Chapter 1: The Day I Died

The year I turn nine, my papa start dey follow the aunty wey dey live for next compound.

E get as e be that time—everybody for our street sabi the matter. If breeze blow, na so gossip go fly reach our window. The sun go set, women go gather under mango tree, dey yarn the latest tori. Na my mama own pain dey loud pass all. Sometimes, for night, I go hear her dey sniff, dey whisper prayers wey no get answer.

When my mama find out, she use blade cut her own wrist and even my own join. Blood soak my wrapper, my cry no reach anybody ear for that night.

She dey cry, dey talk say na only death fit make papa come sense.

But last last, na only me waka go.

I waka for this world as spirit reach ten years.

Papa and that aunty born pikin—my small sister.

Mama too start another family, born one boy—my small brother.

All of them forget me finish, and hunger just dey worry me.

Sometimes at night, when rain dey fall, the hunger go choke me like harmattan breeze for empty stomach, like garri without sugar—dry, sharp, no comfort. I go dey float around, dey peep their windows, dey hear laughter wey no reach my side. My spirit go dey twist, dey wonder if I still dey matter.

So I begin send them dream.

Dem promise say dem go do remembrance for me—as we dey do for dead person.

But when I reach where dem promise, na only one church prophetess I see.

The woman tie gele like say na battle, dey spray olive oil everywhere. She no even look my side, just dey shout prayer. My own people no show face at all. The thing pain me reach bone.