Chapter 1: Broken Confession

The air was still in the parlour that afternoon, only the distant sound of a generator humming somewhere. The smell of fried plantain from the neighbour’s kitchen sneak enter through window, mix with the faint scent of Izal. The sunlight through the window glinted off the tiles, but my heart dey pound anyhow. I just dey look as Uncle Tunde hold my hand gently, like say e wan shield me from the truth, but still drag me forward. My legs weak, but I follow. I think say make I just turn back, but shame no gree me. My hand dey sweat for his palm.

Her name was Halima, and she was also the woman he planned to marry.

Halima sit quiet for the corner, her gele done slip small to the side. The wheelchair na black and silver type, shiny, imported. She smile faintly, but e no reach her eyes. Her perfume na soft, almost like baby powder. She look up as we enter, her hands folded on her lap. She just nod, voice soft: "Good afternoon, my sister." She greet, but I barely hear am over the roar inside my chest.

Uncle Tunde told me that Halima lost her legs—and all her dreams—just to save him, so he had to take responsibility for her.

He speak am slow, voice low, like say he dey confess to God. "Halima lose her legs for my sake. All her hopes for future, just disappear because she try save me from that accident. How I go turn my back? I gats take responsibility." His eyes carry wahala, as if the burden heavy for his shoulders.

I no understand.

For my mind, I dey reason. Is that how love is supposed to work? My mouth dry. I look from Uncle Tunde to Halima, her face pale, like pap wey water pass garri, her eyes shining with silent pain. The room heavy with one kain tension I never feel before. My chest tight, I just dey shake head.

Must you really pay back someone who saved your life with marriage?

I wish I fit ask am direct—if na this be the way things dey done for Nigeria sef, to marry person because of gratitude. I dey wonder if this na true love or just duty.

He never answered me.

Uncle Tunde just look ground, the silence between us wide like River Niger. For his face, no answer dey come. He dey avoid my eye. I dey wait, but e no talk anything. Na so I commot from the parlour that day, my head dey heavy.

For my former life, I refused to believe Uncle Tunde didn’t love me. I dey always dey do shakara, dey form vex for small thing, just to see if e go beg me.

I try every style—small small jealous, stubbornness, crying, laughter—just to make him notice me pass every other person. I dey always dey close to am, dey act like say I be his own. But e no ever move.

Until the day I watched him stand there, watching as his guy broke my ten fingers, one after the other. He listened to my screams, the pain tearing my chest, but his face no even change small.

That day hot like say the sun dey inside the room. As the guy dey break my fingers, I dey shout, my throat don tear. I dey shout, "Abeg! E don do!" but nobody answer. Uncle Tunde stand, arms folded, face blank like stone. No pity, no movement. The other men for the room look away, but him just dey there, like say e no concern am. My own Uncle, my heart dey shout.

Na that day my heart finally break finish.

I collapse for floor, tears and sweat mix for my face. I for believe say my Uncle go rush come save me, beg make them stop. But he just stand, carry face, like say him don die inside. Na from there, my hope scatter.

Later, my injuries bad reach where I no fit stand inside the operating room again. In the end, when I no see hope again, I carry razor blade, draw am across my wrist, tears dey wash my face like Benue river.

After that day, as I dey hospital, the pain too much. Nurses dey come, dey go, nobody dey for me. My hands useless, my spirit broken. Na so I find blade, tears dey run like river. I cut, no look back. Na my own way of ending the wahala.

When I wake up again—

I hear one nurse for corner dey pray, "God, abeg, no let this pikin die." Light dey shine for my eyes, I dey hear faint voices. I touch my chest, surprise say I still dey alive. But this world different—na like say God rewind my life. The fear and regret still dey my heart as I open my eyes.

I no waste time, just send my application to Doctors Without Borders.

I grab laptop, fingers dey shake, but I type fast. My mind dey made up. No more drama. I go chase my own purpose, find my own place for this world. I dey determined to change my story. This time, na my own turn to choose.

I withdraw from being the little niece.

I no send anybody again. I tie courage like new Ankara, chest strong. From that moment, I decide to be my own person. I go face the world—no more hiding under Uncle Tunde shadow. For my mind, I tell myself: Yemi, time to be strong.