Chapter 3: My Orphan Story and the Weight of Justice

I be orphan.

People always dey remind me for school, "You no get papa or mama, na God be your backbone." I learn to keep my voice low, to no do pass myself, but sometimes the loneliness dey bite hard.

My mama pick me one day—the same day wey street boys chase me comot for the foot of Okpoko Hills.

I still remember the red sand for my knee, the hot tears, the way those boys dey throw stone dey shout, "Make you comot for here, bad luck pikin!"

My head no too sharp, I no sabi beg for money, and I dey chop pass my own, so dem no like me.

Any small thing, I dey ask for extra piece of bread. My mouth sharp for food, but for talk, I slow like tortoise.

Na after my mama carry me come house I come know say she be barren woman—woman wey no fit born pikin. (For olden days, dem believe say barren woman no fit get belle.)

For this side, barren woman dey suffer. Dem go use style dey mock her for market, dey call am "empty pot" for back. But my mama just dey gentle, dey do her work, dey give food to who need am.

But she tell me say God dey fair: as she no fit born, heaven come dash her one pikin.

She say, "God no dey close eye for anybody. As I dey pray for pikin, na so He answer me with you."

She call me Ebuka.

She go rub my head, smile say, "Your name mean 'God is great.' I carry you because God no fit let my house empty."

She say, “Your mama sabi cook pass anybody for this area, your papa na the most promising senior brother for the whole group. With the two of us behind you, we no dey pray make you get money or fame—just make you dey live happy, carefree, dey do your own.”

Anytime I wan cry for night, she go rub my back, hum that old tune, "Wetin you carry for mind, drop am for ground, let joy enter." Her voice soft like new yam.

I really believe am.

Small time, I begin dey smile, dey forget say I no get real parents before. I begin see myself as better pikin.

Everyday I go ride my papa shoulder like say na horse, dey order food from my mama.

Neighbours dey laugh say, "See Ebuka, na true king for house be this!" My papa go just dey smile, dey carry me like say I be egg.

I too like yam.

If my mama wan beg me make I do anything, she go just dangle yam for my front. I go jump like frog.

We get one cellar for house full of yam just for me, and if e ever finish, my papa go carry me go market to buy more.

Sometimes e go carry me waka go bush, make I help am dig, just to teach me patience. I go complain, but once I see the yam, wahala go end.

So sometimes I dey wonder: if yam dey house that day, or if I no like yam too much, maybe my mama for no die?

Maybe if we no travel go buy yam, we for dey house when fire start. My heart dey pinch me, as if na me cause am.

Maybe spirit woman for no burn her to ashes?

I dey replay am for my mind, dey beg God for forgiveness, dey wish things different. But time no dey wait for anybody.

The spirit woman disguise as my mama, even carry my mama scent.

Even her laugh begin sound almost like my mama own. I remember one night, I hug her for kitchen, I smell that same shea butter and pepper soup, but inside me, something no pure.

First two days, I no notice anything.

She dey try act normal—go cook, sweep, hum gospel tune. My papa dey relax, dey play draught for evening.

But on the third day, I just know say something dey wrong.

She look me one kind, her eye cold like night wey breeze no dey. She snap at me for no reason, even forget the way my mama dey call me "my joy."

My mama no fit ever look me with cold eye, she no dey tire for me, she no go ever tell my papa say I dey disturb and make e carry me go, she no go ever say she wan get real pikin with my papa.

My papa just smile gentle.

He just dey manage, dey say, "Women dey change sometimes." But I see the way his hand dey tremble as he dey hold my mama—spirit woman—arm.

He say she don finally change, come carry her enter room.

But as the door close, my papa eye change, e turn sharp.

I see am from corner of my eye: him face harden, him hand dey near cutlass, him jaw dey set like hunter wey dey stalk prey.

I hug my knees, sit down under the veranda, dey watch the candle for window dey shake, dey watch my papa draw cutlass face her.

Night dey quiet, only cricket dey sing. I press myself for ground, dey listen to faint voice, dey hope say nothing go spoil.

But wetin mortal power fit do?

Spirit get their own wahala. Even if man strong reach, spirit pass am. My chest dey heavy as I dey pray, "God, abeg save my papa."

The spirit woman wound my papa bad, scatter our house finish.

Furniture break, plates scatter, dust cover everywhere. I hide under bench, dey watch blood drip from my papa mouth, him leg dey shake.

She talk with pride, “Woman wey no fit born—na woman be that? I help her go reincarnate early, and you dey draw cutlass for me because of her?

Ungrateful person.

I be spirit woman o, you be mere mortal, you dey craze say you fit challenge me? I even look you finish, carry you serve me—na your luck. If you no want live, I fit send your whole family join for fire.”

Her voice deep like thunder. My heart freeze. I just dey wish I fit disappear.

My papa spit blood.

But e no shout, e no beg. Him pride too strong. I feel shame and pain join.

And the spirit woman waka comot, still dey form big madam.

She bounce shoulder, snap finger, vanish. After she leave, breeze blow through window, scatter remaining ash for room.

I think tire that night, dey wonder if na true say spirit woman love everybody.

As I dey roll for mat, my mind no rest. How person fit say she dey do good, but na evil she do for another man house?