Chapter 2: New Beginnings, Old Grudges

"You still get belle, abeg rest small."

I gently collect spoon from Morayo hand, help am sit down. She just smile, her eye dey shine like say na honey dey inside.

I fit see say the pregnancy dey show, small sweat for her face as she dey manage kitchen. Na so Yoruba woman sabi carry herself with grace—even when wahala full body, dem go still dey arrange face, dey shine for their man. I just thank God say I get Morayo for my life now, no be every man get this kind luck.

“Tobi dey try for SS2 for secondary school, so I make soup for am.” She hold my hand tight, her eyes dey shine. “Tobi no dey fight us about the baby again. E mean say e no go vex if we marry?”

She dey try dey strong, but her voice soft like pap wey no get lump. This kind woman, she dey think of every pikin—even the one wey no be her own. For inside her eyes, I see small fear, like say she dey wait for my answer to give her peace.

I hold Morayo hand back, dey smile. My mind just dey sweet me like her own. After one year wey I dey try talk sense enter my son, Tobi, head, the boy finally calm down about me and Morayo pikin matter. Before, anytime I try ask am for dinner if e wan younger sibling, na so e go vex, break plate and spoon. Sometimes, e go even burst, dey insult Morayo say she be home breaker, her belle pikin na bastard.

The wahala that year no be small. Even my neighbor Mama Chika come ask me, "Shey na fight you and your pikin dey fight for house every day?" E reach one day, my boy break my favorite Calabar plate, I nearly slap am. But I just hold myself, make community no say papa and pikin dey drag for woman matter.

As I dey see say the boy no dey hear word, I just tire, even think say I suppose slap am—make e sabi say na me be papa, e no get right for my matter. But anytime, na Morayo go swallow her pain, come dey beg me.

She dey always calm me, her voice gentle like stream for village. "Kunle, abeg, no beat am. Na pain dey do am. Time go heal." Sometimes I go look her, wonder how she fit get this kind patience. For this Lagos, people dey hot, but Morayo dey cool like rain after sun.

“Kunle, abeg no beat the pikin. I dey okay.”

“I fit bear small wahala. Make e no spoil you and your pikin own.”

I rub Morayo belle, my eye full of sorry. “But we don already get belle now.”

Her hand cold for my palm, her face dey show say she dey think plenty. Even as she try smile, I sabi say inside her chest, e dey tight. Na so love be—sometimes you go carry another person wahala join your own.

Morayo shake head, tears dey her eye. “As long as I dey with you, I go manage, even if I no get title. Na our pikin I dey pity…”

The tears for her eye dey shine like dew for morning leaf. I remember my mama words: "When woman dey cry for belle, carry am, no let am feel alone." I hold her tighter, try wipe the tears, even as my own eye dey hot.

So, I try everything to talk sense into Tobi for almost one year. Today, e finally gree. E just drop him plate and spoon, grip am tight till him knuckles white, jaw lock, then e nod, talk say, “Na your house, do as you want.” Then e waka go study, no look back.

That "Na your house, do as you want" weak me pass slap. For Naija, if pikin tell you that word, e mean say wall don dey between una, e no just wan talk again. The silence for the house that night loud, even fan no dey make sense again.

As my son no shout or make wahala as before, I just breathe easy. Na only to hold Morayo close and happy dey my mind. To talk true, with her, I dey feel young again—like say I fit do anything for love, like say nothing fit stop me.

I wan dance for parlour sef, but I just hold myself. I remember how my papa go dey sing old Juju song anytime him woman make am happy. Na so love dey sweet sometimes, e dey make person forget all the wahala.

As I dey lost for thought, Morayo look me, her eye dey playful. “Both pikin suppose sleep, dem get school tomorrow.”

Her voice light, like she dey hide laughter. Na true, both children suppose dey bed by now. But for my mind, I dey wish the evening go long small. I look wall clock, see say time don waka. Nigerian mothers no dey play with school routine—if dem late, na wahala.

Tobi na my pikin with my late wife, Halima na Morayo pikin wey she carry come. After I and Morayo start to dey, I arrange make Halima transfer go the same school with Tobi. Now, both of them dey SS2 for one correct school, and dem go soon become real siblings, fit look out for each other.

The principal even hail me say, "Oga Kunle, your family dey set example for others." Sometimes, I dey proud say I fit blend two families together. For this our society, na strong thing.

But the main thing be say, as I dey think am, I touch Morayo belle. Me and Morayo go soon get our own pikin. But as I dey happy, the picture of my son back as e waka go study just dey flash for my mind, make me dey worry. Tobi still dey carry him mama death for mind, dey vex for me and Morayo. But person wey die no fit come back, the living suppose look forward, no be so? I believe say my late wife no go want make I and my pikin dey inside sorrow forever.

For Yoruba land, dem dey talk say, "The dead don go, na the living dey remain." My mama always dey tell me make I no let sorrow tie my leg. Even as I dey reason am, the pain for my chest just dey drag me.

Morayo lean for my shoulder, talk sweetly, “So, when we go do our wedding ceremony?”

I just hold Morayo, my heart full of love, I no even know say the study door wey face parlour don open small. E be like say one kind dark eye just dey look us… But maybe na my mind dey play trick on me.

The house quiet, but sometimes that kind quiet dey mean storm dey hide for corner. My body just cold small. Maybe na the memory of old quarrel dey disturb me.

For this house, as silence dey, wahala fit dey plan meeting. For Naija, when rain fall, e no dey select roof.