Chapter 2: The Return to Umuola

I don leave Umuola village for many years now.

Na city boy I don turn be that—coat and tie, AC dey blow me every day. Car horn dey blast for street, but for my mind, na goat bell I still dey hear. But sometimes for dream, the smell of that bush, the sound of goat bell for morning, go disturb my sleep. The village, e dey my blood, even if my body dey far.

Now, I be senior partner for one top law firm for the state capital, Makurdi. Law office wey dey inside big glass building, everybody dey greet me 'Sir'. But sometimes, when I dey alone for office, I go look my reflection, dey wonder if people fit see the truth wey I dey hide inside me.

I think say I no go ever return that mountain village where I grow up. The road wey dey lead to Umuola, with the red sand, mango trees full everywhere—me I swear say I no go walk am again. But as life be, who fit run from him shadow?

Even though my career dey shine, me and my wife never fit get pikin. Every time we dey go for family wedding, people go look us with corner eye. My wife go just smile dey pretend, but for night, tears go soak pillow. My own heart dey heavy too, but I dey hide am with work.

We try everything, nothing work. Doctors, prayer warriors, herbalist—everybody collect their share. I even drink bitter leaf water till my mouth no fit taste food again. Every month, we dey count hope, dey start afresh.

My wife come dey obsessed, dey pray for every church and mosque wey she see. She dey carry anointing oil, dey draw cross for pillow, dey recite prayer for bathroom. Sometimes, I go dey hear her dey whisper for midnight. Even mosque, she no gree pass without drop prayer.

One day, as we go picnic, she run go pray for one small, shabby church again. The sun dey hot, but she just see that small church with faded paint for roadside, rush go kneel down. Me, I dey under one mango tree, dey drink malt, dey shake head. I dey pity her, but my own faith no strong reach that level.

I no get option, I follow am. She call me, say make we pray together. I drag my feet go inside, dust full everywhere. The pews no gree balance. But to make her happy, I kneel beside am, dey look at cross wey be like say e go fall any minute.

As we turn, na so one man, wey resemble beggar, stand behind us. E wear old brown kaftan, slippers bend like fish, face full of lines, but eyes sharp like say e dey see inside person soul. For my mind, I dey calculate if na beggar or mad man.

The man talk straight: “Una don marry for years, dey find pikin, abi?”

My wife jump, hand cover mouth. Me I just dey look am, dey wonder who tell am our story.

I just hiss for my mind at those kind trick. Na all these Lagos prophets style be that—dem go use your sorrow catch your pocket. I just dey vex say time dey waste.

But my wife, thinking say she don meet real prophet, just dey nod like lizard. Her head dey shake non-stop, eyes dey shine with hope. I fit see say for her mind, miracle fit land any moment.

The man look me well: “Your husband do bad thing when e small. Unless the person forgive am, una no go get pikin.”

Na so everybody for church dey turn look us. My body dey hot, as if the man dey point torchlight inside my shame. I shift for bench, face ground.

After that, he waka quick, no look back. Before we fit ask am question, he don disappear enter bush path. The way e waka, e be like spirit. My wife dey wipe her face, dey whisper prayer.

My wife just take am serious, start to ask me wetin I do when I small. She follow me reach car, dey look my face like detective. 'Musa, abeg tell me, wetin you do? Which kind wahala you enter for your small pikin time?' Na so she dey repeat. I just dey scratch head, dey think wetin I go tell her.

I no get choice, I lie say na neighbour chicken I thief that time, just to make her calm down. As I dey lie, my mind dey say, na who thief chicken, dey fear feather. I force smile, dey form innocence. 'Na chicken I thief o, I swear.' I add small story, say the chicken dey too stubborn, na why I carry am run.

She talk say, “That one easy. Just buy better gift, go beg them, make them forgive you.” She dey nod head, dey plan the kind Ankara and rice we go carry go neighbor house. My wife get good heart, she believe say every problem get simple answer.

But I just shake head. Wetin I do, nobody fit forgive am. The thing wey dey my mind heavy like stone. I dey wonder if person fit really carry secret reach grave. I look my wife, see hope for her eye, my own heart dey sink.

The real thing be say, we once seal Chijioke inside the dried-up well. No matter how I try, the memory dey sharp like blade for my chest. That day, the air dey thick, bush dey quiet, everything dey normal until we take that wicked step.

