Chapter 1: The News and the Journey

When my sister-in-law was three months pregnant, she hanged herself.

For our side, people talk say when a woman carry belle and still do such thing, wahala don tie wrapper enter the family. Dem say spirit fit dey hover, especially if pikin dey inside belle. The news weak my legs; I nearly drop my phone when dem call me. Na like say heavy cloud cover my chest, the kind way harmattan dey choke person throat for early morning.

I boarded the night bus back home.

Na Ekene Trans I enter—the only bus wey fit carry person from Jos go Anambra at short notice. The windows dey always dey leak small air, and I just dey pray make I reach before day break. Passengers dey sleep, but my eye no fit close. I smell suya wrapper and old palm wine from the back seat. I dey watch the road, dey count every pothole and checkpoint like say na them go answer my question.

My mother never talked about why my sister-in-law died. She only kept urging me, "Quick, come see her one last time."

She dey call every two hours, her voice dey crack like radio wey get bad battery. "Chinedu, abeg, try reach here today. You must see her before we cover her face." I dey hear the tears for her throat, even though she dey try hide am. For our place, nobody dey let person die waka without last respect, but this one get another wahala.