Chapter 1: From Dustbin to Designer Backpack

The brother and sister wey carry me go house, for the book dem be just cannon fodder.

But make I tell you something: for that book, their wahala plenty pass pepper inside hot oil. Nobody dey give them real love, nobody dey see their pain—dem just dey there, extras for the main show. Life just dey use some people do background prop.

People for our side sabi say if breeze blow, fowl yansh go show. No matter how Chijioke try cover him mind, that shine for eye go show once that heroine dey near—like sun break through rainy day.

E dey pain me as I remember Morayo. That kind pikin wey go just dey look you, "Just hold me, abeg. Na only hug I want." She fit give you her whole world, if e go bring small love.

Na so dem believe say as dem don meet the supposed right people, their own better go show. You know as person dey put hope for tomorrow like say tomorrow sure pass NEPA light. Dem no know say devil dey hide for details.

Na so. Na just ladder dem be for the main people to climb go reach their own level. You fit dey help person, no know say na you dem wan use shine.

No dulling, I arrange my own plan. As e be so, I no fit dey wait make dem use my new brother and sister anyhow. I gats package myself well, collect the main script for my hand. Who wan suffer if e fit enjoy?

You for see as Chijioke freeze when I kiss am for cheek. Him no dey expect that kind thing. Even me shock small. But e be like say na the small ginger wey e need.

"Hmm, soft and sweet. Brother, you be like small cream cake."

Omo, see as wahala for him face just melt. That kind compliment, na only small pikin fit give you from pure heart. The guy eye shine, mouth just curve—no fit vex again. True true, praise get power.

You know as Naija boys dey form hard guy, but if you gas am small, all that shakara go melt—even if na just two seconds. Everybody like better talk, no matter the packaging.

For Naija house, e no dey hard to hear person sob for night when dem think say nobody dey listen. But me, I show say love dey—even if e just means I join Morayo dey cry for corner, our two tears dey mix for bedsheet.

"That fine star wan drown for water—wetin we go do now?"

Na the kind thing you go talk if your mind dey heavy. I for hold her hand, rub her back small, make she know say she no dey alone for this wahala.

You no fit fake that kind hug—na hug wey dey say, "Thank you, I see you, I need you." For our place, when pikin hug you like that, na blessing.

As e be, dem think say dem go always dey run things. But tables don turn, na dem dey find who go follow dem gist. Omo, see as wahala reach their side now.

For parlour, carton and marker scatter everywhere, glue dey spoil rug. My brother dey help me cut coloured paper, Morayo dey draw butterfly for my cardboard. Dem dey laugh small, quarrel small, but na family joy full everywhere. Na so dem see us—three people, but one strong team.

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1

The moment I pass out to save one pikin wey dey drown, na so I dey beg God—make my next life beta. Make I wake up to expensive shea butter for my mama body, hear papa big laugh, and feel chairman grandpa big hand rub my head.

I dey imagine Naija dream—chop life, mama wey smell like money, papa wey dey laugh scatter sorrow. That grandpa handshake fit reset person brain. I dey pray make next round go better.

But when I open my eyes, na inside dustbin dem dump me.

Omo, reality slap me. Dustbin wey even agbero no wan pass near.

Dem talk say if you do good, good go follow you. Why my own come be this kain wahala?

Na so e be for this life. Fit help person, next thing you dey inside gbese. Who write all these spiritual rules sef?

The lid close—na like small coffin. Darkness choke everywhere.

Kai, the smell go kill person. Pepper soup, akamu, dirty pampers—all join. My eye nearly turn.

I look my small hand—chubby like new yam from Ketu market—I just quiet.

Nothing I fit do. Sometimes, na surrender remain.

To survive, I just start to cry. For Naija, tears dey open doors wey key no fit open. I cry with all my might, shout join.

I no even know how long I cry, but at last, somebody notice something strange for that dirty alley.

God dey answer small pikin prayer sharp sharp. My cry enter one ear.

Sound of leather shoes dey scrape ground, dey come near. That sound, e be like hope. My heart dey jump like kpokpo garri.

