Chapter 2: The Border’s Bitter Truth

My name na Ifedike.

Dem born me for Ugwuoba, but my papa say Ifedike mean say person get strength like iron. Na only God know whether na true.

For the tenth year of Oganihu Festival, dem catch me as I dey run from hunger, carry me go the border side to do labour work.

As I dey waka for bush that day, na my leg weak first. No be say I thief, hunger just pursue me reach there. Once dem catch you, na straight to border—you no go even see home again.

Here, not only say the work dey heavy and the time short, dem dey give us only two meals a day—sometimes even just one.

Omo, e no easy. From morning till night, na big hoe for hand, we dey dig ground like say gold dey inside. Body dey cry, mind dey shout. Even old men dey fall for line, nobody send am.

The food na one kind smelly nonsense and cassava cake wey dem even mix with red mud.*

The so-called food fit kill person self. Sometimes, na only small white maggot go dey dance for top. One boy even talk say, "E be like the maggot dey do disco for my plate." Some people go still chop am. Me I go close nose, swallow tears, chop small just to get strength.

*Red mud: one kind clay wey person no suppose chop, but people dey chop am when hunger too much.

If you see am, e be like the kind mud children dey use mould house for dry season, but now, e dey our plate. Na so hunger wicked.

Just one bite, your mouth go full with sand-sand taste.

No matter how you try wash mouth after, e no go commot. Even water no fit wash am. People dey cough, some dey spit blood after.

Everybody know say once dem carry you go border as labourer, unless your family fit pay bribe, you no go come back alive.

Nobody dey survive am. If dem no carry money come, na burial ground sure pass. Some people dey pray, others dey curse government for their mind.

Na die for work or die for hunger sure pass.

Every night, na who go faint next? If dem count head for morning, sometimes one or two go miss, nobody ask.

Even if you wan run, everywhere around na empty bush for more than hundred kilometres—no bark of tree, no wild grass to chop, nowhere to go.

Sometimes, I dey wonder whether na real bush or na desert we dey. Even bird no dey fly reach that side. Silence dey cut ear.

Harmattan dust dey blow sometimes, skin go dry, lips go crack, but nobody send am when hunger dey.

My papa, mama and siblings don already die for hunger.

Na only me remain. As I dey recall their faces, na pain dey fill my chest, but tears no dey come again. E don dry finish.

My only hope na to try enter the overseer's good book. Maybe like that, I fit rest small and live longer.

Even if na to shine shoe, clean cap, I go do. Survival na the only thing wey matter for my mind.