Chapter 5: Road Still Dey

Mama Okafor rush come hold my suitcase, but her voice just dey blame me. She block corridor, grip bag tight. Her hand dey shake, eyes red. For her face, na blame dey show, not love.

"This night, you no get anybody for this world. Where you wan go? Wetin dey worry you, this small thing reach like that?"

Her voice dey break—mixture of worry and anger. For Naija, dem no like make pikin waka night, especially girl. But today, my heart dey strong.

Ifunanya real mama no marry and she carry belle that time. After dem swap me and Ifunanya, she no fit raise me, so she abandon me for recycling point. Na Mama Ireti, wey dey pick junk, carry me raise.

For my mind, I dey see dump site, hear the cry of small pikin, the way Mama Ireti hug me first time, call me her angel. My life na miracle—no be Okafor family do am.

But Mama Ireti die when I dey JSS1. That day, rain fall, everywhere dark. Since then, na me dey carry my matter for head. Na so Lagos teach person.

"E reach." I look Okafor family, voice calm. "True true, I no get any other relative, and yes, I dey crave for family, but I no dey foolish."

As I talk, weight for my chest lighten small. For Naija, family important, but if dem no want you, abeg, shift.

Since small, I dey follow Mama Ireti pick junk, and from thirteen, I dey hustle myself. I remember early morning runs, me and Mama Ireti dey comb street for bottles, how I dey sharp to avoid agbero. Life teach me quick.

I quickly learn say for this life, na only me suppose love myself, fight for my own right, and carry my own matter for head. I dey talk with pride—no be shame. My voice dey bold, no shakings.

Una remember wetin I talk when I first come? If pikin no dey get along, na because parents lose virtue. I pause, look all of dem for eye. My words na judgment—no be only advice.

Of course, una fit like the pikin wey una raise, but as parents, una suppose try balance things small. I dey remind dem say family na responsibility. For Naija, parent wey no balance, go dey see kasala.

But clearly, una no try. That one mean say things like today go continue dey happen. I shake head, my chest dey heavy. If to say dem try, we for no dey here dey quarrel.

And I go dey face wahala where I dey right, but still must swallow my pain. My throat dey tight, but I no cry. For my mind, na only Mama Ireti voice I dey hear—"stand gidigba."

When una find me, una suppose don hear say my result dey sharp. School no dey collect school fees or hostel money from me. I sabi repair computer, and I get account wey get over 200,000 followers. As I talk, I dey lift chin small, pride dey my eyes. For Naija, talent and hustle dey important pass anything.

"Even if I no get money, I fit take care of myself. I go enter better university. I no need una help." My voice no dey break—na so Mama Ireti teach me. If road close, create your own.

I come back because I get hope for family and home. I swallow saliva, eye dey red. Na hope carry me come, but disappointment welcome me.

"But since I see say nothing dey here for me, and I no fit even get common respect or fairness, why I go stay?" I talk am slow, voice steady, make the words burn. I dey look Mama Okafor, Papa Okafor, even Ifunanya and Ebuka.

As I talk am finish, I drag my suitcase from Mama Okafor hand and waka go, no look back. She try pull me back, but I free myself. For my mind, I dey shout—"no be only you get future, I get my own."

For this estate area, taxi no dey, so I just ride my bicycle, dey follow map. Bicycle na my companion, the one wey I fix myself. I tie scarf for head, zip up jacket, pedal into night.

The air cold, streetlight dey flicker, and generator hum dey background. I no even know how long I ride before one black car block my road. Na big jeep, tinted glass, horn dey sharp. I park, hand dey sweat. Na so I dey ready run if e be kidnapper.

As I wan reverse pass another way, Papa Okafor and Chisom come down from the car. Their face dey serious, Papa Okafor hand for pocket, Chisom dey look ground. For once, no vex for their face—just tiredness.

Papa Okafor stand for my front for long, then finally sigh—like person wey don surrender—then talk to Chisom:

He clear throat, then say: "No matter how far person waka, e fit still return house."

His sigh long, like person wey finally gree say e no fit win fight. The moon dey shine, breeze dey blow small. Night don enter, but hope fit still find person.

"Chisom, abeg, apologize to your sister."

The words hang for air, everybody quiet. Na so I wait, my hand still dey grip my bicycle handle. For Naija, when papa talk say make elder apologize, matter no be small. For my chest, I dey hope say this na small beginning, say maybe tomorrow fit still better.

As Papa Okafor talk, my chest dey drum—maybe, just maybe, tomorrow go different.