Chapter 7: Fate’s Edge

For this hill village, night quiet, na only party noise dey come sometimes. I hear group of groomsmen dey talk anyhow:

Their voices carry for bush, like people wey dey sure of themselves. Some dey boast, some dey laugh with mouth full.

“E sweet die, that small girl fresh. Tonight go mad, hahaha.”

I hear the words like knife for my ear. The way dem dey talk, e clear say dem no get any pity for human being.

“Her brother don sleep. Who go first?”

Their confidence dey vex me. For my mind, I dey plot how to turn their joy to sorrow.

“Me! I senior all of una. I go first.”

The others dey jeer am, dey clap hand for am. Evil dey their blood.

“Wetin concern age for this one? Abeg, play game—rock-paper-scissors. Winner first go.”

Na so dem dey decide person fate for this their custom. No conscience, no fear. For my mind, I dey swear—God dey see them.

Dem just dey laugh, dey play, dey see my sister as trophy. My anger dey boil, but I gats find car key first. Revenge fit wait—now na to survive.

I dey squeeze the brick, my sweat dey drip for hand. My eye dey red, but my head dey cold. First, key—then wahala.

I sneak in through back door again. First, I go bridal room. Groom dey sleep scatter for wedding bed, drunk die. Room just smell of drink.

I tiptoe enter, hold breath. The groom dey snore, saliva dey drip for mouth. I search under bed, inside small purse, everywhere. Light from moon just dey shine small for window.

I tiptoe, find the bag Halima use for toast, just as my sister talk. I waka go doorway, search am under moonlight. My mind fall. Key no dey.

The bag dey empty, only powder and comb dey inside. I shake am, nothing.

For a moment, I confuse. Halima fit throw am? No. I think am—she no plan make we escape. To clear evidence, she go still find car. She no fit throw key. My sister dey with her all the time, so she no fit misplace am. If no dey for bag, then e dey—

I remember say during toast, her dress pocket stand. Na there she hide the key. Wicked people sabi hide thing well.

For the small bulge for her toasting dress pocket.

The pocket dey deep, na so some women dey sew am for inside cloth, to hide small money or key. I dey curse myself for not checking her body before.

As I reason am, I rush go side room. But just then, door open, eight groomsmen stagger enter. No joke—dem line up, the one for front na the one wey win their game.

Their laugh loud, one dey sing old wedding song. I quickly shift, hide behind wardrobe, hold brick tight, my breath dey slow. Tonight, na war.

I quick hide, my heart heavy. I never even see the key. The eight men just waka enter side room where Halima dey. Soon, small noise start come out from inside:

From under door, I see shadow dey move. Halima dey groan, voice low. The groomsmen dey arrange themselves. One talk, "Who hold the key?" Another one say, "Halima go give signal." The evil wey dey inside that room pass wetin mouth fit talk. My anger dey burn, but I hold myself. This time, by God, I no go let history repeat. Tonight, if blood must flow, e no go be my sister own.