Chapter 7: IOU and Explosion

After doctor waka, I turn to Ngozi. “Abeg, return my money first—I need am pay. My papa no fit get problem.”

My words rush out, desperation full everywhere. I no even shame to beg.

Ngozi shift back. “The money… no dey with me.”

She look ground, dey squeeze her hand, voice dey shake.

I turn to her papa. “The money?”

I face am direct, anger dey boil my chest.

Her papa say, “I leave house quick—no carry my bank card.”

He just shrug, face like stone.

“Abeg, transfer with bank app, WhatsApp—anything.”

I bring out my phone, dey ready for account details.

Hospital corridor just dey cold, every second long like hour.

Her papa frown, no move.

Lips tight, like say make I dare am.

“I know say you need money now, but that money na bride price wey you give Ngozi—na our own already,” her papa say. “If you wan use am, write IOU.”

His words burn me like fresh ata for tongue. I feel hot tears dey my eye. People dey pass, dey watch our drama.

Her brother bring paper and pen from nurse station, give me.

The boy just dey smirk, as if na joke. I fit slap am.

“No much interest—just 2% per year, how e be?”

I hear giggle from corridor. My anger dey rise, dey block my throat.

I look my future in-laws, my hand dey shake. If not for my mama, wahala for burst.

I take the paper, squeeze am, grab am by head, jam am for mouth.

“I go write your mama—”

As I jam the paper for his mouth, nurse scream. My mama hold my arm, tears dey flow. My head dey buzz like generator—this no be how engagement suppose end, but na here we reach. For that moment, I swear: some family wahala no be for peace talk—sometimes, na only fire fit burn sense into stubborn heart.