Chapter 3: Poison and Vengeance

According to Ikenna, na him parents pressure am before he finally agree come house.

He describe how mama go call every week, sweet but stubborn, promise his favourite soup if only he bring "that your fine friend" home. Papa no get patience, send message through village chief, church catechist, dey remind Ikenna of him duty.

Bringing Bilkisu na because parents insist.

"O boy, we wan see the girl wey dey carry your heart for city o!" Uncle yarn last Christmas, slap him back so the plate nearly fall. Half love, half command.

As Ikenna talk, after graduation, he and Bilkisu go find work for city—no way to come back village.

Dreams big—stretch from Lagos reach London. He see himself with Bilkisu, never look back at red mud childhood.

That’s why he bring Bilkisu home that time. It fit be their only chance.

He explain, voice dey shake, say na final bow before curtain fall. “Na only chance wey Bilkisu get to meet my people before we waka go city.”

But as God go do, wahala burst.

You know how e be: when you think say road smooth, na that time gbege dey start. Ancestors always want their share.

After arrival, parents happy, cook food scatter, bring out palm wine dem keep for years.

Neighbours dey peep window as egusi aroma float. That night, laughter full Ezeugo compound, old radio play, even skinny goats dey dance.

Bilkisu no dey drink, so Ikenna drink with papa.

Na pride matter, to sit with papa and match cup for cup. Bilkisu just smile, sip water, excuse herself after one round.

But as young man, he no fit match papa, so he knock quick.

Old man, strong from sun and farm, drink pass fish. Ikenna soon dey slur, head dey roll. He remember laughter, then darkness.

Next day, na then he find out say terrible thing happen—

He wake with head wey dey pound, taste of regret for mouth. House too quiet; Bilkisu scarf for ground. Na brother voice, sharp and mocking, first give am clue say something go wrong.

Bilkisu thrown by parents into elder brother Uche Ezeugo room.

Uche, the black sheep, always get silent anger for eye. Heavy man, rough face, sun and disappointment don mark am. Village people avoid his gaze, children cross road when he dey come.

This elder brother always troublesome, no finish primary school, only dey farm with parents.

Neighbours say na curse, or jealous aunt tie destiny for calabash by stream. Every year, bitterness grow.

Now, almost thirty, still never marry.

For here, na open wound. People whisper, "Only God know wetin stop him fortune."

When Ikenna sober, he nearly craze, try fight parents.

He roar, grab papa shirt, demand answer. Fist fly, but grief and anger make am weak.

But papa, just over fifty, strong from farm, overpower am easy.

Old man pin am to mud wall, muscle dey bulge. Ikenna breathless, face press into dust.

As he dey shout, mama beg:

“Just pity your elder brother. He no fit marry for this life... You be university student. When you waka, no be anybody you fit marry?”

Her voice crack, "My son, abeg, you be hope of this family. Your brother na our shame. Na only you fit save us. Bilkisu fit born for this house if she gree. When you go city, many girls go dey for you." Tears full her face, but Ikenna just cold.

Of course Ikenna no fit accept that kind thing.

He spit for ground, curse them for English and Igbo, shake so till teeth dey rattle. "You want make I live like animal? God forbid!"

Papa carry am, lock am for back storage room, only dey bring food every day.

Room small, musty, full of empty sack, rat mess. Every day, old man slide cold eba under door, no talk.

Until two days ago, food stop.

Hunger dey chop am inside, twist belle. He dey see things—faces for dark, Bilkisu voice dey call, knife scrape bone.

He stay there, hungry, two days and nights before we rescue am…

By time we break door, eye wild, tongue heavy. He stagger enter our hand, no even care say he half naked, stink of sweat and fear.

So when he hear about family murder, e no show any sadness.

He just sit, dey look hand, like say family don finish for am. Villagers judge, but nobody know wetin he suffer behind locked door.

Because, honestly, killer get reason.

Na the hardest truth. Even we police, pity twist our chest. Some things worse pass death, and sometimes, justice dey waka for crooked road.

So question land:

Bilkisu really fit kill three of them?

Silence heavy. Nobody wan talk am, but all of us dey wonder: gentle girl from city, fit carry that kind anger?

Gentle university student—how she go fit kill three strong farmers?

Na puzzle—keep us awake, dey stare zinc roof, listen to night birds cry, dey wonder if we dey miss something obvious.