Chapter 2: Family Turn Enemy

Doctor give critical condition notice.

You fit see as every face for the hospital corridor change, like say cold breeze just pass. Everybody dey gather, whisper dey full air. Even cleaner wey dey mop floor pause, dey peep from behind glass.

As Olumide dey talk, family members enter the ward one by one to see am for the last time.

Dem dey waka gently, some dey sniff, others dey wipe face with handkerchief. You go hear quiet murmurs, prayers, and all those small small Yoruba or Igbo words people dey use when pesin dey near grave.

When my papa and mama in-law come out of the ward dey cry, Olumide personal assistant, Sani Musa, lock the door behind them.

Sani Musa na tall, quiet man from the North. He always wear that serious face, even now as tears dey his eye, he just bow head, carry responsibility like good pikin.

"Madam, Mr. Olumide say e no fit bear make you see am for him last moment. E beg say make you no enter," Sani Musa talk am polite but e no gree.

He drop him voice, almost like say e dey beg, but e stand for door like rock. For Naija, if dem no want you enter, even if you be wife, you no go cross that line.

My mama-in-law wipe her tears, come dey try console me. "Ngozi, I know say you and Olumide love each other well well. Olumide just no want make you dey sad. Abeg, listen to am, my pikin."

She pat my back like say she dey carry my pain, but her own eye sharp, dey search my face, dey judge my heart. For this life, sometimes even tears na strategy.

My papa-in-law voice come hard. "Na him last wish be this. No dey do stubborn."

His words heavy, no room for argument. The kind tone wey elders dey use when dem no want any wahala again. I feel the weight, like stone for my chest.

I just dey look the ward door wey dem lock tight. My heart dey shake, cold dey catch my body.

E be like say breeze enter my bone. I grip my wrapper tighter, try balance, but my leg dey weak. For Naija, door fit separate you from destiny.

I no ever think say Olumide—the man wey everybody dey praise say him love him wife pass him own life—na big liar.

All those sweet talk, wedding anniversary surprises, the public display for church — now e dey look like movie trick. For Naija, love dey sweet, but betrayal dey bitter like bitterleaf soup wey dem no put enough oil.

E say e no fit leave me. But na lie. Na excuse e use so e fit avoid me, make e fit see Aisha Bello, him first sugar for life wey just come back from UK, explain him last matter give her.

You go hear people talk say 'first love dey hard to forget', but I never know say e fit push husband go do this kin thing. I bite my tongue, try hold myself make I no scatter for corridor.

For my first life, I believe Olumide just dey fear say I go too sad. I kneel down for outside the ward, dey cry, dey beg for five hours make I see am one last time.

Rain begin dey fall that evening, breeze dey blow dust enter my eye, but I no gree move. Nurses waka pass, some pity me, some just dey look.

I kneel sotay my knees numb, bruise, till him heart stop. Door no open.

Blood soak my gown, people dey whisper, but door remain like stone wall. My heart crack, my spirit break. Na so I learn say for this country, sometimes na power pass power.

I swallow my pain and regret, force myself arrange all Olumide burial matter.

As first daughter-in-law, I no get choice. I carry list, call pastor, arrange cow, settle gravediggers, collect condolence money — all with heavy heart. Even as tears dey my eye, I still dey greet people "E kaaro, E pele."

As funeral dey about to finish, Aisha Bello show with Olumide will and lawyer.

E be like say thunder strike. Even elders wey dey pray stop, look up. People dey shift body, dey whisper. Na so drama enter like film.

Lawyer announce for there say Olumide get frozen sperm for private fertility clinic.

Everybody mouth open, some women shout "O di egwu!" Lawyer voice steady, as e read will like na judge for court. Even the village head begin adjust him cap.

According to the will, na only Aisha Bello fit use Olumide frozen sperm, and all him property and company shares go reach him pikin—meaning Aisha Bello pikin.

The shock hit me like slap. People begin dey look me with side eye, some dey nod, others dey frown. Naija family matter, inheritance dey cause wahala pass juju.

Before I fit recover from the shock, my papa and mama in-law turn face me.

They no even allow me breathe. Their voice dey loud, pain and accusation dey their face.

"You marry for five years, you still no gree born. You drag am till my son die. You wicked woman, na to cut off Olumide family line you want!"

I wan shout say na lie, but my throat dry. Who go believe widow wey never born?

Tears dey their eye, but their words na knife. You know that kin way old people go talk, neighbors go gather, everybody go point finger at you? Na my turn be that.

"Olumide family no ever do you bad. If you try stop Aisha from born, I go die here for this mourning parlour today!"

She drop for ground, roll small, dey shake body. You go think say na Nollywood film, but this na real life. Some relatives dey hold am, dey shout "Egbami!" "Chineke!"

My papa and mama in-law cry sotay, put all the blame for my head.

I wan talk, but words no come. Na so pain just press my chest, I dey wonder how family fit change face overnight like masquerade. Dem say, "If snake no show itself, people go call rope snake." Today, na me be the snake.

But na Olumide no want pikin. Me sef, as I wan give Olumide family heir, I even poke hole for condom, and I don already carry belle—posthumous pikin.

Na so shame catch me, but my belly dey heavy with secret. I rub am gently, dey whisper prayer under my breath, beg God make my pikin strong pass all this wahala. I whisper, "Jehovah, cover my pikin with your blood. Make enemy no see am."

All my explanation lost inside the noise of relatives accusation.

Nobody dey listen. Some dey point finger, some dey talk, "She be witch!" One old uncle even dey shake staff, dey mutter, "Women of nowadays!"

"Olumide treat you well, you no fit even give am pikin."

Na so I hear am. Somebody mutter, "Na man dey bring luck, but na woman fit spoil am." I grip my wrapper, try hold tears.

"You dey do anyhow for house. Now you wan born only after your husband die."

If na possible, I for vanish. I dey stand for middle, eye red, heart dey pound.

"Selfish woman. Na you suppose die."

The word hot like pepper. I feel spit land my face, but I wipe am quick, hold my head high. Naija women strong, even when world dey crash.

Relatives vex, chase me comot from funeral.

Dem shout, "Oya, waka! We no wan see you!" Small pikin join dey throw sand, some women dey push me. I carry my dignity, waka slow, no look back.

I waka dey go house, na so I jam accident for road.

For Ajah road, traffic mad, keke dey speed, trailer dey honk. My mind dey far, I no see car wey just miss brake. Sound of crash, then everywhere dark. My slippers fly commot, people dey shout, but my body no fit move. Na only my mind dey run.

Before I die, I see Aisha Bello for another car, as she dey pass. I hear her wicked talk: "Na only me fit born him pikin. You... you no reach."

Her face cold, no pity. I smell her perfume from open window, the kin scent wey dey choke. My spirit vex, but my body weak.

Na that time I know say Aisha Bello don hear my gist. She fear say my unborn pikin go drag inheritance, so na she arrange the accident wey kill me.

Light begin fade, but I dey see truth. My enemies dey smile for public, but for back, dem fit do anything. Naija woman must wise up.

When I open my eye again, na the day Olumide dey critical I return.

I see wall clock, see same nurse, same hospital smell. Tears fill my eye, but anger dey boil my blood. Second chance no dey come every day.

As I get second chance, I no go gree. I go collect back everything wey belong to me.

This time, my eye open, my mind sharp. I swear for myself, 'Dem no go use me do mumu again.'

But this time, I no go beg. I go fight. And anybody wey stand for my way—God help am.