Chapter 1: When the Boy Grow, E Cold Like Fridge

When that boy grow, e cold like fridge—stubborn, no dey hear word. E send im papa go Yaba Left, send me, stepmother, go meet ancestors sharp sharp, no even look back.

He torment the good girl wey love am, both body and spirit.

Na when the girl kpai finish, e come realize im mistake—clutching her bones, e dive enter river.

But thank God, the church boy still small—just seven years old.

He never turn moody, dey mumble hymn everywhere.

The wahala? I don turn to evil stepmother for this story, and im papa get serious palava.

I pinch the church boy chubby cheeks, yarn am gently:

"You don finish to string those rosary beads? Abeg, go play outside. You gats finish these beads—I dey wait to give dem out."

The beads dey glisten for im small hand, and the smell of old palm oil still dey faintly for the thread. Each one pass through im short, fat fingers like say e dey do important work. For Naija, any pikin wey fit arrange rosary get patience—dem go call am church boy, but this one still dey find him own style.

"For future, we go be church boy for Abuja high society. We no fit just dey smile anyhow. Now, I wan tell you joke, but you gats hold am inside, no laugh."

My voice low, but the pikin just dey look me with him big, innocent eye, like say e dey try decode wetin dey my mind. For Naija, if you wan reach pikin mind, you go play with am like this.

01

When I land for this world, na just as I marry the church boy papa, Chief Uche.

The wedding na serious party—champagne dey flow, MC dey hail politicians, and the AC for hall cold pass freezer. Yoruba band play juju, MC dey yarn anyhow, but me and the church boy just dey size each other. I still remember the scent of jollof, and the lace gele wey nearly choke me.

After wedding, Chief Uche no even wait—na so e do, as if new wife na just one contract—business before family, na the Uche way. E run go airport, say na business trip for three months.

He leave me and the future church boy, Uche Kamsiyochukwu, dey look each other face to face.

He just hiss, give me side-eye, then bend down, dey rub those rosary beads for im hand, dey count am one by one, like old man.

This small pikin dey do like grandpa.

He siddon for parlour corner, leg cross like mini chief. I dey watch as e dey mutter under breath—no be small wahala.

I reason the story quick.

Good news: Kamsiyochukwu still be seven—he never turn dark heart yet.

Bad news: My own role na wicked stepmother.

For the original story, the woman before me wicked Kamsiyochukwu sotay the boy get wahala for head, then she go dey spread rumour say evil spirit dey inside am, force am enter church boarding school, abandon am there for more than ten years.

You know how dem go carry pikin dump for seminary, then say na God go train am, meanwhile nobody send if e dey eat.

When Kamsiyochukwu come back, she chop am—dem cut her open for heart and liver, throw her body inside river.

This pikin grow turn correct lawyer. If no be say main character get luck, dem for don send am prison since.

Now wey I dey here, I no go gree make story run like that.

My advantage be say, I resemble Kamsiyochukwu’s real mama. I plan use that one take build better relationship with am.

Even the aunties for estate dey talk, "Ah-ah, see as you resemble Madam Ngozi, e be like say God wan use you heal this house."

I wan change from wedding dress enter normal cloth.

But Kamsiyochukwu rush enter, face hard, voice cold: "Aunty, abeg no touch my mama cloth, I dey beg you."

For the original, the woman before me no just touch am—she tear, scatter, even throw away his mama cloth, carry the valuable ones sell or keep for herself.

At the end, na only those rosary beads remain—na the only thing his mama left for am.

Later, anybody wey touch those beads dey collect. Even the main female character chop suffer for touching am.

I no even remember this before.

Now, I sharply close the wardrobe and ask am gently:

"This wedding dress too heavy. You get any cloth wey I fit wear? I don stand since morning, my body don taya, my leg dey pain me. You fit help me, my darling?"

As I dey yarn, my voice soft, I try add that Igbo aunty warmth, the kain way market woman go pamper pikin she like.

Kamsiyochukwu cheeks flush small, but he still dey form hard guy.

"No call me darling. Cloth dey for guest room."

"Okay, Kamkam. You fit show me the way?"

He turn, dey waka front, still dey form serious.

I follow behind, dey admire the stubborn way im dey drag slippers for tiled floor, as if na him be owner of house.

"No call me Kamkam."

"So wetin make I dey call you? We go live together for long, I no fit dey call you 'hey'."

"Call me by my name. My name na Uche Kamsiyochukwu."

"I hear, but... na only those kind pikin dem dey call with full name."

"Which kind pikin?" Kamsiyochukwu turn look me, eye dey curious.

He pause like say he wan hear gist, the kain way sharp pikin dey reason if you dey mock am or if na real talk.

I cough, pretend say I wan talk but hold myself, face another side.

"Nothing jare. You no be that kind pikin."

I enter guest room go change, lock am outside.

Heh.

You wan use brain for me? You still dey learn work.

I sure say you go reason all night which kind pikin you be.

For Naija, stubborn pikin dey reason matter till dem sleep – dem no dey forget, e dey pain dem like mosquito bite.

Next morning, Kamsiyochukwu wake early, siddon for dining table. When he see me, him face full of vex—he wan talk but no gree lower himself.

He tap fork for table like village headmaster. The thing dey ring for my ear.

Tsk, see as this pikin stubborn. No wonder he go dey pursue woman reach cemetery later.

I smile, sit down, begin chop.

The aroma of fried plantain and egusi soup mix with the morning sun wey dey shine through window.

Kamsiyochukwu face just change.

"I talk am before, I no dey chop ugu leaf or green beans."

The cook, Aunty Grace, no even look up, she just talk with sharp face: "Oga say meat and vegetable must dey every time—no picky for here, madam."

Aunty Grace dey act like old soldier, she no dey blink. For Naija house, cook na real power holder, dem fit make pikin love or hate food forever.

Kamsiyochukwu vex scatter.

He come dey shame say me wey be outsider dey see am like this.

Im hand shake small before e throw am—anger and small fear dey fight inside im chest. He carry rice bowl, knock am for ground with force.

Rice scatter for ground, stew splash reach wall, and the sound loud sotay even the gardener for backyard fit hear.

"I talk am, I no go chop!"

I see small wicked smile flash for Aunty Grace face, then she return to stone face.

"Mallam Danjuma."

Kamsiyochukwu body shake small.

Then, butler Mallam Danjuma waka come, carry Kamsiyochukwu, begin go.

Mallam Danjuma big like northern wrestler, him hand strong, so as he carry Kamsiyochukwu, the boy leg just dey dangle. Even if you stubborn, you no fit challenge that kain size.

Kamsiyochukwu dey struggle, body dey shake like angry small lion.

But the more he struggle for Mallam Danjuma hand, the more e look weak.

Tears dey blink for him eye, but pride no let am cry out. The kain pride wey only rich Naija pikin get.

I shock.

I quickly stand up block Mallam Danjuma.

"Wetin you dey do?"

My voice high, like market woman wey dem cheat.