Chapter 2: From Riches to Cyber Café Hustle

Me wey be Adeyemi family first daughter, born with silver spoon, get childhood fiancé. From primary school dey learn table manners, piano, French, all the ajebutter package. I still remember how my mama go hold my hand, bend my head small, teach me: "Greet your elders well, Ifeoma. Respect na your pride." But now, as I dey face this disgrace, that memory just dey pain me. Everything I lose dey heavy for my chest.

Last month, I dey celebrate my 20th birthday. Big cake, DJ dey spin, everybody dey snap selfie. Suddenly, wahala land.

One poor girl from my class just burst in, kneel for ground, dey cry:

"Aunty Adeyemi, why you frame me say I thief your gold necklace?"

"Abeg, I no fit pay you back. I fit work as maid for your house to clear the debt?"

I look am, shocked. The air just freeze, music stop, people dey whisper.

Babe, who you be?

And me, Ifeoma Adeyemi, na only diamond I dey wear, not gold necklace. Even my mama go laugh if I touch gold, say e no reach our level.

Before I talk, she faint for parlour. Everybody rush, slap her leg, pour water, call nurse for estate WhatsApp group.

Wahala bust, dem rush am health centre. DNA test show say she get same blood with my mama. Gist spread like wildfire — all the aunties dey gossip for kitchen.

Na so e be say, na she be the real heiress, me na fake. All my mind scatter, as if spirit slap me for back.

My papa and mama just dey shout for my head:

"You this bad luck! If no be you carry Amara position, we for no lose her all these years!"

My fiancé just bone face:

"I misjudge you. Amara get better heart. You no even reach to carry her shoe."

Na December, no even get thick wrapper, dem just chase me comot from Adeyemi family compound. Cold catch me well, harmattan breeze no get mercy. Even security no let me carry my box complete. I beg Mama Peace, the housemaid, but she just hiss, say madam no want see my face. I wan cry, but pride no let me.

I rub my hand, sigh. My eye red, but tears no gree drop. For Lagos, you go learn say suffering dey train brain pass school.

Wise woman sabi when to bend or stand, but hunger no go kill me. I remind myself, "Ifeoma, shine your eye. Poverty na small pikin if head correct."

I hear say to shake zobo na one thousand naira per hour. Na so I begin reason, but my spirit reject that kain hustle.

But to dey work cyber café beta—fit sleep there join. Even if mosquito dey bite, at least na roof dey top. Sometimes NEPA take light, I go dey sweat, use hand fan dey blow customer, still dey smile. Hustle no easy, but I dey survive.

I reason am, cyber café make sense pass. Na so I begin learn how to type sharp, do printing, help small children open Facebook.

After I don make three hundred noodles, sell one hundred sausage, one black G-Wagon park for café front. The car shine like black panther for night, even agbero for junction pause look.

My ex-fiancé uncle, the real oga for Okafor family—Obinna.

He stand for front, hold black umbrella. Rain no even fall, but the guy dey coded.

Suit and tie, correct guy, he talk:

"Ifeoma Adeyemi, follow me."

Me, I dey open noodle, pour hot water:

"You be the thirteenth old man this month wey wan keep me. Abeg, join queue."

Obinna frown small, him presence strong:

"People dey disturb you?"

He wave, him security men just waka come, greet me well:

"Sorry, Miss Adeyemi."

Next thing, dem bundle me, I dey struggle, enter G-Wagon, zoom off. My wig nearly fall off, phone fly under seat, before I balance. I try type SOS for WhatsApp, but my phone don hide under seat, battery even don red. Wahala dey.