Chapter 3: No More Mugu

Aunty Morayo, Musa and them pour dirty water for my body. See my cloth—everywhere dirty. Them say them go beat me die after school..."

Ngozi’s voice dey shake, lips dey quiver. Dirty water mark full her wrapper, smell of damp earth just dey her body.

If na my last life, I for call those students warn dem well. I for storm out, line up children, talk sense for their head, play judge and saviour.

But now, I no fit do am. My tongue heavy. I remember the price of too much wahala.

All those pikin wey dey cry to get sweet—e no go work for me again. Tears no dey move me again. I don learn the hard way—cry no mean say you pure.

I look outside through torn window net. Hot breeze from the hill dey slap my face, dust dey dance for air. Outside, sun dey throw sharp shadow for red earth.

Musa and some other children dey hide behind mango tree, dey peep this side with fear. Dem look guilty, dey shift leg. Mango tree na their usual hideout after wahala.

I call dem come, ask wetin happen. My voice stern, like my old teacher for Lagos. Children shuffle come, dust dey rise from their slippers.

Musa quickly raise hand, talk: "Aunty, na Ngozi carry our pencil, I swear for my papa grave! She even tear the new paper we just buy."

He rush talk, words dey tumble. Others dey nod, dey whisper.

"I no do am!" Ngozi shake head, look pitiful. Chin dey tremble. She sabi draw sympathy like water from well.

Tears don already stain her face. She dey wipe her cheek, hand dey leave dust line.

This girl get deep inferiority complex, dey vex for people wey better pass am. I remember the look for her eye, the envy just dey hide under the smile. She no dey happy if others dey happy.

Na lesson my family pay for with our life last time. Lesson written in blood, deep for my memory. No ignore small signs.

I already believe Musa ninety percent. Body language, fear, stammer—na truth of pikin, no be scam.

I tell dem make dem go outside, say I go check the matter. Children file out, dey whisper. I tell dem no fight, make dem wait for my decision.

But for this life, I no get interest to involve myself for anybody wahala again. Make everybody carry their cross. My hand don burn once, I no go test fire again.

I no go defend good people or punish bad. My spirit don cold. I go just do my work, waka. Because pain from last life still dey warn me: No dey put mouth for another person wahala. No think say you fit judge anybody.

I look Ngozi, see her small fist tight, eyes dey run up and down. Make world judge this time.

But Ngozi still come back, dey do panicky face: "Aunty Morayo, you be good person. You go help me clear my name, abi?"

She try soften voice, dey act like lamb. Her eye dey shine with fake tears.

I just nod anyhow. "I go check am. Go back."

My tone flat. I wan make she leave me, stop to try wrap me.

Ngozi rush come, grab my hand with both her hands. Grip cold, desperate, like say she wan pass her fear to me.

"Aunty Morayo, abeg do am quick. I dey fear Musa and the rest."

Words dey tumble, voice dey shake, eyes big like person wey wild dog don corner.

But my mind no dey there. Na her hand dey my mind. Her hand soft, no single blister—no be hand wey dey fetch firewood or climb hill. For pikin wey suppose dey do farm work, e no pure. Like say I touch silk wey I expect rope.

Children for this hills no be like city or normal village. Dem dey help for farm: feed goat, fetch water, chop wood. Even small pikin get blisters. But Ngozi hand smooth like say she dey hide from wahala.

Except when dem dey read, all their time na for house work. Books na luxury, chores na survival. So why Ngozi hand smooth like that? The question just dey ring for my mind. E mean say she lie for my last life. She fool me with suffer story, make me pity am, but truth different.

She no be that Amina for "Living in Bondage." Na the film make me think say Ngozi be project, not person. All those help for grandparents na just trick. She spin story like spider, catch my pity. Small pikin, but sharp like this?

I dey watch her, dey wonder how much na real, how much na act. For her eye, na calculation I dey see.

"Aunty Morayo, I wan invite you come chop for my house." Ngozi talk. I just shake head say no, and for her eye, I catch small flash of wickedness. Face twist, lips curl, I notice am sharp. E disappear, but I see am. My chest tight. I know wetin she fit do. This time, I no go fall for her trick.