Chapter 2: Christmas Morning—Second Chance

Pain. Serious pain. E get the kind pain wey reach bone, na that one dey catch me now. My body dey sweat, but room cold. E remain make I shout.

I jump wake for bed, sit up, sharply touch my neck, as if the pain of the knife wey cut my throat still dey worry me. My hand dey shake, my heart dey beat like ogene drum for village square.

Still dey shake, I rush check my phone under pillow to see time. I no even mind say my phone dey old, screen crack. Na habit, all Naija pikin sabi am.

5 a.m., December 25th. I don come back again! My body cold, but my mind dey hot. All those Christmas jollof no even hungry me. Na this day wahala start. Neighbour dey play radio, small pikin dey cry for backyard.

Back to the day my life change! If person tell me say God go do me like this, I for argue.

Today, Ifeoma and me go jam Musa and him gang for road as we dey go school. That road always dey lonely, na only okada dey pass sometimes.

Musa go drag Ifeoma enter bush, wan do bad thing with am. My heart dey beat as I remember, my hand dey sweat. For Naija, girls dey always fear those boys wey dey hang for corner.

For my last life, I try protect her—one person fight like ten—only for Musa to use knife stab me for waist. The pain no be here. Blood dey rush commot like gutter wey rain beat.

As I dey bleed for ground, the guy still use stick break my two legs. I dey cry, but nobody answer. E be like say world dey far from me.

Ifeoma hide for one corner, dey shake, she no even fit call police. Her voice no come out. Na so some Naija girls dey freeze when wahala happen.

Na one better classmate wey pass come call police and ambulance for me. That kind helper wey God send from nowhere.

Dem rush me go hospital emergency, my body don scatter. I dey reason, say my village people dey laugh me for dream.

At eighteen, I come dey waka with crutch since that day, no fit born pikin again. My mama cry sotey, she almost faint. Papa no even talk for days.

After the wahala, Musa, wey don reach eighteen too, na so dem carry am go prison for ten years. Him people no gree, but evidence too much.

Ifeoma no get scratch, just dey cry for her parents body. I think say na for me she dey cry, I still dey console am say make she no worry. My head dey touch that time.

Who go believe say na Musa she dey cry for—the same person wey dem send go jail? My mind no rest for days.

I no blame her, because I still reason say she sef be victim. Maybe she dey confuse, or na shock. For Naija, wahala dey twist people heart.

Later, Ifeoma enter showbiz, I come be her manager. I dey run up and down for her matter, dey chase show, dey write contract.

I follow her reach top, but as she blow, na so she carry my name scatter for Facebook and WhatsApp. Even Alhaja for junction hear my story.

Dem begin accuse me of sexual harassment and say I dey control her. All those blogs no gree let me rest. My name dey fly everywhere like harmattan dust.

Last last, one of her mad fans stab me sotey my throat tear, I die just like that. No be small thing.

I no believe say my short thirty years as Nnamdi go end with two knife wounds all because of woman. E pain me like say hot pepper enter my wound.

I vex! I hate! The kain anger wey dey my chest fit boil water.

But God see me, give me another chance. E be like God wan make I use my sense this time.

This life, I no go put mouth for your matter again. Tufiakwa! My hand no dey.

Ifeoma, make you carry your own cross. Everybody for Naija know say cross heavy, na who get am fit carry am.