Chapter 2: Family Court Don Set

The moment I see my mother-in-law post that video for group chat, my mind just sink. Wahala don land today.

My phone dey ping, notification just dey fly. I see the video, see her tears. Omo, I know say e don be. I for use sense. My village people catch me today, sha. I wish I get ogbanje spirit wey fit vanish. E be like say ground open, make I just enter inside.

I regret my carelessness. I for wait till night, when everywhere don dark, then quietly throw them away for estate dustbin. That way, nobody go notice.

Why I rush? If I just wait small, maybe by 11pm when light dey blink and compound dey quiet, I for package the pies inside nylon, carry go that big estate bin outside gate. Na so dem dey do am for our street—if you wan hide rubbish, na late night sure pass. See as I fall my hand now.

After my mother-in-law finish her video and all her complaints, she pick up the pies and carry them back to kitchen.

She wipe her eyes, arrange wrapper, pack container, carry leftover pies with trembling hand. Even as she waka go kitchen, she dey sniffle, dey mutter, "My enemies no go see me finish. If I lie, make yam no grow for my farm this year."

I quietly bring out container from fridge, dey watch as she put pies back inside.

I stand for corner like mumu, dey observe. I no fit talk. Even my shadow dey hide. I see as she dey arrange each pie with care, like say she dey count blessing.

Na God save us say the nylon wey I use hold am well. Only small ones burst, dey scatter. She dey check each one, sigh, arrange, shake her head. "Chei, see as good thing dey waste."

She knead dough again, roll out new wrappers, scoop out filling, rewrap pies. She no even mind the stress. She bring out flour, mix water, knead dough with knuckle red, sweat for brow. She rewrap am, press the edge with fork, arrange for tray. If na olden days, she for sing Igbo song as she dey work.

Me sef dey try help small, pass am plate, fetch water. But I know say my hand no dey needed. Na her battle, she get am. When she finish, I help arrange am for freezer. The kitchen just dey silent, tension thick like ogbono soup.

I watch as she clean face with wrapper. Every few minutes, she sigh. Her back hunch like say pie matter weigh her down pass market load.

I no talk anything. If I talk now, na new wahala. Better make I zip mouth. Even the kitchen clock sound loud pass my breath.

Both of us just quietly finish the whole thing. Time drag. Na only kitchen utensils dey clang. She no look my face, I no look her own. For my mind, I dey count ceiling board.

Next thing, knock come from parlour. Sharp sharp, everywhere quiet. You go think say police dey door.

She adjust head tie, drag wrapper well, waka to door. The way she move, you go think say she dey expect war.

As she open door, the wailing start. "My children o! My enemies o!"

My chest just tight as I hear my husband’s elder brother voice: “Mummy, abeg stop crying. Where Nnenna?” Obinna voice steady but worry dey inside. As first son, e no like see mummy cry. The way he call my name, my body cold.

Mother-in-law sob, voice full of pain: “I know Nnenna no like fatty meat, so I buy lean beef just for her. I wake up by four o’clock this morning to start work. I roll the dough by hand, chop the filling by hand, wrap every pie myself. I work for hours, my hands freeze, I never even chop breakfast. But she no chop even one—she just throw all inside dustbin. Wetin I do? Why she hate me like this? Even if I offend her, the pies no do her anything! Why she throw am away?”

You go pity the woman. She dey narrate her hard work like testimony for church. She even add small Igbo prayer: “Chineke, wetin I do? God, judge between me and my daughter-in-law. If I lie, make yam no grow for my farm this year.”

Obinna voice sound pained: “Mummy, abeg no vex. Where Nnenna? Make I go talk to her.” Obinna voice dey soft, but you fit hear the warning. "Mummy, calm down first, no let hypertension catch you."

Before mother-in-law fit answer, I hear little sister-in-law voice: “Nnenna, come out!” Amaka jump up, voice sharp like broken bottle: “Nnenna, you get conscience so?” Her voice sharp like pepper, e ring for kitchen like NEPA alarm.

Big brother rebuke am: “Why you dey call your second sister-in-law by name?” He face Amaka with side-eye, mouth twist like say e wan scold small pikin.

“Abeg!” Little sister-in-law hiss. “She even deserve make I call her sister-in-law? My mama never suffer this kind thing before. She think say she fit ride us anyhow. Nnenna, come out here!” Amaka no dey look face. She fold arm, belly like small drum, face red.

Her footsteps just dey rush come kitchen side. You go hear am as she dey waka—slippers dey slap tile, jewellery dey jangle. Na so wahala dey take start for our house.