Chapter 1: Family Wallet

My living expenses dey under my mama’s “Family Wallet”—any time I buy something, na so her interrogation go start.

Sometimes I dey wonder if other people fit relate. This kind wahala no dey for textbook. All my life, na like say I dey live inside glass cage, my every move dey shine light. Even when I reason am, I no fit argue—after all, who dey feed me?

Right now, I dey look the receipt for my latest order: special packaging service from one 24-hour chemist. My heart just dey pound, e con dey numb.

If to say na small thing, maybe I for no dey sweat. But this one? E be like exam wey I no read for. My hand dey shake, sweat dey my palm, body dey hot and cold at the same time.

As expected, my phone vibrate.

The thing loud for my ear like NEPA just bring light. Na WhatsApp call, red notification dey shine.

"Wetin you buy?" Her voice for phone cold like ice, sharp like blade.

I dey watch the red dot for the dispatch app as the keke rider dey near. "Na late-night adult snack."

I dey try form boldness but my voice dey tremble. If person hear me, e go know say na lie dey my throat.

From the earpiece, I hear cup break for background. She hiss for phone, the sound sharp like slap. "Return am."

I hold the doorknob, release small laugh.

The laugh no sweet; e dey drag for my throat, like person wey dey choke on garri.

"E don late."

"E don dey knock for my door."

I hear my mama voice still dey vibrate inside the phone, her vexation fit scatter mirror. For my mind, I know say this matter never end. But tonight, I gats face my own freedom, even if na just small.

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1

"Nkechi, you don reach school? Your hostel room dey clean? Remember say make you change your bedsheet to the pure cotton one wey I pack for you—other ones no good for your skin."

My mama voice for phone be like invisible net, e just tight me as I dey enjoy small freedom.

Her wahala no dey ever finish. Even for inside my new life, her shadow still dey long. If I close eye, I go still hear her voice for dream.

"I hear, Mama."

I answer am like robot, my eyes dey look my other three roommates, everybody dey do their own.

I dey try act normal, but e dey pain me say my roommates fit sense say I dey under monitoring. If dem notice, dem never talk.

Their parents don already waka, but my mama still dey do "remote control" for my every move.

Sometimes e go dey like say her hand dey inside my pocket, dey turn my head like screw. I dey envy people wey fit just live, no be all this monitoring.

"By the way, about your living expenses." Her voice come hard.

Na so her tone dey change—anytime money matter enter, her eye go red.

"I don open Family Wallet for you. Anything wey you buy, I go see am."

"University get plenty temptation. I must help you maintain."

I hear the warning for her voice. No be suggestion o, na law.

My heart fall.

Family Wallet mean say any kobo wey I spend, my mama go see am sharp sharp.

I just dey imagine as she go dey scrutinize me. Even if I buy pure water, she go know the brand.

She go sabi wetin I buy, when I buy am, and how much I spend.

Sometimes, I dey wonder if I go ever enjoy life like other people—no be every time money dey show for notification.

This one no be support—na surveillance.

E dey feel like person dey look me through CCTV, dey wait for me to make mistake.

"Mama, other students—"

I try reason with her, hope say maybe she go pity me small.

"Other students na other students. You be my pikin." She just cut me off.

Her mind don close; anything I talk na waste of saliva.

"E don settle. Remember, no spend one kobo for wetin no make sense."

I dey nod even though she no fit see me. No use arguing with who dey hold the key.

As I drop the call, my roommate Halima waka come meet me, her eye dey curious. "Your mama really dey care o, she even open Family Wallet for you."

I force smile.

If to say she sabi the full story, she for know say e pass care. Sometimes, I go just wan disappear.

I no fit explain the suffocation wey dey hide under all this 'care.'

I dey try explain with my eyes, but how person wan take describe this kind thing?

University life don start—and my new level of wahala join.

As I dey look the bright hostel light, na so the wahala for my head dey gather. No be only course work dey heavy for me.

Any small thing wey I buy, even if na biscuit, my mama go call me within five minutes.

No time to chop quietly—her own is to ask: who send you? Why now? She go even analyze the price.

"Nkechi, you just buy malt?"

If na malt, wahala dey. If na juice, wahala go dey multiply.

"Outside drink no good. I no give you those wellness tea bags?"

That wellness tea sef don tire me. The thing dey bitter, but she swear by am.

"Which one be this 1500 naira?"

She sabi the exact amount as if she dey inside my account.

"Oh, na detergent? Hostel no get washing machine? Why you dey buy your own?"

She dey expect say I go use hand wash everything, as if na 1980 we still dey.

"You buy book? Which kind book? Na textbook? Snap the title give me."

No privacy at all. Sometimes I dey wish say make the app crash for her side.

Every day, I go dey explain, defend or even beg for every small thing wey I buy.

The thing dey make me dey always dey fear to buy anything—sometimes I go just dey look my phone, dey pray make she no call.

My roommates soon notice say my own dey different. Dem dey order food, shop online, dey waka anyhow, but me, na under my mama eye I dey—even ordinary sanitary pad, I must get her go-ahead.

At times, I dey shame. If dem dey talk about their small small independence, I go just dey quiet, dey hide my own pain for under my smile.

As I enter my hostel room that first day, the air dey smell like new paint mix with last night indomie. Somebody dey fry akara for corridor, oil smell dey enter room. I close my eyes, try breathe in the small freedom wey remain.