Chapter 2: Shame, Blood, and Secret Prayers

1

The first time wey I see Hauwa Lanre na for border, where red earth full everywhere. The place dey smell of sweat, gunpowder, and the dry wind wey fit cut person skin. Na so I know say my journey don start for ground wey no dey pity.

Soldiers with their uniform dey waka up and down, dey gist anyhow as dem reach the tents. Dem boots dey scatter dust, laughter dey rise and fall. The sky dey orange, like say even sun sef dey tire for this kain life.

"Guys, luck dey our side today o. Dem say Abuja send come some new women wey dem accuse of crime. Tsk, make I tell una, women from Abuja—their skin dey soft like water. Just dey think am dey make my body do me somehow."

One soldier puff mouth, the other one laugh, teeth shine like say wahala sweet them. Dem no even lower voice.

"True talk. But make e no be like that Hauwa Lanre. That one no get any woman matter at all, just dey there like log of wood—no excitement."

Another one shake head, spit groundnut shell to side. "Hahaha, just flog her small, she go move."

As dem dey talk, dem reach the tent. Before one fit raise the curtain, we just dey hear dull thuds—fist and leg dey jam body—plus man voice dey curse: "You be ashawo wey everybody don climb, ten thousand feet don match you, yet you still dey form vex!"

"Hahahahaha—"

One kain sharp, mad laughter cut through the thin curtain, just dey pierce my ear. The kind laugh wey fit make pikin wake for midnight. My skin crawl small, but I bone face.

The two guards outside no fit take am again. Dem drag the curtain open, vexing, "This woman don craze finish?"

I follow behind them. I don see many things for my life, but as I see wetin dey inside, my eye nearly pop out. For that moment, even my shadow freeze behind me, fear hold my heart small.

For the rough mattress, the woman cloth don tear, just small dey cover her. The hand wey dey hold cutlass before, dem don tie am. Her skin dey full bruise. Blood don soak the wrapper under her. The air inside tent choke with smell of blood, sweat, and old palm oil. You go think say na animal dem just finish for bush.

No dignity, no shame—dem treat am like goat. I grip my jaw, try hold myself make I no talk anyhow, because if wahala start, na me dem go carry join.

Just few months ago, nobody for fit believe this thing fit happen. Her name dey fear boys for street, but now, see as life just turn corner for her.

The female general wey stand alone fight thousands of enemies, na so she end. I remember the tales: how she single-handedly block river path, how she scatter ambush for night. Now, nobody dey even look her face with respect.

"Hahahaha—"

She don truly kolo, still dey laugh. That laugh be like knife, dey cut through the camp noise, dey shame everybody wey ever know her before.

But after the laugh, na cry follow, her eyes red like say she fit cry blood. The tears no dey hide for her face, just dey fall anyhow, mixing with the dirt for her cheek.

The man beside her get one big bite mark for shoulder, blood dey flow, face don twist with anger. He dey curse under breath, spit for ground as if he fit use that take wash the shame away.

He raise head, eye stay for my face one second. E be like say him dey size me, dey check if I go talk or I go join laugh.

He bark, "Boy, come here, put medicine for me!" His voice sharp, no patience at all, as if na my fault say woman bite am.

As he talk, I shift my eye from Hauwa Lanre, answer, "Yes sir, I dey come." My voice steady, but inside me, wahala dey boil.