Chapter 1: Shadows and Shame

For four years, I chased Obinna Nwachukwu like market women chase last bus—shameless, tireless, no shame at all.

People for our street dey gossip, whispering and calling me all sorts of names. But me, I no send, as long as I fit see his face—even if na from far. Rain or sun, I dey there, hovering around him like stubborn mosquito wey nobody fit kill. For this Lagos, where pride na money, I don spend all my own on top his matter.

The guy tire for me, true true.

He no even dey hide am again. If he jam me for market or church, he go just look another direction, face hard like the red sand for our street during harmattan. Sometimes, if our eyes jam by mistake, he fit just hiss and waka go, as if I be one fly wey no dey hear word.

With wahala piling, my family sharply send me go UK.

The story wey dem tell relatives na say I need “exposure” and “fresh air.” But everybody sabi wetin e mean: carry embarrassment comot from house. Dem rush pack me, stamp my passport, my mama dey cry crocodile tears, papa dey complain say school fees for pounds na wahala.

He talk, “Anyhow wey you go do am, make sure she no disturb me again. If not, no blame me if I show my wicked side.”

Obinna’s voice cold pass freezer, that kind threat wey go make even hard man reason am. Na for our gate e talk am, his words sharp like palm kernel shell. My uncle hear am, dey shake head, dey mutter, "This girl don cause wahala."

Drugs, hypnosis, electric shock...

Those things really work.

I forget how e dey feel to love am.

Even memory of am scatter for my head.

Those UK doctors no dey play. Every day, na bitter tablet wey be like punishment, sometimes I go wake see strange marks for my arm. Small time, all the faces from home fade. Even Obinna turn shadow, like song I once love but can’t remember the tune.

He finally gree make I come back house.

My mama call me one Tuesday morning, voice dey bubble. Me, I no feel anything. She talk say Obinna don "forgive" and wahala don finish. I return to Lagos, step down from plane enter thick, familiar air, my heart just dey quiet like say e no dey.

Anywhere he show, I go do everything to dodge am.

Because my mama talk say: that man wey get face like god, na person we no fit offend.

“Don’t even let your shadow cross his own,” she warn me. “E get as e be with that boy. He no be for people like us.”

When I catch him dey kiss my sister, I quietly pull out my phone, wan snap picture.

My hand dey shake. No be jealousy—I no even sabi wetin be that. Maybe na proof say Obinna really don belong to her. Maybe na closure I dey find, evidence to show myself say e don finish.

His eyes suddenly sharp, cold.

He see the small flash, look up. The way he look me, I feel as if I don step barefoot on live wire. My belle drop.

My hand shook on the chair. I nearly swallow my tongue. But I force the words out.

“Sorry, I just think say two of you dey make sense together… una fit abeg.”

The words tumble out, voice shaky, almost ridiculous. The apology just hang there, awkward for air.

I no know why.

The man wey dey always hide him feelings—him eyes shake small.

For the first time, I see small crack for his stone face. E quick, like ripple wey pass for lagoon before everywhere calm again.