Chapter 3: Blood for the Festival

As I reach door, na so I see my brother, drunk, dey come with three other men, all of dem dey waka straight enter house.

The way dem dey laugh, mouth dey smell ogogoro. Dem step heavy, dust full leg. I hide small behind door, dey peep. Dem resemble local champions, chest high, eye red like firewood smoke.

As I see wetin dem wan do, panic catch me, I rush go block my brother, fear full my face. “Brother, abeg, no enter that room. That woman get wahala. E get as e be—I dey beg you.”

Before I fit finish, my mama rush come, kick me for ground.

Her foot heavy. Sand enter my mouth. For this house, pikin voice no dey count if elder dey vex. I try stand, but pain hold me.

“Who you be wey you wan put mouth for your brother matter? Talk again, I go use broom flog your destiny if you talk again.”

Her voice sharp, neighbors fit hear am for far. She raise hand, like say na thunder she wan call down. I just keep quiet.

I just curl for corner, hold my head, dey look as dem rub hand together, dey smile anyhow, then enter the woman room.

I dey look as dem dey shine teeth, talk low voice, dey plan. My mind dey fear, hand dey sweat. Door slam, my hope die.

That night, after I wash my brother leg finish, I wan go, na so I jam my mama dey come my side.

Water for the basin dey shake as my hand dey tremble. My brother leg dirty with dust, I dey use local sponge, the one made from cassava sack. As I finish, I try waka pass quietly.

Her face just dark, vex full am. I no wan find her trouble, so I carry basin go outside quick.

Her brow tight, she no even talk. She just look me up-down, hiss, turn face. The way her slippers slap ground, I know say her mind dey boil.

As I close door, I no rush go. Something push me, I put ear for wooden door, dey hear wetin dem dey talk.

Night breeze cold, but my chest dey burn. I tiptoe, bend low, ear press for door. Inside, voice dey mumble, sometimes loud, sometimes low.

My mama voice low, she dey whisper: “This year na swine fever. All the pig for village don die. The village head talk say we no fit do New Yam Festival without meat, so e pick some family to bring goat meat. Our own na one of them.”

She dey complain, voice tired. Festival without meat na taboo. Elders no go gree. Even market women dey talk am since.

I confuse—our family no even get goat.

We dey manage with bush rat, sometimes snail. Goat na luxury, na only big man get am. I dey wonder if mama dey plan borrow goat or buy fake one for market.

I hold my breath, dey listen.

If dem catch me now, na slap sure pass. But I dey risk am—wahala too much for this house.

“Or make we just give them that woman for east room.”

Her voice low, but the word heavy. I fit hear chair drag for floor, like say person shock.

I use hand cover my mouth, fear wan make me shout.

I dey sweat, but my body cold. For this village, to use person for sacrifice na big abomination. Even masquerade no go fit smile for that kind talk.

So the ‘goat meat’ wey dem dey talk about na...

My mind wander, thoughts dey jam. Na the stranger woman dem dey plan give as meat for festival?

“No way!” My brother shout quick. “That woman—me and my guys dey enjoy her. We no fit give her.”

His voice loud, table shake. For Dauda, pleasure na number one. He no dey reason deep, na only him belle and body dey important.

“But...” My mama still dey reason. “If we no give anybody, the village head go vex.”

Her voice crack, fear dey hide inside. Village head na man wey no dey smile. If e vex for you, your farm fit spoil for months.

My brother just wave her off. “Abeg, give them Huzi. That one dey chop pass everybody. If we give them, e go make village head happy and we go get more food remain.”

He no even look back. As he dey talk, him mouth dey full with kola nut. I hear am grind teeth, laugh small, like say e don win lottery.

“But...” My mama still dey fear.

She dey look ground, her hand dey rub skirt edge. I fit sense say her mind dey think plenty things. For inside, she still be woman, but condition don harden her heart.

Before she finish, my brother cut am.

His voice sharp, "Abeg, wetin pass my happiness? We poor reach ground. I finally get woman, you wan spoil am because of Huzi?"

After my brother talk, my mama just keep quiet small, then she nod. “True. Nothing pass your happiness. We go give them Huzi.”

Her voice empty, like rain wey dry finish. I fit feel say she don give up, no more fight inside her. For our house, happiness na luxury—sometimes, person fit sell pikin just for peace.

As I hear their plan, my skin cold—maybe this house don turn graveyard and I be next.