Chapter 2: Na Enemy Blood Dey Boil

Since small pikin, my papa and mama drill one thing for my head: for this life, two people dey wey I suppose finish.

Dem no ever talk am twice. For every story, e dey repeat—always two enemy, always wahala. Sometimes, my papa go carry me for leg, dey bounce me up and down, but e go still remind me: "An An, you get two people for this life—never forgive, never forget." E shock me that time, but as I grow, I see as e dey make sense.

When other children dey cuddle for their mama lap dey watch Super Story, na basement I dey, dey learn how to twist person neck.

True talk—while my mates dey laugh for living room, me I dey smell cement and old paint, dey sweat for basement, dey struggle with all those gym mat wey dey soak sweat. Sometimes, rat go waka pass my leg, I no go even move. My papa go dey shout, "Focus! No dey look distraction!" The place no get fan, sometimes na candle I dey use see road.

No doll for my childhood—na only fight, taekwondo, boxing, archery…

My own toy na gloves, my own birthday gift na new arrow or small punching bag. For birthday, dem go buy me skipping rope, talk say e go help my reflex. My mama sef no gree buy me Barbie. E reach one time, she buy slingshot say make I practice aim for mango. Doll, na story!

My papa go talk, “If you pity enemy, na yourself you dey wicked.”

The way e dey talk am, e be like proverb wey you suppose write for back of exercise book. I go reason am—say, if you soft for outside, e go harm you for inside. Sometimes, I go look my papa, the scar for him hand full like person wey fight all the fight for Lagos. I dey fear, but I dey learn.

When I be three, my mama pick me from inside boot of one car.

I no go ever forget that cold inside boot. Darkness everywhere, air dey tight, I curl up, dey pray make person hear my small sob. The sound of car horn na the only thing wey dey tell me say outside still dey. The smell of leather and dust just full my nose.

That day, her black Range Rover jam another person for back.

For Lagos traffic, wahala too much. Mama dey vex, hand dey on steering, dey press horn like say na music instrument. The jam na sharp one, two car hit each other, everybody dey look.

The guy na street tout. Even though na him do wrong, he come down dey curse my mama, dey shout say she suppose pay am hundred thousand.

The guy just rush come, dey shake hand for air, mouth dey run like generator. Area boys gather, some dey hail, others dey wait to see fight.

She just laugh for him face.

Mama just look am, smile like say she dey watch small pikin dey misbehave. Her laugh na cold one—no joy, just that type wey dey make you fear say e get plan. Keke napep dey horn, pure water seller dey shout price, but my mama just dey smile.

She call my papa come. My papa just knack the guy joints, break am like say na faulty toy.

E no reach five minutes, papa car land, door open, na so him waka go the guy, crack him knuckle, and before you say Jack, the tout dey for ground dey shout. Everybody for area pause. Some dey fear, others dey record.

The guy fall for ground like sack of garri, faint because of pain.

Na real gbege. Street people dey shout, "E don do! Abeg!" Even LASTMA wey pass there just waka go, no look. For Lagos, if you see person wey get mind like that, you suppose respect.

My papa shake blood from hand, dey waka go—then small cry come from boot.

As he dey go, he just hear small "eee eee" cry. Him eyebrow squeeze. Mama eyes sharp, she look back car, key dey hand.

Inside, dem see one small fat girl, curl up like snail.

The boot open, light flash for my eye, na so my chubby self dey there, curl like snail for rainy season. My hair full ground, face dirty. Tears for cheek, but I no talk.

Na me be that.

I remember say my cloth tear, shoe miss. My hand dey grip one small teddy, e head don fall. I just dey look dem, dey try judge if I fit trust.

My papa look me two seconds, frown like say he fit kill fly with eyebrow.

The way him face bend, you go think say na big wahala e see. Him eyes cold, him nose wide, like say he dey calculate how to comot me from life.

He no wan do anything.

For him mind, wahala dey too much. If na him alone, maybe e go just leave me there. I dey shiver, but na mama run things.

But my mama carry me sharp sharp.

She no waste time, sharp sharp, she scoop me from boot, dust me like say she dey clean precious stone. She rub powder for my neck, dey talk, "See as dust don spoil my fine pikin." Her voice sweet, but her eyes dey shine like person wey just win contract.

She talk, “All these women for WhatsApp dey show their pikin everyday. If I get daughter, she go fine pass their own.”

She no gree. She look me, smile, talk am for street: "If my own pikin show, all those WhatsApp group go scatter!" She fit even snap picture that time if nobody stop her.

She carry me go house.

As we enter, she order new cloth, tell maid make dem bath me. She buy ice cream, use her own hand feed me. My papa just dey look, no talk. For that moment, she decide say I go be her trophy.

And she no lie.

Every time person see me, dem dey hail my mama. "Aunty, see as your pikin fine!" Her friends dey rush snap selfie, dey yarn for group chat. My papa still dey watch from corner, but mama—she dey proud.

When her rich friends see me, their eye just dey shine.

For every birthday, dem go come with big gift, dey touch my cheek, dey snap picture, dey compare me with their own. For compound, na me be star. Dem go dey beg, "Abeg, make I carry am snap!"

Until one day, one rich woman carry her son come greet us.

The woman na big madam—her perfume dey announce her reach gate. The boy follow, dey hide for back, shy. Dem carry big hamper. My mama just dey form hostess, dey smile.

The boy wait till adult no dey look, come rush kiss me for cheek.

As all the adults dey for kitchen dey do gist, the small boy just use style waka come, peck me for cheek like say na play. My eyes wide. E shock me. Na so small boy with nose dey run, rush come peck me—before I fit shout, e don run like rat.

My mama smile freeze.

She turn, mouth open, the smile stop half-way. Her hand wey dey wave just hang for air. The air cold for parlour, you fit hear mosquito dey fly.

That night, she teach me lesson with her own hand.

She carry me enter room, close door, eye red. She no beat me, but her voice na thunder. She show me fork, dey demonstrate for air. "See am? If dem try that thing again, just use am do work!"

“If anybody touch you again, use fork chook their eye.”

Her own instruction clear—no pity, no play. Make sure say next time, na the boy go cry. For her mind, na so dem dey train strong girl.

My papa add, “No pity their hand and leg too.”

E mean say, if person mess up, just deal with am. My papa no dey waste time—if you soft, you go collect.

The next day, that family no show again.

You know Nigerians—any small wahala, dem vanish. My mama block their number, even delete their contact from phone. The house quiet.

After that, my mama block all those pikin-showing people for her WhatsApp status.

She no send again. Her own pikin na her own. Other mamas dey do show, but her status blank. If dem ask, she go say, "Busy with my own superstar!"