Chapter 1: Ifeanyi Muzuru and the Price of Pride

I dated Ifeanyi Muzuru for three years.

Those years, if you see the way I dey shine for campus, ehn, you go think say my future don sure. Every party, people dey hail me—'Ngozi, you too set, see your babe!' Even my mama for house go dey boast for neighbours. Sometimes, I go dey imagine our wedding for St. Dominic, with all the big boys for Lagos dey form best man.

Later, when he wan do engagement, e give me fifty million naira and tell me to waka.

You know say for this Nigeria, once man don ready for engagement, na community matter. When Ifeanyi drop that kind money, people for my family dey whisper say 'Ngozi, use your sense, this one na open door.' My aunty even call me: 'My pikin, don't let pride chop your destiny!'

That time, pride and self-respect dey worry me.

That one wey dey inside body, as e dey do young girl. I still dey remember my papa words: 'If dem no give you chair, no siddon for ground.' E dey push me. Sometimes, I go look mirror, tell myself say, 'Ngozi, your worth pass any money.'

I no collect am.

As I walk out, na so rain begin fall that evening for Surulere. The rain soak my Ankara blouse, cold reach my bone, but I still waka with my head up. I no even get umbrella. My slippers cut as I waka reach bus stop—my slippers cut, wahala! I just hiss, bend down, and waka barefoot like say I no even send. But I still hold head high. That stubborn spirit just dey inside me.