Chapter 1: Cold Tiles, Hot Lies

I be Musa Garba, and na for the Oba’s Palace I die.

The cold tiles for palace dey press my back, smell of camphor and old palm oil dey mix for air that last time; wet breeze from the corridor still dey blow, but my spirit don waka. As I open my eyes again, na one hour before my death I land, and na Uncle Bala dey sit for front of me, dey try use sweet mouth carry me go:

My body dey sweat like goat wey dey wait abattoir, as if devil dey whisper for my ear. Na that kain sweat wey dey commot from fear, not just malaria. I adjust my wrapper, fingers dey tremble. For inside me, small voice dey shout make I run, but I just siddon dey look Uncle Bala, the way im smile dey twist like ogbono soup.

"His Royal Highness don land with victory. Even if body dey shake you, you suppose drag leg enter palace go hail am," na so Uncle Bala talk, im voice soft, but eyes dey sharp like needle.

That one na pure lie, and I smell am from my nose reach my bone.

His Royal Highness still dey outside, dey fight rebellion, e never come back at all. I fit count the sound of my own heartbeat as my mind dey reason: why this man dey pressure me? For palace, lie dey waka with slippers, but truth dey fear to shout.

My mind don dey reason how I go take escape this wahala. I dey try read Uncle Bala face, but the man wise pass tortoise—no single sign show.

As I no talk, Uncle Bala come put hand for my shoulder, face dey do like say e really care. "Your sickness don better small?" E rub my back small, the way elder dey do pikin, but e hand cold, no get love.

Na Uncle Bala recommend me by himself. I still remember the day—sun shine hot, but e smile cool me like evening breeze. E talk for meeting say I get sense, I get loyalty, say I dey humble.

And... Uncle Bala always dey show me special care. If others dey waka, e go call me aside, ask if I chop. E go buy me puff-puff for palace backyard, say make I no starve. That kain thing dey enter person body, make you lower your guard.

E must be say na Queen Mama force am make e come use sweet mouth carry me enter palace. Everybody know say for this place, woman word fit strong pass chief own if dem get correct backing.

If I just continue dey form sick, no gree go anywhere, wait make His Royal Highness return, I sure say His Royal Highness no go gree make woman dey run community anyhow. I dey bank on am; as Hausa man, my papa teach me say patience fit save head.

I squeeze face, pretend say fever dey burn me. I come pretend say my sickness serious well well. "Uncle Bala, abeg, I no fit get up at all. His Royal Highness dey generous, e no go blame me." My voice dey crack, I add cough join—make am real.

Uncle Bala come relax. "No wahala, rest. I go report to His Royal Highness." E nod, but I see as e eye dey shine like person wey find solution. My heart still dey beat, but small hope dey.

E waka commot. The sound of e slippers for corridor na small relief for my mind.

I just breathe out, turn face wall. For wall, I dey look painting wey show the Oba with full crown—e dey remind me say for this world, everybody get im own palaver.

Last time, the way I die ehn, na real suffer head. Rope for neck, pain wey pass cane; nobody dey hear my cry, only ancestors know wetin my spirit dey pass.

My whole body still dey pain me small small. As I dey rub my neck, I dey pray inside say this time, God abeg, make e no happen again.

I just wan rest small. But palace no dey ever allow person rest, especially person wey get wahala with Queen Mama.

Next thing, rope just land for my neck. Quick—no warning. Cold hands tie am for back. The rope rough like old jute sack, e bite my skin as dem drag am tight. The pain choke me, I no fit breathe.

Uncle Bala come near my ear, e voice dey shake, e dey laugh and cry together: "Why you dey disobey Queen Mama, why now..." The sound no be from human again, e resemble hyena wey dey laugh for night.

I wan ask am, wetin I really do wey make that wicked woman dey vex like this? The thing pain me reach my bone. Wetin I do? I just dey survive my own.

But I no fit talk again. Darkness rush me, my body heavy like stone.

Thank God, this one sef, I die quick pass last time. My spirit dey beg God—make suffering no turn to curse for my children.