Chapter 7: Night Quarrel

Because I choose cheap shoe and read picture book with my sister, Chinelo’s mama cook one big plate of sweet and sour goat meat for me.

She tie wrapper, dey sing old Igbo song as she dey stir pot. The aroma fill the house. Neighbour children dey peep window, dey ask, "Aunty, we fit come chop?" She go just laugh, say, "Tomorrow o."

That night, for the first time, I chop as I like—take anything, eat as much as I want. No be those set time and measured portion wey my mama dey do.

I dey use hand carry meat, no dey fear spoon etiquette. Na real freedom.

All those healthy, fit-fam food wey follow me grow up just dey perfect but cold. The grilled fish from abroad no get mama warmth at all; e no reach the food wey Chinelo’s mama cook from her heart.

For my old house, even stew dey taste like hospital food. Here, every bite get pepper, love, and laughter.

"Nelo, you dey okay? You dey sick?"

Her voice dey gentle, but worry dey inside. She dey look my face, wan know if I dey fine.

"No, na just… mama, this your sweet and sour goat meat too sweet, I dey fear to finish am."

I lick fingers, dey smile. I never taste this kind food since, the thing dey enter body.

"My pikin, if you like am, chop more! Tomorrow I go still make for you."

She dey talk am like say goat dey plenty for backyard. She no even reason say she fit manage the meat.

As she dey talk, she pack all the goat meat enter my plate, she no keep for herself at all.

I dey look am, my eyes dey wet, but I hide am with laugh. For the first time, I feel like pikin wey dem really care for.

My eye just dey hot. All the pain wey I don carry since, e be like say my body dey heal small small. So, na so e dey feel when mama love you...

I dey try hold tears, but I smile, dey thank her. Her own love dey gentle—e no need big grammar.

E be like cool breeze, like sunshine for harmattan.

As I dey chop, I dey remember harmattan morning for village, when grandmama go give us hot pap. E get that same feeling.

But as I dey enjoy this warmth, wahala burst—Chinelo’s mama and her husband get serious quarrel because of me.

E shock me, because I never see adult quarrel like this just because of ordinary food. My mind dey race.

2 a.m.

I hear door dey open for parlour. Chinelo’s mama quietly comot for bed.

The window dey rattle small, mosquito dey sing, but na the fear for my heart dey loud pass.

As I dey sleep light, I just wake up, and na so I hear man voice dey shout for outside:

"Na just girl pikin! Five hundred naira no reach for food? Why she need more lunch money?"

Him voice dey hard like okada exhaust, e dey vibrate for whole compound. Even dog stop to bark, everybody dey listen.

"Nelo like meat. Now, one meat food fit reach three hundred naira. Sometimes, she need buy pen and book join, so the money no reach."

Her voice dey low, but she stand her ground. I fit imagine her dey twist wrapper for waist.

"If she dey spend money like this, make she just leave school go dey do runs girl!"

That one hit me like slap. I cover mouth, dey cry for pillow. I never hear papa use that kind word before.

Everywhere just quiet. My heart dey beat anyhow.

Do runs girl… Na wetin he mean be that?

I dey fear for Chinelo small sister too. If dem grow under this kind talk, how dem go feel safe?

I no believe papa fit talk that kind wicked thing.

Chinelo’s papa voice dey crack, like say he dey vex from somewhere else. My mind dey pray make neighbour no hear am.

"Husband, three years ago, na you beg me stop work born second pikin, you promise five thousand every month for house. Two years ago, you say pressure too much, reduce am to three thousand five. This year, you dey give me only two thousand. Abeg, make am three thousand five, I go add the extra for our daughter lunch."

She dey beg, voice dey break. I dey imagine her dey hold chin, tears dey her eye.

With one loud bang, like say plate break, Chinelo’s papa shout: "Una three—mama and two daughters—na so una dey worry me for money every day! You no even fit born boy for me. Why I go dey spend three thousand five on una? That money, I fit use am raise chicken, e go dey lay egg for me!"

E pain me for chest, as if na my own papa dey talk. I dey wish I fit just shout make he hear, but I no fit.

Everywhere just freeze.

Even the landlord wey dey smoke for corridor pause, look ground. Nobody fit talk, but all eye dey judge am. Neighbours dey peep window, but nobody talk. Na so Lagos be—everybody dey fight own battle.

I think say after all this insult, Chinelo’s mama go shout divorce.

In my mind, I dey expect make she carry bag, waka commot. But Naija woman, dem dey endure for children sake.

But she no talk anything, she just waka come back inside, eyes red.

Her steps dey slow, as if she carry big stone for chest. She waka go her room, but before she enter, she check me for mat, cover me well.

I sharply close my eyes. She no know say I dey pretend sleep. She cover me well, sit down for my side, dey cry softly.

Her tears dey drop for my hand. I wan talk, but I just hold myself. The pain too much.

But na that night, I understand—poverty fit pain, but wicked papa pain pass.