Chapter 2: Rituals and Rebellion

Inside the room, the sound of quiet sobbing mix with the dull kpom-kpom of pestle for body, like when you dey pound yam.

Wall thin, plaster crack, so neighbour radio and every slap echo enter. Air smell of dust, sweat, and old wahala. Rats dey run for ceiling, no send our family drama.

I just bone, bend over my homework, already used to this kind thing.

My biro dey run for exercise book, but my mind no dey there. The letters just dey dance, but I force myself dey write. I don learn how to tune out cry—pretend say na rain dey beat zinc. For our house, to survive na to act like say you no hear wetin you no fit fix.

Mom notorious for all the nearby villages as bringer of bad luck. Grandma go still talk say she get the fate of woman wey bone dey soft.

Sometimes, women from Obeagu, even reach Nkanu, go peep our gate, whisper, "Na that woman be the wahala bringer?" I hate how people dey look am, how dem dey cross themselves or mumble prayer as she pass. But Grandma dey carry their fear like badge.

The more dem beat her, the more family dey prosper; the more dem curse her, the better dem days go.

For them, e simple. Grandma go dey count blessing—"Since we flog her last week, market don dey move!" No doubt for her mind. Even Dad go laugh with him padi, "Na woman wey get soft bone dey bring luck!"

Harvest time reach for our greenhouse. To make sure thousands of ugu go sell well, Grandma no even bother go church. She lock Mom for room, beat am like say tomorrow no dey.

Normally, Grandma go lead morning prayer, sing, "Onyeoma, mee mma..." but this time, na Uncle she call, drag Mom enter storeroom. Door lock, Mom dey beg, but Grandma carry pestle, dey hum church song, as if she dey pound yam.

"You this jinx! Better bless us so our vegetables go sell well tomorrow, or I go come back beat you die."

Her voice thunder, finger crooked as she point Mom wey dey curl for corner, wrapper soak with sweat. "If market no move, na you go see wetin pass beating!" She go hiss, spit for ground, her eyes sharp like razor.

Mom moan dey soft small small.

First, her cry shake wall. Later, e fade, heat swallow am. My heart twist, but I no fit show am.

Grandma grab her hair, slap her face. Mom face always get bruise—no day e clear.

I see Grandma hand dey shake as she pull Mom hair, Mom close eye, just collect slap, lips tight. Even neighbour sabi no put mouth. Na our family matter.

Dad just siddon for plastic chair, dey smoke Benson, no even look their side.

Leg stretch, smoke ring for air, eye half close. Sometimes, e go dey sing highlife like say nothing dey happen. Beating don become background music.

To them, every Mom cry na like money dey rain.

Dem no dey hear pain, na profit dem dey hear. Any time Mom scream, Grandma go smile, like say market women go soon dey fight to buy our ugu. Dad foot go dey tap as she dey wail, dey count how much e go chop for palm wine joint.

"Chisom, bring your grandma water. No let her tire, you useless pikin!"

Grandma voice crack from other room, sharp. I stand up, leg dey shake, but I know say I no fit refuse.

I carry bowl of hot water from flask, pause, then change am to cold water.

As I pass kitchen, I remember last time, how Mom cough blood for days after Grandma force hot water for her mouth. My hand dey shake. I pour the hot water, fill bowl from tap, pray make this small rebellion no cost me pass wetin I fit bear.

Last time I bring hot water, Grandma pour am straight for Mom mouth, burn her throat, almost kill am.

That memory dey haunt me. Mom lie for mat days, no fit talk or chop, lips crack. Dad and Grandma carry am go clinic, dey grumble about money. Nurse look dem with serious eye.

Na first time I see Dad and Grandma fear for Mom.

Dem hover near her bed, dey watch her breath—scared say if she die, luck fit finish. I realise—even their worry na selfish. Dem dey fear to lose their own juju, no be real care.

"Mama, take am easy next time. If you beat her die, we go lose our lucky charm."

Dad whisper am, voice dey tremble small. Even Grandma nod, eye dey waka for ward, like say spirit dey watch.

Grandma grumble, "Ah, my head no correct that day. I go dey careful next time."

She blame devil for overdo. But deep down, na fear—she no wan lose the only thing wey she believe dey make us better.

I stand outside ward, dey watch Mom for bed, heart full of confusion.

White wall smell of Dettol and sadness. I press face for window, dey watch her chest. Nurse pass, give me pity eye, but I don used to am.

Later, nurse say she don escape danger, Dad and Grandma begin smile. Only my eye full of sadness. Maybe Mom no even wan wake up.

House full of laughter that night. Dad call friends, Grandma make yam porridge, dem dey celebrate like say Mom pain na festival. But I see as Mom dey look ceiling, eye empty. Na that time I begin wonder if to wake up na curse for her, no be blessing.

When I see say Grandma no wan stop, I sneak go backyard, open goat pen.

Goats restless, eye wild for dark. I loose latch, whisper, "Go, go!" Hope say dem go scatter everywhere, distract everybody. My heart dey beat as I dey listen for shout.

Soon, Aunty Risi next door shout, "Chinedu family, your goats don run commot!"

Her voice loud like bell. I hear feet dey run, slippers dey slap ground, Dad and Grandma dey shout as dem chase goats. For all that wahala, house feel light, like even spirit don run.

Grandma and Dad rush out to chase goats, so Mom rest from more beating for now.

Room come quiet, na only Mom rough breathing. I sneak enter, the weight for my chest drop small, grateful say at least tonight I give her small peace.

I help Mom climb bed. Blood stain my hand, I just feel lost.

Her body heavy, blood sticky, shirt stain but I no care. I whisper, "Sorry, Mama," wish say I fit carry her pain, wish say I get strength to fight everybody.

Before, when dem dey beat Mom, I dey risk myself to shield her. But the more I try, the more wicked dem beat both of us.

I go stand between her and Grandma, arm open. Grandma go turn to me, curse, "Stubborn goat! Na you dey give your mama bad luck." Dad go use belt, Mom just lie down, no dey look my side.

What pain me pass be say Mom no dey want my help. She dey push me away, insult me.

Her words dey bite more than slap. "I no need your pity," she go snap, push me. Her voice cold, as if she hate to see me. Sometimes I dey wonder if she blame me for her fate.

"How I take born pikin like you? Abeg, shift."

Na always so. Her rejection be like wall wey I no fit climb. I go leave, tears for eye, promise myself not to care again—but I always care.

At last, I stop to dey protect Mom. I realise say e no get sense. To try na to bring more beating for her—and for me.

Time pass, I learn to hold my anger, keep distance. E pain, but I no fit dey throw myself for fire every time.

Looking her blank face, I quietly rub iodine for her wound. We no talk.

Silence heavy between us. I dab her cut, she dey flinch but never talk, never thank me. We sit, like two ghost for same haunted house, pain bind us together.

When Grandma and Dad return after chasing goats, na evening already. Dem dey talk about how vegetables go sell well tomorrow.

Laughter dey echo for corridor, plate dey sound for kitchen, fried onion smell full air. Dem no even notice Mom for bed, no see blood for wrapper, no see my tears.

I stay with Mom for cold, dark back room, sleep dey come as rats dey run for ceiling.

Darkness press us, only small kerosene lamp for bed dey give light. Rats bold tonight, dey waka for head, but I too tired to chase dem. I sleep with Mom hand inside my own, dey hope say tomorrow go better.