Chapter 2: River Promises

Oga, madam, abeg no blame eldest young lady. I carry Ifunanya go Sule family, but she no dey. Dem say she just born, still dey house. Sule family dey fear to worry her, no tell truth. Madam send person come, say for eldest young lady sake, make I no bring Ifunanya again.

Madam sigh, rub forehead. "Sule family try, but wahala too much."

Few days pass, Sule family move go Abuja. Even if eldest young lady wan see una, journey far, she get pikin—how she wan return?

Oga just shake head. "Na so life be."

Some things I no talk. Eldest young lady faint cry two times when she hear Okafor wahala. Husband rush am hospital. I hear she no chop for days, only dey call "Mama, papa."

All of us na ordinary people. For this kind time, who go blame her say she wan protect herself?

Na true. For wahala, person first guard own chest.

After small talk, time finish. I carry Ifunanya go. She cry, say she wan carry all go. I beg tire before she gree.

For gate, she kneel, beg warden: "Uncle, abeg, let me stay!" The man pat her head, "My pikin, you go see them again."

But she still dey cry, dey ask why she no fit see eldest brother.

She hold my waist, look my face, ask, "Sister, where him dey?" I no get answer.

For house, story about eldest young master plenty: say him fine, win first for WAEC, be Chief Song’s favourite student. People say him go soon become secretary to governor.

Market women dey talk: "That Okafor pikin na star!" Even teachers for Jos use him name teach small pikin.

I no sabi all those, but truly, him fine—mama sef na real beauty.

Any time him pass, girls dey giggle, point. Even old mama dey pray make their pikin get his luck.

Now, person like that don lost, nobody know where him dey.

Gossip full. Some say government hide am, others say escape cross river.

Oga Okafor no talk. I sabi say make I no ask, just carry Ifunanya go.

As we waka, my heart heavy. Some story no get answer—only God know.

We rent compound for East Street. Me and Ifunanya come early, collect two east rooms—one stay, one kitchen.

Rooms small, window leak, but I thank God for roof. I sweep, spread mat. Ifunanya help arrange plate.

Three west rooms, na Mr. Hassan family. Him tall, sabi joke, dey call me "Madam Wine," always dey laugh.

Mrs. Hassan quiet but get better mind, sabi sew handkerchief and sachet. Her husband dey sell am.

Mrs. Hassan show me thread for needle, turn old cloth to new thing. Ifunanya dey follow her, dey help cut.

I fit sew cloth and shoe but no sabi embroidery, so I make Ifunanya learn from Mrs. Hassan when she free. Ifunanya quick to learn. The fish and snail I bring, na Ifunanya and Mrs. Hassan children dey chop pass.

Sometimes, Ifunanya go sneak snail for their pot, the children go laugh, shout "Aunty, thank you!" Life dey sweet small-small.

Benue River cold like stone, water dey bite leg, so I park my boat for one corner. Some old customers miss my food, so I cook for house, dey deliver. After food, Ifunanya dey sleep. When she sleep, I work under lamp, dey sew shoe.

Night cold, lamp flicker, but that small sound of her breath dey give me peace. I dey dream of better days.

The stove dey use firewood, smoke plenty, so I dey leave small space for window. Before sleep, I off fire, let air enter before I close window.

Sometimes, mosquito bite me well, but na so e be. Safety first. Every night I pray before I close eye.

I don reach fifteen, anywhere I go, dem go say I don big.

Neighbours hail me: "Ogechi, you don big, no be small pikin!" I laugh, tie scarf tighter.

To hustle for Benue River no easy. People dey find trouble, especially as I be girl with small sister.

Dem dey eye my fish, sometimes wan cheat me. I sabi hold my own, but fear dey sometimes.

But river get rules—if you pay protection money, boys go look your back.

Sometimes I drop small money for "boys"—na dem keep peace for river. If wahala wan come, I show my pass.

I no fear work, na trouble I dey fear.

I dey pray say my hand clean. I avoid bad people, no let eye too open for night.

So when person knock door, my heart jump. For Makurdi, na only me and Ifunanya—who wan find us for night?

I freeze, look window, see nothing. My chest dey drum.

“Who dey there?”

I raise voice.

“My surname na Okafor.”

The voice outside cool and sweet—man voice. Okafor? No time to think. I carry wrapper, jump from bed.

My hand dey shake, but I open door with courage I no know say I get.

As I open, he waka enter. I quick close am.

Him feet no make sound, but him presence full room. I stand for back, watch.

He stand by bed, back face me, look Ifunanya. House small—curtain separate bed from main room. He pull am, everywhere clear.

Ifunanya curl for mat, sleep deep. He bend, brush her hair from face, small smile for mouth.

He tall, wear dark agbada, hair neat with cap.

Quality cloth, no be market own. Him perfume light, smell of wood and dust.

