, people dey laugh for one corner, dey gist about small pikin story of when dem dey village. One guy even try roast suya with sardine tin—smoke dey make everybody cough, but nobody complain, na bush life.

Our local guide carry come him own ogogoro and one small guitar. The guy come sing song wey e write by himself, the title na real rock-and-roll: “No Good People For This World.” We just sit for circle, dey drink, dey sing, as if all our wahala don disappear for the night.

One babe for group, her voice dey sharp like those old highlife singers; as she take chorus, even the bush spirits fit pause to listen. Somebody try pour palmwine into ogogoro bottle—everybody hail am say, "Guy, na two worlds you wan join?"

E reach late night before everybody waka go their tent go rest.

For that kind tiredness, you no go even remember say you fit get problem for house. Na only crickets dey keep watch.

Na then, she come.

She just quietly unzip my tent. Zzzzip—like knife cut through silence. My heart jump. Small, sweet scent just fill everywhere.

You for think say after trekking all day, person go smell like keke engine, but this one na faint perfume—like ripe mango and orange peel, the kind you smell for Ketu market on Saturday morning. That kind scent wey dey make person remember home.

She for don spray perfume just now; after trekking the whole day, no way say any scent go remain like that.

Her movement slow, almost careful. I fit see small shine for her skin as the lamp catch am. E be like say she dey dodge shadow, but na confidence dey her step.

“You dey sleep?” she ask, come sit down near me.

Her voice no loud, but e carry one kind weight, like say she dey talk secret wey only two of us suppose hear. The tent just dey vibrate with her presence.

Sleep just run from my eyes. I sit up look her.

No be today I sabi trouble, but my heart dey pound. My mind dey sharp like when NEPA just bring light after blackout.

For our group, na five men, three women, but she stand out pass everybody.

No be say others no fine o, but her kind of beauty get as e be—no loud, no too shine. That her pink cap, e be like say she dey hide mystery under am.

Her face fine, features soft, she wear pink baseball cap wey make her look young and small mysterious. Her long straight leg dey inside tight jeans, with small fair skin show for ankle—if you see am once, you no go forget.

Her laugh dey ring like small bell, e dey quick make person loosen up. People dey toast her since morning, but she just dey brush everybody off with smile.

The way she dey sing, e dey sweet. Her English songs dey flow like her pidgin ones.

That moment, I dey reason how person fit dey balance between city and bush so, her accent get small Ibadan twist, but pidgin sharp.

But I know say today, we just be strangers wey this trip bring together. After this, nothing dey again.

No need form love story for my head. I just dey collect my own share of nature and fine company.

So I just enjoy am—travel with fine woman dey make everywhere even more sweet.

If na Nollywood, by now, soundtrack for don start, but for bush, na only crickets dey play music.

I no expect say, na now she go come meet me, her face dey shine under the small rechargeable lamp.

My mouth dry small, but I no show am. For my mind, I dey reason: make I no disgrace my ancestors for this bush.

“Make we do am once?” she ask.

I no quick believe my ear. Na which kain boldness be this? Mountain dey boost confidence o.

“Do… do which one?” My heart begin beat anyhow. I get idea wetin she mean, but I no gree think am reach that side.

The air inside the tent just choke with tension. My leg dey shake under sleeping bag, but my face strong like say I be man wey get experience.

She remove her cap, shake her hair, the air for the tent just soft.

Her hair dey smell like mango, I swear. E no get how I fit lie for this matter. The way she relax, e be like say she dey do this thing every day.

“If you delay again, you go miss your chance.” She shift come near me.

Na there my brain reset. If I play slow, another person go chop my slot.

Her eyes big, like the stars for sky.

Those eyes dey command person. E dey carry wahala inside, but na the sweet type.

“No be somehow? All the tents dey close,” I talk. I no say no o; make I no lie, my heart dey run. I no be pastor, my mind no calm at all.

Na that time I remember village talk—if goat waka pass yam barn, temptation fit too much.

“Come look stars with me again.” She just lean come, breathe warm air for my ear. “Just behind your tent, slope dey.”

Her breath scatter my sense. My body don betray me already.

She give me small smile, then waka commot from the tent.

Na that smile, sharp like knife, dey cut my sense. I no even fit talk, my head dey hot.

I try calm myself, but e no work.

Na so body dey do man when temptation carry groundnut pass front of monkey.

For bush, two people wey just jam, just want small enjoyment.

Abeg, life too short to dey count regret for mountain top.

We no even sabi each other name.

No protocol for bush—na first come, first serve.

I unzip my sleeping bag, waka quietly commot.

Every step I take, na so my chest dey drum. For my mind, I dey pray say make nobody catch me.