Chapter 1: Orange Wahala Burst for Village

To sell all the sweet oranges grown in our village, I try all my runs to ginger the factory manager. Na my papa, my mama, even my neighbor Sikiru own dey inside this wahala. Oranges wey dey sell for 200 naira before now don reach 400 naira, but that price get 200-naira kickback inside, making am 600 naira per kilo altogether.

Even as I dey run up and down, my mind dey hot. For this Naija, who no sabi say small bribe dey hide under big contract? E be like say na only me dey reason am clear. For our side, you go hear people say, "Wetin man go do? Money wey person suppose see, na so e go waka enter another man pocket." Still, I dey hustle, hoping say everything go level at the end.

But just as the factory staff came to collect the oranges, the villagers turned on me sharply:

“Some of una fit no sabi read, but at least una sabi say 400 and 600 no be the same, abi? The contract from the factory talk am clear—600 naira. Ifedike, why you dey tell everybody say na 400 naira you sell am?”

The way them surround me that morning for the village square ehn, e be like I thief goat. Even the old well dey quiet, like say e dey listen. Sun never rise well but sweat dey my armpit. I just stand for center, sweat dey my back even though harmattan never start. Some women fold their arms, men dey grumble, even small pikin dey look me with suspicion. Shame wan catch me.

“So the rest of the money enter your dog belle? You dey chop money on top people sweat! See book wey you go, na so you carry thief sense come back! You no even fit thief well!”

The voice loud pass the rest—na Mama Ngozi, well known for her sharp mouth. Others join: “See as you carry city sense come spoil village. We trust you, you fall our hand. Oloshi!” Some people just dey shake head, whisper among themselves. My chest dey heavy.

“This year we harvest about 400 tons. You fit make 2.4 million, but you wan give villagers just 1.6 million. Where the remaining 800,000 go? You dey pocket 800,000 from both sides. You no get conscience!”

One of the elders tap his walking stick for ground, his voice calm but strong: "Ifedike, I hope say you remember who you be. Our fathers build this village with trust. Don't use your book to collect what you no sow."

I just smiled wide and waka go the next village to buy sweet oranges instead.

I do am with style, make dem no see say the thing pain me. I fit hear dem hiss behind me, but I hold my head high, waka as if nothing dey worry me. Some small children dey follow, dey point, but I no look back. My leg heavy as I waka go.

As for my own village’s oranges, let them rot for ground. Let them see how e be when the only person wey fit run matter waka commot.

No be say I no care; na pride no let me beg. Orange dey everywhere, fruit dey fall for ground, smell dey spread for breeze. I look the trees, my heart dey tight. But I bone, pretend say e no concern me. Make them see how e be when good hand no dey.