Chapter 2: Rain No Get Pity

The rain just dey pour dey go. Na the kind wey turn sand to mud, soak even mango tree root. The slap of rain for zinc roof loud, gutter dey smell of wet earth and dirty water, compound come resemble river.

I stand for duplex entrance, water dey drip from my eyelash. My slippers dey make shok-shok for ground. Night breeze dey slap my wet wrapper for leg, but I no gree shiver—if dem wan see stubbornness, make dem see am.

Aunty Kemi, the housekeeper, peep from half-open door, pity full her eyes. Her headtie shift one side. Her voice tremble small.

"Sorry, Mianmian..."

"If I let you in, dem fit sack me o..." She squeeze her hand, look as helpless as me.

I wipe rain for face. "No wahala, Aunty." The water mix with silent tears, but I force smile, no wan add to her wahala.

"Abeg, just help me bring my phone." My voice nearly lost. Without am, I dey stranded—no way to call keke, no way to call anybody. Cold don already numb my hand.

With phone, at least I fit find keke or bolt go somewhere dry. I dey calculate the cash for my purse—maybe enough for transport, but lodge fit pass me. At least, I go find where dey dry.

But Aunty just stand there, whisper again, "Sorry..." Her eyes dey roll, as if another person go save me. Rain just dey drown her words.

I pause, but I no trouble her. Even as e pain me, I sabi say she dey protect her work. For this life, everybody dey manage as dem fit.