Chapter 1: The Day Everything Broke

Even the day he fell, hawkers still dey shout “Gala! Gala!” for junction, as if nothing happen. The whole street buzzed with talk, some people shaking their heads, others whispering sharp-sharp by the gate. My mama just collapsed, shouting, “Nnamdi! Nnamdi!” like she wanted the ground to swallow her, but my mind no settle at all. For Aba, where our family compound dey, news spread quick—by nightfall, everyone from the neighborhood, some creditors wey get sharp eye, plus agberos with muscle, chewing stick for mouth, already dey camp by our gate.

After he 'died', all the people he owed rushed our compound in Aba, frightening my parents so much they landed in the hospital, and forcing me to carry my brother’s debts on my head.

You go hear knock for midnight, dem dey shake gate like say dem wan break am. My papa, usually strong man, start dey shiver, clutching his wrapper and muttering prayers under breath. Mama, eyes swollen, just dey recite Psalm 91 and sprinkle holy water for her pillow, hoping say all this wahala go pass. For hospital, dem put drip for her hand, but she no dey rest. I dey run up and down, trying to calm everybody, but na me creditors dey look like scapegoat. Nobody wan hear story o, only their money matter.

They broke my hand and warned me: “If you try use sense like your brother, na your whole family go disappear for this Aba. No be play.”

One day, as I dey come back from bank, na so two boys hold me for junction. Before I fit shout, dem twist my arm, bones crack, pain bite me reach soul. The taller one, scars all over him face, bend low and hiss: “Guy, if you do any Mumu thing like your brother, na your whole family we go wipe commot for Aba. No be threat. Be wise.” Their eyes no get pity, just cold like kpali.

For my parents’ sake, I worked myself to the bone, hustling everywhere to pay off the debt.

Every morning I dey wake before cock crow, hustle bus stop to bus stop—load container, do okada, sometimes even do night guard for one hotel. Rain go soak me, sun go roast me. Sometimes, na only pure water and gala I fit buy before sun set. I dey count coins, dey calculate how to squeeze food, pay debt, send change for hospital bill. My friends tire for me, even neighbors begin cross to the other side when dem see me. Nobody wan near pesin wey debt dey follow.

Ten years later, I finally cleared all the betting wahala and even bought my parents a bungalow and a small car for their retirement.

When I finally pay the last kobo, na tears full my eyes. I buy small Corolla for my papa, the man dance, neighbours come snap picture, dey hail me, “Odogwu!” Mama Chinyere run come, dey shout, “Na true son you be, Chuka! God go bless you!” My mama arrange her wrapper, call all her church women to celebrate. For the first time, I fit breathe well, sleep without nightmare of creditors. I felt small pride, but the pain of those years still dey my chest like stone.

But then, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer, very sick and stuck in bed.

The day doctor break the news, e be like film for my ear. The room cold, smell of dettol dey everywhere. Nurse dey quarrel with one patient for corridor, generator dey hum, but my own world just quiet. My body don thin, face dry like plantain leaf for harmattan. Nurses dey pity me, dem bring food I no fit chop. All the work, all the suffer, na so e take end?

And that’s when my brother, who was supposed to be dead, showed up again.

One evening, my hospital window knock. As I look up, na Nnamdi I see—healthy, fresh, big belly sef. My mouth hang. I feel like say ghost dey greet me. Even generator wey dey hum for compound stop small. Nurses rush come, fear catch everybody. He just smile, like say nothing happen. My blood cold.

“If not for the way Mama and Papa made me fake my death and run away that time, I for no fit come back now to inherit the property.”

His voice calm, almost proud. He even cross leg for chair, dey pick his teeth, like big man for pepper soup joint. No remorse. “Na dem plan am, oh. Dem say if I run, everything go cool. Now, see as e be.”

Later, they just gave up on my treatment and abandoned me in the hospital.

Day by day, my family visits stop. At first, my mama dey bring soup, dey wipe my head with handkerchief, but soon phone calls dey cut short. My papa no even look my face again. The day bill pile up, nobody answer doctor call. My room empty, only ceiling fan dey make noise.

Nobody even came to claim my body when I died.

The day I pass, na one nurse just close my eyes, cover me with wrapper. For mortuary, I dey there alone, even undertaker dey pity. "Eya, who go come for am?" dem ask. Nobody show. I just dey there, forgotten, cold, like yesterday garri.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my brother jumped to his death. I hear cock crow, smell kerosene lamp—na new morning, but old wahala.

I see bright light. My chest dey beat. I hear my mama voice, my own breath fresh, no pain. I touch my body—no scar, no cancer. Na the same day, the very moment all the wahala start. God, abeg, why you give me another chance?