Betrayed to the Chief’s Son: Raid or Die / Chapter 6: Alone, But Not Defeated
Betrayed to the Chief’s Son: Raid or Die

Betrayed to the Chief’s Son: Raid or Die

Author: Krystal Smith


Chapter 6: Alone, But Not Defeated

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All classmates dey look me with disdain. Dem eye red, face twist. "She don start again," one boy hiss. "Lip mole—she think say we no sabi count?" Na nickname dem give me. "No be the class beauty talk am? Ijeoma dey always thief class money, she no dey ever change."

Class prefect lips curl into smile. Cold smile, like say she get plan. I realise quick: na class prefect switch slips while talking just now. She waka near me, eye dey shine. She fit pass for sly cat. My hand dey shake, but I dey boil inside.

"Okay, okay." She dey wave hand like peacemaker, but eyes sharp. Class prefect step forward to settle matter, acting sorry: voice dey shake small, but na fake. She hold my shoulder, "E no good to lie, Ijeoma. Na small wahala. Ijeoma, you draw to stay here. No dey cheat. Everybody else, follow me go chief’s residence."

She dey smile, but wickedness for tone. People dey clap, dey praise her sense.

I clench fist, rush forward. "Na you! Na you switch am!" My leg move before brain, voice loud. Sports prefect immediately grab my arm rough and say, "He grip my wrist like say e wan drag me go SARS office. You dey craze? Why you dey shout?"

His eyes dey fire. If na street, e for break bottle. "You say na class prefect switch am, so e switch? Liar. Abeg, you for just die better."

Others dey laugh, some support am. My hand dey pain, but nobody send me. If I move, he fit break my hand. I just bite lip, keep quiet. Tears gather for eye, but I force am back. I go survive. My papa say, "Na patient dog dey chop biggest bone."

Class prefect laugh soft, dey whisper to friends, act like queen for palace. Before leaving, she stand for sun, mouth to me, "Ijeoma, goodbye forever." Her voice cold, no pity. Na as if she dey dismiss stray dog for gutter.

Dem leave. Their shadow vanish, dust rise. Shrine empty. Na raffia mat wey don tear, red earth for ground, and one old calabash with cowrie dey corner. Even rat run hide.

Others feel abandoned and scared. Some shiver, some curse, some pray. "God, abeg, no let us die here."

Everybody restless. One boy dey walk up and down, another dey tap floor with stick. Noise dey, but hope no dey. "Wetin we go do… Any way dey for us to see chief’s son?"

Their voice weak, some dey cry softly. Hunger dey show for face. I brush dust off body, slowly stand up. Wrapper dirty, leg dey pain, but spirit stubborn. I no go gree.

Everybody don go. Only small shadow remain for ground. My heart dey beat fast, but head dey clear. Finally… I fit breathe. Fake smile, fear, everything drop for ground. Na real Ijeoma come out.

No need to pretend again. Mind sharp, eye shine. I ready for anything.

Tunde, Yoruba class rep, try hold my hand. "Ijeoma, abeg, no go alone. You sabi say this place no be Lagos street. Where you dey go? E better make we all stay together find plan."

He dey beg, voice soft. Others dey watch, dey wait my next move. Some hiss, one girl eye me up and down, "She no get respect, na why her life dey always hard."

"Why you dey ask her? Person like her suppose just die."

Tunde scratch head, smile awkward, but you fit see say he wan help. But at the end, let go. He sigh, shake head, "I wish you well. If you survive, no forget us."

Leaving shrine, world outside loud, hot, full of strange sound. Heart dey race, legs steady. I waka through ancient streets, observe unfamiliar faces. People dey sell, buy, shout. Old women dey hawk puff-puff, children run, goats block road. I blend in, eye for ground.

For every alley and market, smell of fried oil, smoke from burning wood, cry of meat seller dey everywhere. Life hard, but people dey survive. Sunlight shine on me, almost too bright. I squint, use hand cover eye. Sun dey burn, but e also dey ginger my spirit.

On first night after transmigrating, na confusion full everywhere. People dey run, class beauty dey dance, even spirits fit dey watch us. I still waka round streets. Feet dey pain, but I stubborn, dey scout safe place.

That time, na night. Darkness everywhere, only lantern light. Some dey sneak for corner, others dey find food. River full of lanterns, class beauty dey dance with confidence on pleasure boat, night market busy. You go think say festival dey happen, with all the colour, dance and wahala.

Now, daytime, streets still crowded. Children drag toy, old men gist. Traders shout price, one mama fry akara by roadside. E be like this kingdom no get curfew, business dey boom. No police wahala, no touts. Market dey flow like Lagos Balogun market.

After I plan small for my mind, I take deep breath, adjust wrapper. I dey set plan – survival mode activate. I tap tattoo, whisper low, "System, abeg, make I use 5 points buy gold. Exchange all 5 points for gold."

System reply: "You currently get 8 points. After exchange, you go remain 3 points, so you fit only survive 3 more days. Continue?"

System voice sure, like union bank. "Yes."

I nod, voice sure. If die dey come, make e come when I get chance fight back. No wahala.

I smile, small confidence enter heart. If na game, I go play am my way. The game just start.

For my mind, I dey hear my mama voice: "My pikin, na strong head dey win for this life." I ready. Let dem see how far I fit go, even if na alone. For this game, na strong head be my only weapon. Make dem try me.

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