Chapter 2: Last Born Life

Since I small, I no dey show for anywhere when you put me and my two brothers together.

For school, for playground, even for festival games, my own side always dey low-key. If dem dey form line, I dey for back, dey observe. My presence dey like cool harmattan breeze—nobody dey too notice am unless cold catch dem.

For wrestling, I no reach my first brother, Femi; for book, I fall short pass my second brother, Sulaiman.

During Ijakadi festival, Femi dey always win for front of Oba and elders, body dey shine, crowd dey hail. Sulaiman go dey carry prize for best story and riddle. Me, I dey dance for background, dey chop suya, dey gist with junior ones.

So anyhow e be, Papa Oba dey always forget about me.

I no dey vex. Na so life balance. Whenever Papa Oba dey call for family meeting, my name na afterthought—sometimes, self, na when Mama Ronke remind am, e go nod head say, "Ah! True o, Bayo dey here."

Me I dey enjoy this my soft life, dey always stay for the family compound with my mama, Mama Ronke.

No stress. As morning dey break, me and Mama dey sweep small corner, cook beans, laugh as goat dey disturb. Our small backyard garden na my comfort. No need to dey run helter-skelter.

People dey talk say na house girl turn madam—dem no fit believe.

People dey gossip say, "See as Oba pick house girl join wife?" But Mama Ronke no dey look anybody face. She dey do her work, dey sing old songs as she dey pound yam.

Papa Oba only visit am once, na so I take show for this world.

Dem still dey whisper for corridor, "Na just one night o—see as pikin big pass house." Some people say na mistake, but na me be the blessing wey follow that night.

So, other wives dey look down on her, say she no get family name, she no fine reach, na just luck make her born prince and climb up.

The way dem dey look am ehn, sometimes e go pain me. But Mama Ronke dey always brush am off—she fit even share food with them if she cook better soup.

Even the title dem give her simple die: "Ronke"—meaning say, na another person help you reach where you dey.

Palace talk too much. Dem go form mouth, add story: "Ronke—na help she use climb." But for her mind, she sabi who she be.

But my mama no send anybody. She get her own way of seeing life:

If dem gossip, she go just smile, carry her wrapper well, waka pass. Sometimes she go tell me, "My pikin, na who God lift, nobody fit bring down."

Ronke mean say: man go plan, but na God dey decide.

She dey say, "Human fit get plan, but na heaven dey share blessing." Even rain no dey fall only for one man roof.

As daughter of a minor chief, to serve Queen Mother for palace, then born prince—

E shock am too. "You see as journey take me reach here?" she go ask. She go remind me, say for her home, e no easy, na grace carry her come palace.

No be big favour from heaven be that?

She dey kneel for her small mat every night, thank God say, "You give me pass my mates." She go light small candle, sprinkle water for corner, dey hum old hymn.

If you take pass your own, God fit collect am back. If you push your luck, e go cut you short.

She always dey warn me: "No dey do pass yourself. Life no get spare part, if you dey do over sabi, e fit spoil your own."

So, she no dey mind gossip, always dey happy, dey look after her flowers and plants for her side.

Anytime people dey form clique for palace, Mama Ronke go just focus for her hibiscus, dey water am, dey sing or hum those sweet Yoruba lullabies wey dey remind person of village.

She no dey fight for attention, no dey form clique with other wives. She fit look like person wey no get sense, but her mind dey calm, e dey steady.

If quarrel dey, she go waka comot. If wahala dey, she go dodge—na so she dey avoid bad belle.

Because of her, me sef come grow with this my jollof, no-wahala attitude.

Na from her I learn say, if you no stress yourself, problem no go too near you. She dey always talk, "Bayo, let your heart dey cool like early morning pap."

Eldest Brother and Second Brother no see me as threat for throne, so dem dey always relate with me well.

Dem go hail me for corridor, gist me small gist. Sometimes Femi go give me left over bushmeat from hunt, Sulaiman go give me new book to try read. I dey like family mascot—everybody dey use me catch cruise. Sometimes, one palace guard go hail me, "Prince Jollof!" Everybody go laugh.

At least, person gats dey for background make others shine.

No be every drum dey beat for party, but all na music. I dey enjoy my role.

I dey okay with am—no matter who be Oba, dem go still make me prince.

Whether na Sulaiman or Femi wear crown, me sef go still chop royal rice. My own dey sure.

That time, no palace wahala, no stress—just enjoy life, chop, drink, flex—wetin better pass that one?

If na palace night, breeze dey cool, palmwine dey sweet. Na that kind life dey make person forget say wahala fit dey outside gate. As long as e remain so, me I dey content.