I fit guess who he be, but I no ask. I just stand, let him look.

Silence full room, except firewood for stove. I wait.

I add wood to stove, boil water, pour him tea—na the same tea I serve customers, nothing special, but e dey okay.

I drop cup, sit for edge of chair. Him hand steady as he collect tea, eyes never leave Ifunanya.

As he come out from curtain, lamp dim, but I see am well.

Lamp light catch him face, skin glow. I dey watch him eyes, deep like river after rain.

People for house say him fine like white sand and gold. Before, I no understand, but now, I get am.

If to say I no dey inside, I for think na film star waka enter house. He carry grace and sadness for face.

He resemble madam, just eyebrow thick, eyes wey dey tempt person. Even if he no smile, he look gentle. Nose straight, lips no too thin, jawline sharp.

If you see him for market, you go notice. Even boys for street go clear road.

If you look well, small black mole dey under mouth, but everything about him cold and fine.

The mole like sign, na only Okafor blood sabi. Me, I no forget.

Cold and fine—just to say him fine no reach. Him skin white die.

He no smile, but eye dey talk. The kind person wey fit break heart with silence.

He no remove agbada, just sit, pick tea I pour.

He sip, no make sound. He reason deep.

Even him hands fine. True, fine person no get fault.

The ring for finger shine. Na person with class.

Him eyes dark, deep; if he look you, your heart fit shake.

The kind eyes wey dey see tomorrow. I look floor, dey pray make I no make mistake.

From the cloth he wear, you go know he never poor—white senator wear under agbada na pure quality, worth plenty. If him never poor, why him never rescue Okafor family?

I wonder, but I lock mouth. Na house people fit judge their own.

Palace wahala plenty. I no ask, I no even wan know. I just stand, dey wait for his question.

If e wan talk, e go talk. My own na to listen.

“Calm and brave—you get mind. No wonder you fit protect Chinyere.” Him voice low and cool. I no fit look am for eye, just bow my head.

My ear dey hot. Compliment from person like am dey heavy for body.

“Take this. Tomorrow, find way leave city, deliver it to Pastor Emmanuel at Christ Redeemer Church. This matter serious. You must shine your eye. If another way dey, I no go come find you.”

Him voice strong. I collect bundle, feel weight. Like book.

I no wan collect, but as I hear urgency and helplessness, I bone, collect am.

For my heart, I swear: whatever this be, I go deliver.

He wrap am for cloth, like book, no too thick. As he give me, e still warm from him hand.

I hold am for chest, nod. No fit talk.

“Young master, abeg take care. Okafor family still dey wait for you for cell.”

I talk, voice small. Tears prick my eye.

He stand to go. At last, I no fit hold myself—for Ifunanya, for Okafor family—I talk.

I beg with eye, "Remember your people."

He nod, then suddenly smile, the thing shine like sun.

The smile scatter all the sorrow for room. I shock small.

“You no fear say Okafor family and me fit be bad people?”

The question hang. I look am, heart strong.

“I only know say Okafor family treat me well. That one reach.” If not for them, who know where I for dey now.

I stand by my truth. Loyalty sure.

He nod and waka go.

His footsteps light, but the room feel empty as he close door.

Christ Redeemer Church no be ordinary church. Dem dey open only first and fifteenth. Tomorrow no be those days, so to enter hard—talk less see pastor.

People dey talk say pastor na man of mystery. Church sit for hill, old fence, heavy gate. Some say prayer from there dey reach heaven quick.

Early morning, I leave Ifunanya with Mrs. Hassan, go Jilong Hill.

I tie best wrapper, rub small powder, dey pray as I waka. Harmattan breeze cold for face.

Though dem call am hill, Jilong no steep. I don used to wahala; small hill no be anything.

Leg dey pain, but I focus. As I reach top, I see city like toy.

For church gate, door lock well. Inside, I hear choir and drum.

Sound dey sweet, make mind calm. I wipe sweat, knock.

I knock many times before small altar boy come. Fine, fair, like five or six years. He see me, join hand: “If aunty wan do prayer or fulfil vow, abeg come back first or fifteenth.”

Voice sharp, pidgin thick. I bend, try smile, "Abeg, my pikin, na urgent matter."

He cute, I wan touch head, but I fear. I carry two coconut sweet from my bag—the one I dey use bribe Ifunanya.

Eye light up, but he dey form strong.

He purse mouth, hesitate, no gree collect. I open hand, put am inside.

He look me like magician. Small smile flash.

“I no come for prayer. Go tell your pastor say him pikin from outside world come see am.”

I twist story, hope say trick work. Voice soft but serious.

I know say na lie, but which choice I get?

For Naija, sometimes you gas play smart. God go understand.

If not for gist wey I hear for boat, I for no even try.

Fishermen for Benue dey run mouth. Their stories long, sometimes truth dey inside.

