Chapter 4: Burnt Flesh, Bitter Tears

……

Na so dem throw my papa from back of Regent Prince house.

Night reach before some people gather courage come see am. Nobody wan touch, because fear dey—palace matter dey dangerous. But the air full sorrow, like smoke after fire.

People full street, but nobody near am.

Even elders just look, shake head. For village, person body suppose dey respected, but now na only shame and fear remain.

Because him body don roast black finish, skin and flesh don scatter; everywhere wey tear, blood and water dey comot together.

The sight hard—children dey cry, women cover mouth, even old men turn face. The ground soak with sorrow.

At last, one kind-hearted person for our village, when night don reach, carry am go house.

That uncle na brave man. He risk palace wahala to give last respect. Him tears soak cloth as he waka home with the body.

That uncle dey cry, dey curse, “Na that Halima cause am, na she cause am…”

Voice choke with anger, pain and bitterness. Neighbours hold am, try calm am, but who go fit calm that kind pain?

Halima—her name fine well.

Her story dey waka everywhere. Some say she fit charm snake, others say na her smile dey melt heart. But everybody agree, her fine get power.

She na the new favourite wife for Regent Prince, the number one fine girl for Makurdi.

If she waka for market, even kola nut sellers go forget price. Her cloth dey always neat, her perfume dey announce her before you see face.

This fine lady hear about my papa, ask am, “I hear say you fit roast ram wey no go get that strong smell?”

Everybody wey hear the request, just wonder. Wetin she dey find wey different?

My papa answer, “No worry madam, this ram no go get that smell at all.”

He dey try please am, even if e no sure. For palace job, na so e be: you must gree.

Halima just bone face.

Her face strong like person wey chop bitterleaf. She no smile, no nod, nothing. Only her eye dey shine with cold fire.

She ask, “You fit make am no get ram taste at all?”

Even the servants shock. Everybody look my papa.

My papa try smile. “Na roast whole ram o, how e go take no get ram taste?”

He try reason am, but confusion dey for voice. Ram wey no taste like ram—wetin e go taste like?

Halima hold her handkerchief, talk with cold voice, “Who say e no fit? Today, na me go cook. I go roast whole ram wey no get ram taste. You go see.”

Her voice sharp like razor. Some servants dey fear for papa, but nobody fit talk.

She order her people make dem gag my papa, tie am like goat for Sallah, fire roar, nobody fit talk.

Dem no even let am beg. The way dem tie am, even ram go pity am. Fire blaze, wood dey crack, everybody dey look another side.

Fire blaze, Halima cover mouth dey laugh: “No be this one be roast whole ram wey no get ram taste?”

Her laugh dry, like Harmattan wind. The smell of burning flesh full air, but she just dey wave handkerchief.

Last last, she look my papa, him skin and flesh don open from heat, her eyes full of vex:

For her, na victory. For others, na madness. The palace servants just dey shake.

“I talk say I no go ever be wife—even prince agree. Who you be wey you dey call me ‘madam’?”

Her voice shake small, but pride dey. She turn, no look back.