Chapter 2: Price for Everything

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That night, the man pin me down, dey repeat, “Tell me, who really die?”

Him hand clamp my wrist, eyes red like fire. Room dark, only streetlight dey enter. My chest dey hammer. Him breath hot for my face, he no dey hear any story.

“I no do well. Na me. I dey die now now…”

Tears dey threaten, my voice dey crack. Shame full my body, but small stubbornness still dey my chest—Naija woman no dey break easy. I remember Mama voice: "No let hunger push you misbehave." But for this Abuja, hunger dey shout louder than advice. Fear hold me, but na my pikin dey give me small strength. Even so, I dey remember how my own wahala long pass advice. Abeg, na only God know who dey really die.

1

I stare at the test result for my hand, my mind blank like chalkboard.

Heart dey run, paper dey shake for hand. Nurse dey look me with that 'na you sabi' face.

I ask the nurse, “Aunty, I really get belle?”

I try smile, but my lips dey betray me. The small clinic fan dey turn but the room still hot pass. Nurse na Yoruba woman, round face, wrapper tight for waist. She just dey look me, sympathy for her eyes.

“Yes, two months gone.”

Her voice soft, but e land my ear like thunder. Two months? Two months wey I never even chop better food.

Two months…

My mind begin fly—who get hand for this matter? I dey try remember when, how. My palm cold as I rub my stomach.

It must have been that time inside the car.

My head turn, memory flash. That day, body weak from work, rain dey fall anyhow for Abuja. No umbrella, shoe soak, hair rough.

That day, rain dey fall and I no carry umbrella. One of my male colleagues for work offered to drop me home on his keke.

He be gentle guy, always dey ask how far. I reason say na normal help, nothing dey. Keke driver dey blast Fuji, rain dey slap plastic, I dey squeeze my skirt make e no dirty.

Just as I come down from the keke, na so I jam Lanre, just return from business trip.

Lanre tall pass my colleague, even rain no fit hide him level. Suit fresh, briefcase for hand. For that rain, e dey shine like nothing fit touch am.

He no dey smile, always carrying that cold face wey dey make people shift. But that night, his face hard like police wey catch thief—fear grip me.

Him eye red, brow knot like say e just fight with devil. I wan run, but leg no move. Abuja people dey mind their business; nobody send us.

He drag me back inside keke, kiss me hard, right in front of my colleague.

I shock, mind fly. My colleague mouth open, he just waka fast, pretend say nothing happen. My own body just dey tremble.

“Morayo, I never die yet, you don dey rush find another man?”

Jealousy thick for his voice. For Abuja wey men dey chop-and-go, see as my own dey hold me like na only me remain for earth.

“Wetin happen, I no do reach for you?”

My face burn. I quickly cover his mouth. “Abeg, stop.”

I feel people dey look from corner eye, but shame no even let me check. My ear hot.

But his eyes land on my rain-soaked shirt, and his face dark pass before.

Shirt glue my chest, show more than I plan. He bite lip, hiss small, face squeeze.

That night, he no let me rest till midnight.

E be like say na all him anger he pour for me. My pillow, my body, even my voice dey beg for rest. If no be God, I for collapse.

When I finally come down from keke, my legs dey shake. In the end, na him carry me upstairs.

Lanre no dey use hand anyhow, but that night, na him carry me like pikin, enter house, dodge Mama Kemi for corridor. I hide my face, no talk.

For three years, I sabi my level. Mrs. Lanre position no be my own—I never even dream am.

I know my place—side, not front. Abuja get code; person wey dey chop another man food no dey make noise. I just dey count days, dey pray rain no go fall when I waka.

But even as I dey careful, I still fall inside wahala.

Person wey run from village masquerade, na city masquerade go catch am. Wahala no dey ever finish for woman hand.

As I dey come out from the clinic, Lanre call me.

Phone vibrate, his name pop up. My hand dey shake, I pick with small voice.

“Where you go?”

He always straight. No time for play. I swallow saliva.

I just lie sharp sharp. “I go market, dey buy birthday present for you.”

I fake voice, add small smile so he no go suspect. I dey sweat under sun but my teeth dey shine.

He chuckle for phone. “Another tie again? Morayo, you no fit think of another thing?”

I wan laugh, but na fear dey hold me. He sabi everything—nothing dey hide from am.

I breathe deep, then ask, “So… wetin you want make I buy for you?”

My mind dey pray say e go be something simple. I no wan wahala.

After call, he send me some lingerie pictures on WhatsApp. I just gasp.

My eyes big, hand fly my mouth. Chai! All those small small cloth, see as dem dey shine red and black, lace everywhere. Abuja market never sell this kind wahala before.

This man bold o…

Sometimes I dey fear the kind ideas wey dey his mind. I just shake my head, block phone with pillow.

If I wear that kind thing, shame go kill me.

No be me dey do all this oyibo fashion. My own na simple wrapper and big t-shirt for night.

In the end, I no buy the kind gift wey he want. Since he no like tie, I pick leather belt. After all, na him money.

As I hold the belt, I remember how my papa go flog us for village—belt get two meanings. But for Lanre, na style.

When I reach house, he never come back. Today na his birthday. He dey always spend am with childhood friends. I reason say he go come late, so I chop alone, bath, and prepare to sleep.

I even dance small to radio, free body, just to forget wahala. Chop jollof, small zobo, then enter bathroom.

As I step out from bathroom, person just hug me from back.

Goosebumps scatter my body, but that scent—na only one man fit carry am. My heart quick, but I no struggle. I just close my eyes, let am hold me small.