Pastor Emmanuel, before pastor, na former king’s pikin. Present king still dey call am Uncle.

For city, dem whisper his name. "The day Pastor Emmanuel talk, even chief keep quiet."

When fifth prince rebel, pastor was sent to fight am. Prince Huai kidnap family, threaten am. Princess, fear say dem go use her, burn palace. When he return, na only burnt body remain.

People talk say na so life hard reach—palace turn ashes overnight.

Dem talk say one nurse escape with small princess, but nobody know where. After years, pastor turn pastor for Jilong Hill.

Na there faith begin, say even royal blood fit turn man of God.

If princess survive, she go be about fifteen or sixteen now.

Rumour full market. Some say she live like orphan, others say she die. Nobody sure.

Small altar boy too small to know pastor story, but he go call person.

I dey pity am, face too fresh for wahala. But e go bring help.

Since I reach here, I no fear. As for pretending to be princess, I hear say many don try, but nobody die for it.

People yarn say, "If you lie for pastor, na your cross o." I no get fear. Na God dey judge.

The prince na pastor now—he no dey kill again.

Dem say he dey forgive anybody. I just pray say e go see my good heart.

Soon, fat deacon come out, belly round, nose red, cheek full. For another person, e for ugly, but for am, e just dey funny.

He wear white robe, sandal big. Smile for face, like say he just chop suya.

He look me up and down, dey smile. “How you sure say you be pastor pikin?”

Tone gentle, no vex. I gree smile small.

Me sef no sure, so I no claim am.

I just shake head, voice low, "I dey hope."

“I just dey guess. If the story true, I fit. Only pastor know—he know him pikin.”

I wait, chest dey beat. I no fit control hope.

I just wan see the man.

If I fit see pastor, I go do my part, return house.

As I talk am like true, fat deacon look altar boy, ask for hand. Small boy open, deacon pinch sweet, chop, waka go.

I hide laugh. Altar boy look am big eye.

Small boy shock. I pat shoulder, no fit laugh.

I tell am, "No vex, Musa. Life na turn by turn."

“Wetin be your name?”

“Musa.”

Voice low. He rub eye, small frown.

He look so sad, like he wan cry.

I pat back, whisper, "Musa, na small thing. Next time, hide your sweet."

“Musa, hear your sister. Anytime your master chop your food, scratch him door when he dey sleep. If e no work, spit for your food before you chop—make he try chop am again. This time, forgive am. Next time I come, I go bring more sweet."

He open mouth, surprise. Then, nod, smile. "Thank you, aunty."

I squat, dey talk.

I rub cheek, stand, chest light.

Musa never hear this kind advice, just dey look me.

Na true—nobody teach small boy survival for big man house.

Soon, his master return, carry me inside, Musa dey follow, wan talk but no talk. I smile for am; maybe he dey see me as strong woman.

I see small hope for his eye. I pray God guide am.

Pastor Emmanuel just finish preaching, dey wait for me under baobab tree for backyard. Even though na harmattan, tree still green.

Tree big, shadow cover yard. Pastor stand alone, hand behind back, dey look sky.

If no be bald head and cloth, you no go know say na pastor.

Cloth clean, voice soft. Face wey carry wahala but no show am.

He too fine. Even though wahala touch am, you no go see for body—na only wisdom and calmness, age hard to guess.

True man of peace, I bow, greet. "Daddy, good morning, sir."

Everybody waka leave. He stand under tree, dey turn prayer beads. From far, like painting.

Breeze blow, beads click. He close eye, whisper prayer.

“I don sin, pastor. Abeg forgive me. I no get choice, na why I lie today.”

Voice low, heart heavy. I no fit look face.

I bow. Maybe he don tire for disappointment; face no change.

Eyes kind, just wave hand. "Na God dey judge."

I give bundle. He open, look, close am.

He read fast, no talk. Face serious, but no vex.

“Which sin? Young girl wey get mind and sense no dey plenty. Uche talk anything?”

The way he call Uche, I know say na true Okafor family. Voice gentle, mind calm.

Voice clear, sweet, make person wan listen.

I feel safe, like I fit trust am with all my secret.

“No.” Uche na courtesy name for eldest Okafor.

I whisper, "He just talk say make I bring am."

“If he reach me, e mean say wahala dey. If you ever need help, come find me. Wetin be your name, aunty? Wetin you dey do?”

Pastor look my eye, like say he dey see my soul. I no fit lie.

“Ogechi, Ogechi Nwosu. I dey sell palm wine for Benue River.”

I talk with small pride. My work na dignity.

“Good girl, you fit go.”

Hand tap my shoulder. "May God protect you." My heart lift as I waka go.

As keke napep carry me go, my mama voice still dey my ear: "No forget who you be!"

I no know wetin tomorrow go bring, but I swear, I go deliver this message if na the last thing I do.