Chapter 7: The Pie Explosion

Na only mother-in-law no touch her spoon. She look the pie, sigh, fold hand for lap. Her eye just dey red, she refuse look my side.

I pick one pie, bring am near her mouth: “Mummy, you try well well this morning—make your daughter-in-law feed you. Thank you for taking care of me.” I smile, push pie near her mouth, voice low but clear. Na small jab, but I no let am show for face.

She clamp her mouth tight. Her lips purse, face stone. If to say na secondary school, she for collect award for stubbornness.

“Wetin happen? Mummy, you no like pie? Na you make am o. At least taste am small.” I still dey talk gentle, but inside me, I dey prepare for battle.

Little sister-in-law talk: “My mama like pie pass anything. Mummy, chop now! She no dey ever show you this kind respect—enjoy am.” Amaka dey try force am, push plate, even lick finger. She want make her mama win this last round.

Mother-in-law turn face: “I no dey hungry.” She sniff, face window. Wrapper dey tight for shoulder. Tears dey gather for eye.

Little sister-in-law dey swallow pie, dey eye me: “See how you don vex my mama.” She talk am with food for mouth, lips greasy. Her eye still dey burn me, like say na me burn the pie.

She rush chop like say she wan finish am before taste reach her mouth. She no wait, just dey munch. Others dey try chop, but soon, their faces begin change.

Obinna chop two, then frown. Him face twist, nose wrinkle. He pause, look pie, look everybody. Obinna spit am out, face twist: “Abeg, who hide nylon for inside this pie? Na play?” He no fit hold am, spit for napkin. Everybody shock.

Sister-in-law spit hers too: “My own get tissue paper and noodles inside.” She bend, dig for mouth. "Ah, what is this? Tissue ke?"

Brother-in-law spit: “My own get spaghetti inside.” He check inside pie, pull out small strand. "See as e long!"

Little sister-in-law bite—crack! “Ah! Tufia!” She spit: “How bone take enter here?” She hold mouth, tears for eye. "See my teeth o!"

Obinna say, “Why today own get all this rubbish inside? The taste sef no dey right—e hard to chop.” He check pie, break am open. Sand small dey the pastry, meat dry like sawdust.

Little sister-in-law dey spit up and down: “No be only the filling, the pastry too get one kind taste, like say sand dey inside. Na really Mummy make this pie?” She rub tongue, pour water. Her face be like person wey lick alum.

I answer, “Na really her handmade pie.” I no blink, voice flat. "Na her handwork, una chop am so."

“E no possible! Mummy sabi cook—how e go taste like this?” Her voice high, disbelief for face. Others dey nod.

I smile: “Na your mama you go ask o. E funny, abi? She make the pie herself, but she no wan chop am.” The irony sweet me small. I cross leg, eye my mother-in-law. This na real Nigerian home drama—where truth dey hide behind wrapper and pride.

Mother-in-law suddenly start to cry: “Nnenna, if you no wan chop pie, you for just tell me. I no go make am. Why you wan harm me? Wetin you put inside the filling and flour?” She point finger at me, voice loud. "Nnenna, you wan kill me? See as my effort spoil!"

She wan blame me now? So, na me be witch for this family now? My mind dey hot. I remember all the silent nights, all the times I swallow insult, all for peace wey never come.

My hand dey tremble, but anger dey push me—everybody eyes wide, air heavy like before rain. The whole house quiet, all eye on me. My hand dey shake, but my heart strong.

I carry the bowl of pies, fling am for her body. Without thinking, I stand, grab bowl, and fling am. The thing land with sound—pies scatter, pepper sauce fly. Na so everybody jump.

“Splash!” Mother-in-law just dey there, pie cover her from head reach toe. She freeze, shock. Pepper sauce stain her wrapper, pie stick for her head tie. For that moment, nobody move. Even I shock myself. The whole house quiet, like say masquerade enter room. Pie pieces dey ground, pepper sauce drip for tile, but na only silence shout for parlour. I no blink—because for this house, wahala never finish.