Chapter 1: The Price of Rescue

Freezing rain dey fall, the kind wey dey bite skin like mosquito. My whole body dey shiver as I hear say one small pikin don fall enter narrow mountain cave, my heart cut like blade. The mountain dey far, but na me carry search and rescue dog, Doudou, waka go save am. When we reach the river wey dey divide the land, one village woman wey dey paddle boat just block us, her eye sharp, mouth like pepper, dey ask for one kain mad fee.

The rain wey dey fall na the kind wey get teeth—e cold reach bone. As I dey move, my trouser and shoe don soak finish, but I no even fit complain. Na Naija weather be this; sometimes, harmattan go chill you, next thing, rain go start as if e wan wash sins comot from earth. For inside all the wahala, I dey reason say, e fit be say the gods of this land dey vex, or e just be one of those days wey misfortune dey waka for road.

The boat fare na five hundred naira—cash only, she no gree for bank transfer. "You carry dog come? Animal dey pay double," she add, her voice sharp.

Her eye sharp like razor, and the wrapper wey she tie no gree stay one place as she dey shift for her small wooden bench. Her voice loud like market bell, make sure say everybody for riverbank dey hear my shame. Some people even dey look our side dey whisper. For this kind place, story go spread quick—dem go soon dey say I dey use search and rescue hustle people for boat fare.

I no get that kind cash, I beg her make she allow me cross first, say I go pay her later. She clap hand for air, hiss say, "You dey run like say na your own blood dey for cave. Abeg, no use my boat do charity. If you no get money, swim cross by yourself."

She hiss finish, spit for ground one kain. For her eye, I just be another wahala. You know as e dey—some people for village, dem no send your emergency if money no dey their hand. Na so life be sometimes for Naija, everybody dey hustle their own. As she finish, she adjust her scarf, as if say my matter dey tire her.

After she block me tire, by the time I finally reach the cave, the pikin don already stop to breathe. Na that time the pikin papa papa run come the mountain, pat the village woman for shoulder: "Mama Ifeoma, you know say na our Ebuka fall for the cave..."

E pain me. As the news reach the papa, na so crowd begin gather; some dey blame the rain, some dey blame the cave, but plenty eyes dey look the woman with small anger. Mama Ifeoma face change, she no fit talk, she just stand dey look ground, wrapper still dey her hand. People dey shake head, one old man for back even mutter, "Kai, Chineke, wetin our eyes never see for this land? Make rain no carry another child again o."