Chapter 2: The Snake Among Us

Ngozi dey wear tattered clothes, her hair just scatter anyhow. Her two small hands dey twist together as she look me with empty eyes. The hem of her wrapper tear, old stain full her shirt, feet bare, dust full everywhere. If you look her, you go think say her heart too don break finish.

With that kind pitiful face, anybody go wan protect her. She sabi how to bend her head, sniff small at the right time. Any soft heart go wan carry her matter like market load.

But make I talk true, this girl na real demon. For her eye, na that snake stillness dey hide, just dey wait to strike.

Ngozi lose her parents early, na her grandparents she dey stay with. Their suffer-head na real one. Village people get different story—some talk say na fever kill her parents, others talk say e get as e be. But everybody agree: her life na wahala from day one.

For my last life, when I waka go her house, na mud house, old blocks, everybody squeeze inside. Roof dey leak, floor na sand. Chicken dey waka anyhow, rats dey run for night. Mosquito net na luxury for them.

No proper table—just basin for top of bricks, rusty lantern, small wooden stool. Nothing match, but dem manage.

But for my front, Ngozi dey always act like angel—help grandpapa feed goats, dey fetch firewood for bush.

She dey greet elders with two hands, help Mama Chika sweep, run errand, no complain. Na so she dey carry herself.

Her book work no bad too. She dey answer question sharp, dey recite times table, dey finish assignment. Teachers dey praise her. Me, I too fall for am—think say na gold among stones.

After I watch that film "Living in Bondage", when my service finish, I carry her comot from bush. I wan be like that woman for film—save person, change life. I no know say na viper I dey drag enter my chest.

Because for three generations, my family no get girl pikin, only boys. When I bring her home, my uncles dey dance, my aunties dey shout, dey clap, dey dance round compound. "Our house don soft! Woman don enter!" Na blessing we dey expect.

Once Ngozi reach our house, na she be everything. She sleep for best room, wear cloth wey mama buy with joy. Papa carry her go tailor, dey boast, “This one na our new daughter!” Her laughter full our house, my parents eye dey shine when she dey.

My parents love her pass, even call pastor pray make she be our goddaughter. Pastor anoint her with oil, church women give small gift—wrapper, Bible, hand-sewn purse.

Dem sponsor her school, help find work. Anything she want, dem try provide. Papa dey fill form for her, mama teach her stew. We treat her as blood.

But we no know say na Ngozi go poison us. The pain pass knife. She watch our joy, know our secret, then use am against us.

She secretly buy poison from chemist, mix am, put am inside our food. She sit down dey watch as we dey chop am.

She lock door, use small phone wey she hide, dey record as we dey die. I no go ever forget the sound of that key, the phone screen dey shine for her eye, cold like moon.

I no fit forget her twisted laughter. She use WhatsApp voice note dey laugh mad:

"Why your own life go better pass my own? Wetin make I dey serve you? People like una suppose die, hahaha."

Her voice, sharp as broken bottle, just dey shake my spirit. The WhatsApp message enter my uncle phone after we die—evidence wey nobody wan believe.

If no be say Ngozi talk, me and my parents for no ever believe say na she do am, even as we dey die. She sit for chair edge, dey calm. Her words na the only clue. Even as I dey die, I dey hope say e no true. But truth dey burn like fire.

We cherish her pass anything. We sing for her birthday, kneel pray with her. For our eye, she no fit do wrong.

Serve? Na because she dey cook sometimes? Na mama dey cook, papa dey fetch water for her bath.

My mama kneel for camera, beg her—till her last breath, she dey call "daughter, daughter."

Even as her strength dey finish, mama still dey beg. "Ngozi, abeg, forgive me if I offend you..." She die with tears, no vex.

Ngozi no even pity. She wipe mouth, hiss, roll eye. No single regret.

As we dey struggle for life, she open door, lie for parlour chair, dey play game for her Tecno phone. She cross leg, dey hum song, dey tap phone. Like say we no dey exist.

She watch us till we stop to breathe. Her eye follow us go. She wan make we see say she win.

That moment, pain and hate just full my chest. Every vein for my body dey scream. The injustice dey burn, cold ache of betrayal join.

I grind my teeth, jaw nearly break. The rage no help—e just dey eat me till my world fade black.

Our too-much kindness na im bring wahala. For Naija, dem dey talk say, 'Na who dey close to goat dey chop yam with am.' We let snake coil for our neck.

Maybe God self see say our death too senseless, too shameful, na im give me second chance. I no know which prayer, which ancestor, which silent tear move heaven for my sake. But I dey here again. I no go waste am.