Chapter 3: Childhood Wounds and Lost Names

My mama na nurse. She treat the old madam for chief house for three months.

Mama dey gentle, her voice dey always cool me for night, even when I dey shake from malaria. She sabi prepare agbo wey dey cure everything.

Later, when old madam sick again, the young chief come beg my mama.

My mama, even as she dey sick, she still dey rub my back, dey pray say I go better pass her. But she no know say death dey near.

But mama don die for childbirth. That time, I be just ten years old.

After burial, rain fall scatter everywhere. Nobody look my face. House become like cold cell.

I dey stammer, dey fear, my stepmother force me kneel by basin, my hand don chop cold, crack, wound everywhere, as she dey scrub am with rough sponge.

Stepmother no dey joke. She go pour cold water on me, dey scrub like say she dey punish goat, not human being. If I cough, na slap. "Oloshi, you wan kill me?" she go shout.

"Useless pikin, you do am on purpose? This your hand too rough, dey spoil my cloth, dey stain handkerchief with blood. Today, I go peel your skin!"

Each time her voice rise, my body dey shake. I dey wish say my mama go just walk in, carry me go.

The pain dey make me cry silent, tears just dey fall.

I go bite my lips so the sound no go come out. Only the tears dey drop for water, mix with soap.

The young chief flog my stepmother with koboko.

Na the first time I see man fight for woman, even though I still dey small. The sound of koboko loud pass generator.

Na so he save me, then buy me.

He carry me go family compound, then forget me there.

His people look me like stranger. Some dey hiss, others dey pity. I learn quick to hide myself, to work like rat for night.

When I reach fifteen,

the young chief love don marry another man for two years. Him no wan marry, no wan take wife.

People for Ibadan begin talk say chief no fit perform, the family dey find who go born pikin for them.

Market gossip na fire—everybody dey guess who go finally carry chief belle. Even small pikin for street sabi the story.

Old madam vex, search everywhere—house, compound, market—gather all the girls wey she feel fit.

She dey comb village and city, old and young, any woman wey get hip, she go drag am come.

Over hundred women dey wait for him to choose.

The sun dey hot, everybody dey sweat, but nobody gree waka go. Hope dey hang for air.

Old madam talk: "Just born pikin for Femi family, I no go disturb you again. You go get your freedom."

Freedom! That word sweet, but fear dey hide under.

The young chief dey drink, vex with old madam.

Every night, him go dey pour palmwine, dey shout on top voice. The servants dey hide, nobody wan hear their quarrel.

"If no be you wey no like Morayo family, break us apart, Morayo for don marry me since. Why life come be like this?"

Old madam hold her chest, dey vex.

Her gold bangle dey jingle as she dey point finger. Her eye red, her voice no fit loud again, only her anger dey shake everywhere.

"Morayo too get sense, dey pretend weak. Wife suppose get virtue; she no fit run Femi family."

Their quarrel no gree end.

Na like harmattan breeze, every night new wahala. Even the houseboys dey tiptoe pass their door.

Old madam almost faint with anger, threaten say she go die join her husband.

Young chief gree. He look up, sweep eye for the women wey gather.

I dey look am since.

My heart dey beat like talking drum, I no fit stand well. I dey shake for inside wrapper.

He see my face, him eye come get as e be.

The way he pause, na like say something for his memory wake up. But he no talk.

After small time, he smile small.

Na quick smile, the type wey dey come when you dey remember past wey sweet and bitter together.

"Mama, as you want am." He call me, "You, remove your cloth."

The crowd hiss. Some women laugh under breath. I dey shame, but no choice.

People full everywhere, cold just dey catch me. Sweat dey my armpit, but breeze dey make my teeth knock.

Goose pimples full my body. Even sun no fit warm me.

He look me from up.

His face blank, but I see question inside.

"I say make you remove cloth, you no hear? The rest, turn back."

People turn. Some still dey peep. Shame bite me.

That day, na so I get right to stay, but I become laugh for the whole compound.

From kitchen to well, children dey sing my name. I waka with head down, eye no fit meet anybody own.

I bite my lip, my back dey press rough tree, my body dey open for sun, shame catch me.

I dey wish ground go open. My palm dey dig sand, but I hold myself.

He hate my tears.

His voice sharp, no patience. He talk as if my pain dey irritate am.

"Women like una, no be money una dey find? Even if you resemble her small, you no go ever reach her level. Abeg, stop that cry."

His words sting like hot oil. I swallow cry, just dey look ground.

My back dey pain me, wound dey leak blood, skin tear—na the same way my stepmother treat me that year.

Old wound open. I dey wonder if this na my destiny—just dey move from one hard hand to another.

The person wey I dey think of for five years, na so him be.

Hope finish. The one wey I call saviour, na him first strip me dignity.

After that, I stay.

No place to go, so I hold body, find strength where I no get.

The third night he come sleep with me, he look my face, realise I no get name.

Him eyes soft small, like say surprise dey inside.

"From today, your name na Yewande."

His mouth twist. I just dey look am.

Fish eye mix with pearl.

He dey call me new name, but I no fit answer. For my heart, my mama voice dey call me Chichi, dey echo for my ear. For my heart, I no be dead fish or shiny stone. I just be me.

I be the dead fish eye, dey pretend say I be precious pearl, just like his white moonlight.

But for chief mind, every woman be object, na only Morayo be gold.

I shake my head small. "No, I get name. My name na Chichi."

My voice low, but I say am clear.

He punish me well for disobeying.

His hand heavy, but I grit teeth. I no go gree lose my name again.

The pain make tears full my eye, but I still talk.

Even as my throat dey choke, I hold ground: "My name na Chichi."

Chichi, the name you call me when you save me—you don forget?

The day you shout 'Chichi, run!' when koboko land my back—now you want make I forget? My chest dey heavy with memory.

Chichi, like the bell and drum wey dey sound for night, dey wait for morning to come.

As bell dey beat for night, hope still dey, say morning go bring better.

E mean say, as you dey wait, things go better.

Even if today na suffering, tomorrow fit still sweet. My name na promise.

Even if my name dey lost for another house, as long as my mouth fit call am, hope still dey.