Chapter 1: When Padi Turn Stranger

Me and my best friend land inside novel to run mission together.

From the first second we land, e be like say God hand dey our head. We just dey look each other—me and my person—inside another world, this time with wahala wey no dey carry last. My bestie, she get sense die, sharp like blade, na she be the brain behind the fallen chief’s son. You know Naija, we dey call person wey sabi book—na Halima be that. Me, na muscle I get, so I turn bodyguard for the weak, always-sick, broke scholar. My own na action, I no too reason book like Halima.

Sometimes I dey wonder how we end up for this kind place, but for Naija person, you gats use all your sense and power—one dey streetwise, one dey strong. That na how we take blend, even for story world.

Five years waka, the orphan son don turn big general, and the scholar in white kaftan don rise to head the Council of Chiefs.

You fit imagine? We don dey five years for this strange world. For Lagos, five years fit waka like breeze, but here, every day na another episode. The orphan wey nobody rate, Musa Bello, now na grand general—uniform dey shine, people dey salute am like say na president. That scholar, Ibrahim Danladi, that year dey cough like who swallow groundnut shell, now him dey sit for Council head chair, dey give order up and down. Ehn, Naija own, power sweet but journey rough.

But see wahala—both of them come carry the heroine and her whole family—the same people wey scatter their own families—return capital.

As per Naija story, gist no dey finish. The same Okafor family wey bring katakata enter city, na dem Musa Bello and Ibrahim Danladi dey escort with full chest. The heroine, Amara Okafor, the babe wey be gist center, dey among. Wetin person go talk? That kind thing dey pain like hot pepper for eye.

One dey find revenge for am, the other wan clear her name.

For this our story world, everybody dey chase something. Musa want revenge, e dey show for him eye. Ibrahim dey try balance equation—make dem clear Okafor family name. Me, I dey back dey observe, dey wonder how e go end. If na village, you know as elders go dey talk for square, na so everybody here dey look for who right, who wrong.

My bestie ask me, “I no wan do this extra mission again. You still dey interested?”

She look me, eyes red, voice low. I fit see say she dey fight tears. That question deep, e no just ordinary. For her voice, I hear as e take heavy for mind. Sometimes, friendship na make you sabi when person dey hide pain for laugh.

I answer, “If you no dey do, I no go do too.”

No time for long talk. Na my padi, if she waka, I go follow. Na so we dey run things for Naija—if your person no stand, you sef go shift. I squeeze her hand small, give her that look: "We dey together for this life and next."

For this world or next, na only my padi I fit trust—mission or no mission.