Chapter 1: The Hospital Wahala

My papa na the crown prince for Abuja big men circle. My mama na fish seller pikin. For this Abuja, nobody ever believe say their marriage go last. When I reach seven years, my papa get serious motor accident, come lose him memory. As e wake up, na so e begin shout say e wan divorce. E just bone face talk, “I for dey mad that time wey I gree marry fish seller pikin.”

For Abuja, if your papa be big man and your mama na market woman, na real gbege be that. Everybody for our street dey always gossip, dey wonder how my papa take pick my mama from all the fine fine girls wey dey waka for city. Sometimes, when I dey waka for Wuse market with mama, the way people go dey point, dey whisper, e be like say I carry signboard for head say, 'I be fish seller pikin.' Na only for our compound, when rain dey pour like say e wan finish ground, mama go drag me inside, say make we pray, say God go still fight for us.

The Okafor family just dey happy for corner. Dem rush go call him ‘childhood sweetheart’—the woman wey e dey hide dey like since—make she come quick come claim her position. The hospital room door open, na so woman wey wear pink rain boots and flower rubber apron waka enter. My papa just freeze, inhale one kain. E come talk for low voice, “First love, your wahala too much.”

You need see as Okafor family members dey beam smile, like say dem win jackpot. As the woman waka enter with her pink rain boots—imagine for dry season o!—and the flower apron, everywhere just still. Nurses even pause, dey peep from behind curtain. The smell of Dettol mix with faint perfume, but papa just dey look am, as if spirit hold am.

But na just my mama, wey rush come from fish market, still dey smell fish.

Even as people dey look down on my mama, e no dey shake her. Her hand still dey wet from where she wash tilapia, small scales stick for her apron. The scent follow her enter room, like say na warning bell. She enter with back straight, face strong. Na only for inside, I sabi say she dey shake.

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My mama no fit talk. As she enter, she and my papa just dey look each other, nobody gree talk. I stand near my papa bed, dey hear him calm voice: “First love, your wahala too much.”

For that moment, silence heavy like stone. Even the air wey dey come from the AC get weight. I hold my breath, dey hope say papa go remember us, but e just dey talk like person wey dey inside Nollywood story.

Okafor family people full everywhere, some no even hear wetin him talk, dem just dey gossip.

You for see as dem dey yarn with low voice—dem dey whisper as if their mouth dey pain dem. One aunty hold handkerchief cover her nose, eye dey my mama like say na her body dey spoil the room.

“Kemi, you see am? You even fit marry woman wey dey smell fish.”

E be like Nollywood story. One uncle bend, whisper for another person ear, shake head. Their belle dey sweet them as dem dey talk nonsense.

“Her mama na juju woman—she fit don use charm hold you.”

Dem even dey talk say my mama na witch, say na only way wey she fit marry big man. Their voice dey low, but I still dey hear. I dey squeeze my small hand inside pocket, dey fight tears.

“Kemi na UK graduate, she wait for you all these years. At last, God don open eye…”

Dem dey talk Kemi matter as if na holy person. People just dey count all her achievement, as if say education na guarantee to marry prince. My chest dey hot.

Second Uncle come forward, tell my papa make him talk straight. “Okafor Group legal people don write agreement already. Sign am now.”

E present the paper as if na court. Dem arrange everything sharp sharp. Even pen dey ready for papa hand, like say na urgent contract.

Through the glass, I see my papa ‘first love’ stand outside door. Her mouth dey form smile, everything about her just dey gentle and posh. No be like my mama wey dem call last minute, still wear apron full of fish scale. From the way things be these days, she don already sabi wetin dey happen.

Na as if she sabi say everything don set for her. Her pose get style—dem type wey attend etiquette school. Her fingers no get single scratch, nails shine like person wey never wash plate before.

She sniff, collect the agreement. Papa press am down with him hand, voice cold like harmattan breeze. “Wait, na you I marry?” For him face, one kind lonely look dey hide. The two of them dey hold one side of the agreement each, papa hand strong, no wan let go. I know am—papa dey always treat us well. This amnesia no mean anything.

I fit see small hope for mama eye as dem dey drag the paper. E be like say, somewhere deep, papa still get small memory. But e face hard, eye no dey blink. Even Okafor family dey confused small.

But next thing, e frown, point for the part wey talk about property. “Five million?” E look up, him eye land for my mama body with disgust. “I don dey vex since, you still want chop money join food?” E signal Secretary Musa, “Draft new agreement. Just pay her nanny money for the work she do, nothing extra.”

Na so my heart cut. Dem dey reason my mama like househelp. Papa voice come out sharp, make people shiver small. Secretary Musa, wey be correct northern man, always dey smell of attar perfume and prayer bead dey his hand, just nod quick, dey write another agreement with biro wey him always carry for chest pocket.

Okafor family people just relax. I hold my mama cloth, look Kemi for door. Her mouth dey move, dey mock me: “You this rubbish pikin, carry yourself commot.”

If to say na market, my mama for answer am. But she just dey hold me tight, her hand cold for my skin. Kemi eye dey shine, she fit dey happy say she don win. The kind insult wey she dey whisper, only me fit hear am, and e pain reach bone.

But as I dey wipe my tears, I swear for my mind—this wahala never finish.