The Gang Leader Stole My Baby
Chapter 1: Street Wahala and Broken Promises
Seven months belle, undercover police—na that day street wahala expose my secret.
The air that day heavy with Lagos heat—e press my skin, squeeze my throat like hand wey no wan free. That small area boy wey dey always hail me before, na him use the butt of him gun scatter my teeth, break my ribs, then push me for one dark cell.
Even as tears dey roll, I fit still catch the scent of him perfume mix with sweat and cigarette smoke. The pain deep reach bone, but na the betrayal cut pass—na this same boy wey dey bring me puff-puff, now e dey break my jaw. For Naija, trust na something wey get expiry date, and that day I learn am by force.
Inside that darkness, my pikin vanish from my body. The area boss just waka in, carry the lifeless child, and I no see am again.
Wetin pain me pass na say na Musa Okoye—person wey my heart touch before—na him carry my pikin away like sack of yam. For that moment, darkness swallow my scream, hope for my chest scatter like broken plate. The memory of that day dey pursue me like mad spirit for night.
Five years waka pass. One day, small girl just waka enter my cell, look me for face, talk:
"Mummy, Daddy don drink kai-kai, e dey cry dey call your name say e miss you."
Her voice soft, but e sharp for the darkness like cock crow for village. The way she call me 'Mummy' get that sweet pikin innocence. Her bare feet tap for cement, eyes wide—curiosity carry her enter my wahala.