Na only person wey don nearly lose am fit understand as small light dey mean heaven.

I open my eyes wide—see one middle-aged man, suit and white glove, package die.

A steward! Maybe na my uncle steward come carry me go house?

Hope rise for my chest—e be like say better don reach my door.

I just know am—me, I must be the real heiress, switched at birth by wicked house help.

All those Yoruba film wey dem dey swap baby for hospital, I remember am. Na so I believe say na me be real princess.

Sharp sharp, I arrange myself, dey beg with my eye—carry me go where I belong, abeg!

Abeg, carry me go my mansion with swimming pool, let me enjoy life. I no want my mummy and daddy to worry. See as small pikin dey form big madam for face. I dey imagine suya, ice cream, big TV.

Few minutes later, I find myself inside one black luxury car. Everywhere dey shine, leather seat fresh, AC nearly freeze my teeth.

I look up—two secondary school students from big people school dey for back.

Their uniform too clean, even their socks no get stain. Dem badge shine, and their backpack na pure foreign designer. Dem eyes dey shine like say na money brush am.

The steward clear throat, voice blend: 'Oga and madam, e get one slum for here, and some people dey learn work nearby. This pikin fit be abandoned. Make I carry am go meet Chief first?'

Me: "......"

My mind blank. Hope dey leak.

Wahala. This mansion dream dey hang for thread.

The two of them—so fine e be like say dem no real—just nod coldly.

You go think say dem no dey see me. Face strong pass stone.

Oga butler try relax, dey happy say wahala no plenty today. E show for him face.

Next thing, dem dump me for young master arm. He hold me, stiff, confused—like person wey never hold living thing before.

See, I like fine faces. Who no like better thing? Me, I dey enjoy front row seat to see this fine bobo face clear.

I carry my small finger, tap him nose. E surprise am.

Young miss see me, give one kain mocking look, young master face change.

She purse mouth, dey look me like, "Who be this one?" E be like say na competition.

He push me give her. "So troublesome. You hold her."

She stiff too as she carry me—cold pass freezer enter her bone.

Looking at the two of them—same fine face, like twins—I just start to laugh.

The thing funny me, so I giggle loud. Dem look like two puff-puff—different shape, but na the same dough.

She no fit hide smile. But as she see her brother look, she frown.

She try form serious, but her eye dey shine small. She dey do like say she no care, but e dey touch her.

"She dey smell like dustbin. E dey smell."

She turn up nose, eye dey dance. But na truth—I really dey smell.

Arrange me for centre seat, clear boundary—make everybody get space.

No be keke napep o, na big man's car. E get enough room to roll for floor.

But thinking about the tough life waiting for me at the orphanage, I start to cry with all my power.

Young master, tired of my noise, carry me up. At first, e do like e no care, but my wahala pass him patience. Na so he carry me, face still strong.

I see him face, I smile immediately—even with tears. E shock am. The way my face change, na so him heart soft.

He put me down—I start to cry again. Game don start. I know say na my own way to dey control their hand.

Young miss pick me up—I laugh again. Her own face begin relax. She drop me—I cry again. Pure drama, like audition.

Children dey show adult how to play. E shock them, but dem join the groove.

Like game, dem pick me up and drop me, over and over.

"Hahaha—"

Their laugh dey loud, my cry dey follow. Even steward dey look us for mirror.

"Waa—"

I no dey tire; I fit do am till tomorrow. Wahala baby.

"Hahaha—"

Game sweet them. Na so happiness dey start sometimes.

After many rounds, the steward gentle voice stop us.

"We don reach Chief court."

Oga don tire for our noise. Time to face real world.

My voice rise, echo for whole motor. Even keke wey dey pass outside go hear me.

Young master and young miss look each other. For the first time, their eye meet—dem dey wonder if dem fit handle this one.

After few seconds, dem talk together: "Let's keep her."

Inside my mind, I just dey reason—abeg, make this soft life last. I no wan return dustbin again.