Chapter 1: Lagos Night Wahala

I dey drive for Lagos night, when wahala jam me: I climb pikin for road. E die.

The night just quiet like graveyard, road empty, na only me, my own wahala, and the steady hum wey my engine dey give. For my mind, I no dey expect any kasala, but na so e be for Naija—one minute you dey alright, next thing, your life fit scatter like NEPA wire. As I dey drive, my mind dey waka small, before this gbege land.

No be my fault. I dey follow all the rules, dey mind my lane, na the keke wey dey my front just swerve anyhow. As e swerve, my mind quick signal say trouble dey. I match brake, but e don late.

The way the keke swerve, I think say maybe im see wetin I never see. But for Naija road, sometimes keke drivers just dey craze. I match brake sotay my leg almost tear pedal, the car dey shake, but na so fate carry me reach that junction.

Pikin just dey lie down for road, directly in front of my motor. Na so I climb on top am.

No sound, just that awful feel for steering wheel. As I stop finish, everywhere just still, like say world dey hold breath. I see the small body spread for ground, nothing prepare me for this kind thing.

My ear dey buzz like NEPA transformer, the smell of hot rubber and blood dey choke me. I freeze, shock hold me.

My heart stop. For that moment, e be like film—like say na another person dey look, no be me. My hands dey shake, my chest tight, breath no even gree enter. For Lagos, dem dey talk say wahala no dey ever far, but this one pass my own power.

The pikin wear black from head reach toe, just dey lie for road for night. If you no reach am, you no go see am at all.

For my mind, I dey ask, which kind wahala be this? Who allow pikin wear black for night, for Naija wey NEPA fit take light anytime? I dey try reason if my head correct, but confusion just jam me.

Fear grip me. I rush come down from motor, go check, na that time one woman run come from other side of road, dey cry shout, voice high like say she wan tear. She grab my shirt, slap me for face, dey sob, "Thunder fire you! You wan kill my only child? Move your motor! You dey press my pikin!"

Her hand hot well, e land for my face like thunder. For street, everybody sabi say when woman lose control like this, wahala big. Her wrapper almost commot for waist as she drag me, tears and spit dey fly, she dey tremble with pain and anger. People don begin turn look, wahala dey cook.

My face dey hot, pain dey. All I fit do na beg make the small boy dey okay. But as I bend check am, wetin I see shock me.

My hand shake as I bend, hope dey small say maybe miracle go happen, maybe na small wound. But I look, I see blood, brain matter—my mind blank. Wetin I go talk? For Naija, once blood show, story don change.

The pikin head don scatter.

My legs weak, I nearly collapse. My ear dey buzz, like generator wey dey far. I just dey mumble prayers, dey beg God make e be dream.

By that time, people wey dey wait for crossing don rush come. One old man wey siddon for corner just dey curse anyhow, na there I begin understand say kasala don burst.

Crowd dey gather, dem dey point finger, dey shout all sort. "Ewo! Chai! Wetin be this? Yepa!" The old man, with him old brown slippers, dey tap him stick for ground, im mouth dey pour insult: "Una nor dey watch pikin? Na road pikin dey play?" For Naija, once crowd gather, different talk go dey fly. I begin reason say my matter don spoil.

The pikin and im mama dey play for road. The pikin tire, e wan make im mama carry am, but the woman no gree. Na so the pikin vex, go lie down for road, dey cry.

People for crowd dey talk: "Na so children dey behave nowadays. Dem dey spoil." One woman hiss, "If na my pikin try am, I go beat craze commot for im body." Another person add, "Na so children dey spoil since dem bring cartoon wey dey teach nonsense. All this Peppa Pig wahala." The gist dey go round fast, everybody get opinion, nobody dey mind as my leg dey shake.

The woman just waka go, leave am for junction, pikin still dey vex for ground.

For my chest, cold dey. For this Naija, nobody dey leave pikin anyhow for road—except say wahala dey or you tire no be small. I dey wonder wetin dey push person reach that kind level.

E dark, pikin wear black. The keke wey dey front just swerve as e see am. Even as I match brake, I still jam am.

My mind dey play am back, like home video. If to say keke stop, maybe e for help. But for Naija, who get time? Everybody dey rush, fear of police or area boys dey make people avoid wahala. My own leg, na me wahala catch.

My head blank. E don finish. My life don spoil.

The way I dey feel, e be like say I dey float. Everything just pause. Na only the shouts, curses, and my heartbeat dey echo for my ear.

I don scatter pikin head. I don kill person.

My mouth dey dry, my eye dey red. For Naija, if person jam accident, but once life don go, nobody go gree hear your side. I dey sweat, even as breeze dey blow.

E no concern anybody as e concern me.

Nobody dey feel am as I dey feel am. To people, na story. To me, na my whole life. I dey hear some people dey murmur, some dey pity the woman, nobody even dey look my side.

I look the woman wey collapse for ground, dey cry. For my eye, she no be grieving mother—na witch she be.

For the first time, anger dey mix with fear. How person go leave pikin for road? As I dey look am, she dey cry, roll for sand, but my mind dey curse her. For Naija, we dey quick call person witch if wahala pass our level. Maybe na so my mind dey run, try push blame.

I don follow law all my life, now because of this woman, I don kill pikin. My life don end.

I dey remember how I always dey avoid wahala, dey follow traffic light even when others dey break am. Na so all my carefulness just end for this junction. My hand dey shake, I dey almost cry join.

Suddenly, I remember one tori for news: for Makurdi, one small boy lie down for road dey cry, im mama vex, waka leave am. One motor jam the pikin.

Memory sharp for my mind. I remember the way people talk am for radio, everybody dey argue for beer parlour. Some dey blame driver, some dey blame mama. Me self join talk that time—now na my turn.

I no know why my mind go there. Maybe because that driver for Makurdi get luck—the pikin survive.

As I dey think, I just dey pray say maybe this own go turn miracle, but I know say head wey scatter no fit survive. My heart dey cut.

But me, I no get luck. The pikin wey my motor jam die there there.

Pain dey bite me, e deep for my chest. I dey reason my own family, how person go feel if na my pikin? I dey sweat like goat wey dem wan kill for Sallah.

The woman suddenly realize say her pikin don die. She fall for ground, dey shout, then scream, “Come here! My pikin don die! Come here!”

Her voice high pass generator noise. The type wey dey draw crowd, all dem vendors for junction begin leave their akara and gala, rush come. Some dey record with phone. For Naija, bad news dey spread like wildfire, one person shout, before you know, hundred people gather.

My heart skip. I look the place wey she dey shout, na so I see one man dey come my side.

The man tall, strong, face set like person wey dey used to fight. For this kind matter, family no dey waste time, dem dey show quick.

E quick am, e start to run come.

As I see am, I know say this one no get joy. For Nigeria, once man dey run come accident scene, anger dey fuel am—sometimes na revenge, sometimes na justice.

Fear just cover me.

My body cold, as if breeze from inside freezer touch me. I dey think of escape, my legs weak, mouth dey dry.

I wan run.

My mind dey shout, "Run!" But my legs no dey answer. I dey freeze like goat wey see lion.

I no even know wetin go happen, but I no fit waka commot. I just dey pray make I reach house alive.

All my life, I never reason say one day, na run I go dey plan. Na now I dey wish say I dey my papa house, with my people, where nobody fit touch me.