Chapter 1: When Trouble Wear Lipstick

The first time I meet Aunty Kemi na for secondary school, just after dem don beat me finish. I no fit let my mama see me like that—if she see bruise for my face, na double wahala—her slap no dey miss. I rush enter my room, dey hide, only to jam one sight wey make my face hot and my heart dey do gbim-gbim.

As I burst enter, dey squeeze my shirt make blood no show, na there I see her. E be like film trick. Sunlight from window dey draw yellow line for her back. She dey there, back turn, dey unhook bra like say na her own room, no fear, no shame. My body just freeze, all the pain for my body vanish.

The smell of her coconut oil mix with the faint scent of Omo soap from her clothes. She dey change, her smooth back flash, tight jeans hold her waist. Her shape dey show—she fine reach to cause traffic for Ojuelegba. When she remove shirt, her long hair fall for back, e be like I dey watch home video.

Her skin just dey glow, like she rub correct shea butter, waist dey dance inside jeans. I fit hear her bangles dey jingle as she move. No be say I never see woman before, but this one different—God take time mould this one—she fine reach to cause traffic for Ojuelegba.

She turn, see me. I think say she go shout, but she no talk.

She just drop eye for me, corner of mouth bend like say she dey hide laugh, but her eye dey sharp, dey measure me from head to toe. That small silence, my chest dey drum like talking drum.

Instead, she just smile like say she dey plan something and yarn, “Your mama go beat you later.”

Her voice carry one kind sweet mischief. E shock me say adult fit dey play like this. She talk am with Lagos Island accent—sharp, like person wey don see wahala but sabi am pass you.

I sharply look away, face down, I no fit answer. But I still no gree comot, dey fear make my mama no notice my bruises.

My leg just stand for ground like tree root. Even as shame dey catch me, I dey calculate how I go waka pass without my mama noticing my swollen face. I hold my breath, dey wish ground go swallow me.

I turn back, just siddon quietly dey wait make she finish change.

Na so I fold leg for bed corner, drag pillow cover near face. I no dare look her again, but my mind dey picture everything. Room quiet, only sound of her zip and faint hum from neighbor generator for backyard.

After she don dress, she waka come check my face well.

She bend, hold my chin with soft fingers, tilt my face make she see bruise well. Her perfume nearly burst my head—na that kind wey you go smell once, remember for two years.

For my eye, she na real woman wey sabi.

She just dey arrange herself like say she dey go party. Her confidence dey shine pass her earrings. You go know say she no be woman wey dey fear anybody.

Her jeans dey show her round, sharp hips. Boots for leg. Small top under leather jacket. Big earrings dey swing under her wavy hair.

If dem dey share sense for fashion, Aunty Kemi collect double. She fit enter party for Lekki, still blend for Oshodi market next day. Her swag get both street and class.

Aunty Kemi just dey look me, her scent full everywhere—dangerous, with that her sharp red lipstick.

The red lipstick na like warning sign. If you see am for road, you go know say na woman wey fit cause trouble, but her trouble dey sweet. Her laughter soft, but e get pepper for inside.

That time, most aunties dey wear wrapper or Ankara, but I never see anybody like her. She just resemble one of those Nollywood film stars from the 90s.

She get that Genevieve face, but her eyes dey shine like Tacha for BBNaija when she vex. I dey wait make she begin act script, but she just dey real.

She wink, ask me if dem beat me.

She no even show pity—just wink, as if say na normal thing for boys. Her teeth white, her voice low, “Na so dem do am?”

I lie, “I fall.”

My voice dey shake. I for talk true, but I no want make she go report.

She just look me. “You fight back?”

Her eye dey shine. Na that kind adult wey want make you get mind, not just dey form gentle pikin.

As she don catch me, I confess, “No. I dey fear—if I fight, he go find me later.”

I twist my finger together, voice low like mosquito. The shame dey scratch me inside.

Aunty Kemi just hiss, then drag me make I siddon for bed. She hold my face, serious, “I go help you deal with am. Just relax.”

She get this kind soft strength—her hand cold but steady, like person wey don do this thing before. Her eyes bold, she no dey fear anybody. Her words strong, pass the kind comfort wey my mama dey give.

She go bring cold water and towel, begin press am for my wounds gently.

She fold towel well, squeeze am, dab my face. She sing small for under breath—old Yoruba song wey dey calm mind. The cold water dey cool my bruise, but her hand even dey cool pass.

I no even know where to look.

My eye dey jump from her nose ring to her painted nails, to small chain for neck. I dey count ceiling lines, but my mind no gree face front.

If I look up, her eyes dey shine.

Those eyes dey see through person. No be pity, na something like challenge—you fit see say she want make you stand up to anybody wey try you.

If I look down, her red lips dey blow small breeze for my bruises.

When she bend near me, she go use lips blow the pain, like say na small pikin. The red lipstick dey leave small mark for towel.

Look further, she bend over, dey focus on me.

I fit see her gold chain dey dangle, catch small sunlight. Her skin smell like shea butter and perfume mix together. My head dey scatter.

I just dey look corner of bed, every breath na her perfume I dey smell.

I nearly cough, the scent choke me—no be pepper, na just that strong woman aroma. E dey make chest tight.

That na the first impression Aunty Kemi give me: the wahala wey dey follow woman wey don mature.

I never see anybody balance wahala and beauty like that before. E be like say trouble dey follow her waka, but na the kind wey dey sweet you for inside.