Chapter 7: Burna Boy, Breeze and Broken Trust

4

Sun dey shine for Lagos, but inside me, na shadow full everywhere.

Once my stepfather see my message, e just approve my leave sharp sharp.

No long story. Oga see say my hand dey try for family, e no waste time. For Naija, if you show loyalty, reward fit come quick. My leave get approval before lunch break. I just dey thank God for small mercies.

After food, as everybody rush go work, I drive my Innoson car go house, no stress.

Innoson dey make person feel like big madam. I play Burna Boy loud, window small down, breeze dey slap my face, conductor dey shout for junction. I pass familiar streets—mama put, suya joint, boys dey hawk pure water. My mind calm down small.

As I pass one small cake shop, I stop pack strawberry cake.

That cake shop na old place wey I dey like. The madam sabi me, she just pack cake quick, add small extra for corner. "Madam Titi, greet Somto for me!" she shout. I smile, thank am. Na so Lagos dey sweet for small moments.

Reach house, first thing, I send my mama wey dey wait for door away:

My mama no too trust me with Somto alone, so she dey eye door like eagle. I no blame am. But today, I get my own plan.

'Somto must don fear today. Mama, abeg make calming soup for am.'

Mama nod, still dey look back, but she waka go kitchen. I fit hear her dey mutter prayer under breath, dey beg God for peace. Na so old women dey do.

After my mama waka go, still dey look back, I enter, lock door.

Locking door na tradition for my wahala. I make sure key dey pocket. The air for house get one kind tension—like before heavy rain. My mind dey calculate my next move.

After all these days, Somto don sabi my routine.

E dey read my steps, dey arrange him mind. If I open door with small force, e know say wahala dey come. If I knock, e know say na soft mood. Today, I just enter, full chest.

Once he hear footsteps, he just stand like goat wey see masquerade, ears stand, eyes dey look me with fear.

The fear for Somto eye no be ordinary fear—na the kind wey dey mix small anger, small curiosity. E go grip the bedsheet, toes dig carpet, like say if I move anyhow, e go vanish. But inside me, I dey like the attention.

But na him eyes I like pass. E get that watery look, eyelid small, eye tail dey curve up. Even though e senior me with three years, e still look like small pikin, just dey pitiful.

Sometimes, if sun dey shine well, I go just dey watch Somto face. The tears for him eye dey shine like dew. Him eyebrow dey bend small, lips always pink. E fit pass for painting. Even with all the wahala, I dey pity am. E remind me of my old teddy bear—no matter how you squeeze am, e still soft.

But once he see my cold eye, e go change, turn stubborn puppy, dey fierce.

The transition dey fast. From soft to hard, from fear to stubbornness. He go glare me like say he fit fight, but I know say e no get that liver. E just dey try show face, as per Naija boy wey no wan lose guard.

I waka go am quick, push am land for mattress from Onitsha market.

That mattress big, but no too soft. I push am, e land with small bounce, feet kick air. He dey look me, mouth small open, as if to shout but no sound. For that moment, I dey control the room.

'Wetin dey worry you?'

My voice loud, but e still soft inside. I dey look am, dey try read mind, but all I see na confusion.

'You think say I too busy with work, I forget you?'

I dey twist the matter. I want make e feel important, even as I dey tease am. Sometimes, to show care, you go disguise am as wahala.

I just dey twist the matter.

Everything na game to me. I dey watch him reaction, dey hope say e go talk, even if na insult. But Somto just dey stubborn, no gree break character.

As he wan shake head, I grab him jaw, force open him mouth wey no dey react. Then I show am the long silver thread I pull come out.

The thread na from him shirt, maybe from old wahala. I wave am like trophy, dey try get small smile from am. But e just dey look me, face blank.

'Somto, I bring soft, sweet cake for you. You wan chop?'

I talk am with my best sweet voice. For Naija, food fit change mood quick. I lift the strawberry cake, let the scent fill room. I dey hope say e go soften.

He glare me with red eye. No fear, na him dey make me even dey do pass.

That stubborn glare dey challenge me. Instead of fear, na anger dey show. I like am like that. If e no react, e mean say e no send me. But as e glare, I dey ginger to do more. Na this wahala dey sweet me.

Last last, I use my finger feed am the whole strawberry cake. No single crumb remain.

Na soft work. I break the cake small small, push am for him mouth. E resist at first, but hunger no dey allow pride. E lick finger last last, crumbs for lip. As I clean am, I dey smile. Victory sweet.