Chapter 5: No Rest for the Righteous

Ifeoma death hit Musa Danjuma heavy. He dey suffer now, but soon he go forget him guilt and continue him fine life.

He dey waka like man wey ghost dey follow, but time go heal am. Soon, the world go call am back, him laughter go return. Na so men dey.

But my Ifeoma go enter ground, lonely and forgotten.

She go lie for cold ground, her name go dey fade, her laughter go turn memory. I no fit gree.

I no go allow am.

I swore an oath, in my heart, that Ifeoma’s memory would burn brighter in death than it ever did in life. No one would erase her.

Musa Danjuma was pinned down in the courtyard. My people found their old wedding clothes in the Musa house.

He was held fast, powerless. My attendants moved through the house, searching every corner, dragging out boxes, clothes, old pictures.

"Na Madam Ifeoma wedding cloth be this."

They held them up for me to see—white lace, faded but still elegant. My eyes burned with unshed tears.

I rub the fabric without thinking.

The cloth felt rough beneath my fingers. Once, it had been soft and new, filled with promise. Now, it was just a relic of pain. The taste of bitter leaf lingered in my mouth as I issued my next command.

"Burn them."

My order rang out. Fire cleanses. Let the past be ash.

"Na the things Madam Ifeoma buy be this."

They carried in wooden stools, curtains, pots, and pans. Every piece was a memory, a fingerprint of her life.

"Break them."

Let nothing remain. Ifeoma’s memory would not be cheapened by these things.

"This is..."

The attendant hesitated, holding a small framed picture—Ify and Musa, arms around each other, smiling as if the world belonged to them. I did not let her finish.

I want make the Musa family watch as I dey wipe every trace of Ifeoma one by one.

They would learn what it means to take and not give, to forget and be forgotten. Every loss was a lesson.

Musa Yinuo still no understand wetin I dey do. Na only Musa Danjuma eye red; he just dey growl,

His voice broke, pleading and wild. Musa Yinuo watched, confused and frightened. Childhood has no language for this kind of pain.

"Stop am! Stop am! Ify go come back, she go come back. She just dey vex for me, as usual..."

He clung to hope like a drowning man. But I knew the truth—there is no coming back from some journeys.

I click my tongue.

Let him fool himself. Self-delusion is its own punishment.

Who he dey deceive?

Not me. Not Ifeoma. Not even himself.

My people worked quickly, and soon the Musa residence was empty. Other than the house itself, nothing remained.

The house echoed with emptiness, as if a whirlwind had passed through. Every scrap of Ifeoma was gone.

This family drink Ifeoma sweat, still push am reach dead end.

They took her love, her labour, her laughter, and gave her sorrow in return. Now, they would taste the bitterness they had brewed.

I closed my eyes, but the corners of my mouth curled into a smile.

Sometimes, revenge is the only medicine. My heart felt lighter, just a little.

"Since una love each other so, I go dash una Sade as wife. From today, Musa Yinuo na her pikin."

Let them play their game, let them choke on their happiness. It was a fitting punishment.

When she heard this, Sade near dance.

She clapped her hands, eyes shining, barely able to hide her triumph. The women in the crowd whispered, some with envy, others with scorn.

She was about to kneel to thank me, but Musa Danjuma refused.

He jerked away, his pride wounded. Even now, he clung to the last shreds of loyalty.

"For this life, na only Ifeoma go be my wife."

His voice was low but clear. It was the first time he had shown any backbone in weeks.

But Musa Yinuo happily kneel beside Sade, quick call am 'mummy'.

He smiled, eager, as if trying to erase the past. The innocence of children is a double-edged sword.

"Mummy, I don dey wait make you be my mama. I no like that lioness."

The words twisted in my chest. Lioness. They had always called Ifeoma fierce, but it was love that made her roar.

Then he turned to Musa Danjuma,

"Daddy, no be you talk say Aunty Sade na the best woman for this world?"

He looked up, eyes wide. Musa Danjuma’s face crumbled. Even children know how to wound.

Musa Danjuma’s face was hard; he refused to answer.

He looked away, ashamed. He had lost everything.

I chuckle small and drop the marriage decree.

The paper was heavy in my hand, a final gift to a family that had squandered all its blessings.

No be love hold una? Make una collect wetin una want, so Ifeoma name no go stain.

Let them live with their choices. Let the world see their true faces.

As I dey comot, I fling one paper, and only one word stand bold—

Divorce.

The word was bold, unmissable. The crowd gasped. A woman does not lightly cast aside her husband, but I was no ordinary woman.

"Musa Danjuma, you no worthy to follow am enter ground."

My words rang out, cold as the grave. Let history record it: The ancestors will know—Ify was too good for any of you.