Chapter 1: The Day Everything Scatter

On the morning of university entrance exam for 1990, I no know say wahala dey wait for me for Ayegbaju Village. As I try rescue my classmate from one agbero wey dey drag her waka, dey molest her by roadside, she kneel for my front, voice shaky, eyes red, tears and village dust mix for her face. She beg, “My family card and exam permit dey with that man wey just run. Abeg, help me get them back!”

People for market square begin gather. The air full of fried akara, dry pepper, and the sharp shout of traders haggling for morning customers. Some dey shake head, others dey hiss, "Na wah, see as life dey do person." I look Rukayat, my chest tight like say rope dey pull am. For this kind village, na shame and fear dey chase person pass agbero own.

But I no fit catch the agbero. When dem stop Rukayat for exam centre gate, she no fit enter. Na so she vex, pour her anger for my head, mouth sharp like new blade.

Crowd gather, dey point finger, dey whisper, “Why e no fit help am finish? If na me, I for catch that agbero.” My skin dey crawl, sun still dey hot, but my heart don kpai, e no dey beat again.

The day my university admission letter reach, na so Rukayat carry police and her family come jam my house.

Even before cock crow, police uniform and Lawal family full ground, knock dey scatter our old zinc door. Rukayat dey back, face hard like garri wey soak overnight. My mind fly, I no even sabi wetin dey happen.

She point me, voice loud like church bell, “Na him. Na the day of university entrance exam, na him molest me, na him collect my documents.”

Police dey write for note, my heart dey pound like bata drum. She talk, “E dey jealous my result, na im make me miss exam on purpose, e wan destroy my life.”

People for compound dey shake head, dey look me like say I carry bad luck like wrapper. I try talk, but my mouth just dey dry, no word come out.

As dem dey investigate, my university just cancel my admission. I turn to the most notorious bad guy for the whole Ayegbaju, everybody dey avoid me like say I get ogbanje.

Small pikin dey run when dem see me for road. Even my own friends dey dodge my eye. People dey fear to greet my grandma. For night, shout of 'Ole!' dey echo as dem pass our house. My chest dey pain, every night I dey cry for inside pillow, the sound lost inside old mattress.

At last, na my grandma—her hand hold blood-soaked letter—kneel, crawl from busy market reach local government office, dey beg make dem help me. As her blood drip for paper, I remember the day she tie me for back, trek go farm under rain, just to buy me new book. She no look anybody face, dey shout my name, “Na my only pikin! Na lie dem dey talk! Help me!” Blood dey drip, but she no send. Market women dey pity am, some dey follow beg, tears for their face.

But the night before dem go release me, fire burst for house. Grandma, with her bound legs, no fit run. The fire chop everything. People gather, but before dem break door, all don finish. Her voice echo for my dream that night—"Maodan, no give up." Na only ashes remain when sun rise.

Just like that, my future and my home burn to nothing.

After, nobody near us. Rukayat family dey celebrate. My heart don kpai, e no dey beat again. For market, people dey dodge my eye. I waka dey roam road, no get direction. For Naija, miracle na only for who get power.