Chapter 2: Big Sister, Broken Home

Second month after my papa die, my mama carry the last money wey remain for house go meet Mama Fadeke for the end of the street.

Mama Fadeke na woman wey sabi. People dey talk say if you go meet am, even married woman fit turn back to virgin for her hand.

Her compound dey smell of hot leaf and palm oil. Na there all the women for area dey go when wahala pass their power. Some say she fit see tomorrow, some call am witch, but everybody respect am.

But dem talk say the pain no be small. One time, one young girl shout sotay she nearly die.

I remember that day—neighbours come hold the girl mouth make she no bite tongue. Small children run go hide, old women dey cross leg dey shake head.

But as my mama come back, her feet drag for ground, her eye red, but no sound comot from her mouth. Even as neighbours greet, she just nod, waka pass.

She come back, tie headscarf low, her back straight, but her eye dey like rain wey never fall. She waka enter house like person wey just come back from war.

She call me: “Ngozi, from today, no call me ‘Mama’ again. Na only ‘Big Sister’. You understand?”

I bite my lip, tears dey push for eye, but I gree. For this house, na her word be law.

My mama smile, say I get sense.

She touch my cheek, small dimple show. That smile carry pain, but she still fit give am.

She carry me go Makurdi, find one old house wey don near collapse, we come settle there.

The journey hard—sun dey roast head, dust dey bite eye, but Mama no stop. She just hold my hand tight like say if she loose, wind fit carry me.

Then, for the main road in front of Regent Prince house, she set up big pot begin sell ram pepper soup.

The smell of pepper soup cut through morning cold; even people wey pass dey look back. Rain or shine, that pot dey boil, and people begin whisper say new spirit don enter the street.

---

*‘Ngozi’ na pet name; for Igbo, dem dey call person with love like that.