Chapter 5: Home Is Where the Wahala Is

5

With heavy mind, I leave town go house.

For road, my heart dey heavy. E be like say I dey drag bag of stone.

House still empty.

Every room get echo, as if house dey remind me say I be stranger for my own place.

I no believe say I go ever betray my marriage.

That kind thing, e dey pain deep. But na so life be sometimes.

My wife, Halima, na my school mate—classic campus love; anybody wey see us dey envy.

Back then, if you see us for Student Union office, you go say, "Na two power for one body." People dey call us Mr. and Mrs. Sabi.

She na top student; me, na small artiste.

She be student union president; me, I lead band.

Even campus pastors dey use us do example for youth meeting. Dem no know say wahala dey hide for corner.

She dey write, dey publish; me, I dey write song, dey perform.

Her book dey sell for bookshop, my song dey trend for campus. Two stars, but na different sky.

We jam, na normal.

Na so love dey start, small, small. Two hustle spirit, one dream.

We marry two years after school. Her work just dey go up; after marriage, dem transfer her go abroad, she climb three levels sharp sharp, become madam before thirty. She dey come house three, four times for one year, never pass three days.

She dey carry work for head, but I dey support. Na so we believe say hustle go pay one day.

Me, after some work wey no work, I just dey house: sometimes perform, sometimes sell song, sometimes teach guitar.

My own career slow, but I dey manage. Sometimes my music dey sweet people, but money no dey flow steady. Na so e be for artists wey no wan compromise.

Me and Halima, gap dey grow.

That gap wide like Benue river, even though we dey talk every day.

This hiking na boredom push me.

I tell Halima say I wan go hike to clear my head, she just send me two million naira.

Her own solution to problem na money. But money no dey hug you for night.

Her jollof rice na the only thing wey fit make me forget wahala, but now, na only microwave food dey my table.

I no even know if I suppose happy or feel like mumu.

My pride dey suffer, but I collect the money all the same. Man gats survive.

As I dey think, I sleep for sofa, dream of that night for mountain top—me and Morayo dey pant, na so torchlight shine everywhere, Halima just appear, dey look me like say I be pet dog.

My dream dey mix fear and pleasure, na confusion full everywhere.

I don fail her, and our ten years together.

If to say na olden days, elders for call family meeting.

I just dey pass days, as usual, me and Halima dey exchange two, three words per day. She always dey for meeting or event; na like alarm clock wey just dey say good morning, good night.

Our conversation dry like harmattan yam.

I still dey house, do househusband. Another two weeks waka pass, then I get WhatsApp text from number I no know:

“I don reach Aba. Make you treat me to food.”

My heart cut small. E be like say na Morayo, but I no sure. My hand dey shake, na so I dey read am again and again.

My body just dey shake, joy dey my heart. I no know the number, but I sure say na her.

No too think, I reply:

“Where?”

I no wan form hard guy, I just want see her.

She answer sharp: “Palm Grove Bar, 6 p.m.”

Na so I dey count time. Each second dey slow like traffic for rainy season.

As I see the text, na like current dey run for my body—body just dey vibrate.