That time, among us wey dey play, Chijioke na the youngest and most wahala. Na small boy, but voice loud, wahala full him body. Him like fight, and because of him position, nobody dey fit challenge am. Sometimes, we go just dey plan how to avoid am for field.

Even though he small, because him grandpapa na village chief, he dey use am bully us. If we play game, na him go set rule. If we dey chop mango, na him go collect biggest one. Sometimes, he go dey boast, 'My grandpapa go arrest your papa!' We dey vex, but na only plotting we dey plot for back.

So, we plan to teach am lesson. One day, we gather for bush, everybody dey ginger each other. 'Make we show am pepper today.' Na so Femi, Tunde, Sadiq, and Emeka begin yarn. Na plan full our head.

One day as we dey play for bush, we trick am enter one dried-up well wey we just discover. The well just dey there, covered with bush, as if e dey wait for us. We call am, say make him see new hide and seek spot. Him eye shine, small pikin spirit.

“If you no make noise inside, all of us go dey give you one egg every day.”

Chijioke eyes wide. For Umuola, egg na correct gift, only special children dey chop am every day. We know say the bait go catch am well.

For our village, egg na big thing, so he jump inside sharp sharp. He just shout, 'I go win una!' before him jump enter. As he land, bush scatter small, we dey look ourselves, dey laugh low.

From the bottom, Chijioke start dey cry say, “My leg don break, abeg save me…” E choke. Him voice soft first, then begin loud, tears follow. The way e dey beg, my own heart begin dey shake. But pride no go gree me back down.

Fear catch us. If the chief find out say him grandson leg don break, wahala go reach our family. The chief no dey take play. Everybody dey fear him. If e hear say anything touch Chijioke, na big palaver for our house. Even my papa go use koboko finish me.

Na Femi get idea. He shout inside the well: “You don break the rule! If you make noise again, you go lose and you go dey give us egg every day.” Na so Femi voice thunder inside the well. Him own face dey strong, eye dey red. The rest of us just dey nod, dey shiver small.

We cover the well with big stone, then hide am with dead leaves. Stone wey we dey struggle to move, now fear dey give us power. We pile am high, pour all the dry leaves we fit see. Everybody dey sweat, even as breeze dey blow.

That night, the chief call police, villagers join search everywhere. The village square hot like market. Torchlight dey shine like daybreak. People dey shout Chijioke name, chief dey command, 'Search everywhere!' My mama hold me for house, dey pray, but my mind dey wander.

But the dried-up well dey hide well, nobody sabi am. We disguise am well, nobody fit find am. All the search, dem no fit reach that spot. That part of the bush, na only us sabi road. The leaves and stone blend am like nothing dey there. For one week, nothing happen.

Me and my friends dey laugh inside our mind at how everybody dey clueless. Anytime we dey together, we go exchange eye, small smile go dey corner our mouth. Inside us, we dey feel like heroes for secret movie.

When we think say Chijioke don suffer enough, we wan let am out, One afternoon, rain never fall. We think say maybe the boy go don learn lesson. Everybody dey quiet, heart dey beat fast.

We shout him name for wellhead, but no answer come from inside. Femi call, Sadiq call, even Tunde. The well quiet like grave. Fear begin dey smell for air.

“He… he no fit don die?” Fear catch us immediately. Nobody talk, everybody dey look ground. Na that moment wey we know say we don cross line. My hand begin shake.

We quickly cover the well again with dead leaves, swear never to talk about am again. Tunde swear first, say anybody wey open mouth, thunder go fire am. The rest of us nod, tears for some people eye. Na so we vow for night, under moonlight.

Time waka, I almost forget the matter. School carry us, hustle carry us, years pass. I fit see Chijioke face for dream sometimes, but I dey push am comot. Life just dey move.

Then my phone ring. Unknown number. I pick, voice dey shake, like old friend. For my mind, I dey calculate which wahala fit land now.

I answer, na one man voice, dey rush: The line crack, but I hear the panic.

“Na Musa be this? Na me, Femi. You remember that dried-up well for bush?” I fit hear Femi voice, quick, breath dey high. My hand dey cold, phone dey sweat for my palm.

“Serious wahala dey come.” That line, e loud for my ear. My chest tight, sweat break for my forehead. The past don catch up. And this time, e no go let anybody run.