Chapter 21: The Weight of Legacy

But… can it really have nothing to do with me?

The question echoed inside, refusing to be silenced. My mother’s struggle had become the air I breathed, the blood in my veins. I could not untangle her fight from my own.

After coming back, I hid in my little compound.

The walls felt closer than ever. I thought all night.

Sleep would not come, no matter how many times I closed my eyes. I wondered if maybe I should just leave it at that.

Just be ordinary. Just pretend I hadn’t gone there today.

Just erase everything, sweep it under the mat. Accept it, pick a good family and marry.

There was safety in following the old path. Serve my in-laws, continue the family line—just like that.

That was the way of the world. Endure it, and it will pass.

Just keep your head down, and maybe nothing will happen. If my husband takes another wife, I’ll just act like I didn’t see.

So many women before me had done the same. There’s no real love anyway.

Love was for songs, not for daughters like me. At least I’ll have house help, no worries about food or drink.

Comfort in exchange for silence. Just live my life like that.

Just treat the New Nigeria of my past life as a dream—liberation and all that, it’s too far away.

A dream, nothing more. I’m just a weakling born in peaceful times.

I told myself I was not made for heroics. I have no fighting experience.

I never joined any struggle, never raised my voice. Nor do I have the ideals and beliefs of my mother’s generation.

They were forged in fire—I was raised in comfort. Forget it.

Just leave it.

Maybe that is safer. In a daze, I fell asleep.

I drifted into uneasy dreams. In my dream, I really did get married like that, and even had a daughter.

She looked just like me, her laughter sweet as mangoes. My daughter held my hand, wanting to go out and play, but the next second, that hand was chopped off.

I screamed as blood splashed on my face.

I looked up, only to see my daughter’s face turn into Miss Musa’s.

She stared at me with hollow eyes. She looked at me, tears running down her face.

Accusing, pleading, silent. Just standing there, staring at me.

The weight of her gaze crushed me, and I woke up sweating and breathless, my heart racing like a chased goat.