Chapter 2: Evidence and Doubt

"Good, as you don talk am. Come see."

Musa bring out phone, screen bright. Crowd gather close, neck dey stretch, some people dey stand tiptoe.

Musa Kudi bring out him phone, play one surveillance video from shop front.

As he hold the phone high, people crowd round, some dey push small children back. The video dey shaky but clear, everybody focus sharp.

Time wey show na 9:03 a.m. today. Mama Kudi dey waka come out with carton, white Toyota just rush jam am.

My heart just freeze. I see Mama Kudi face, her white head tie, her slippers. She dey smile as she carry carton, then sudden wahala.

Mama Kudi fly for air, land for ground, blood everywhere.

People around me hiss, some shout, "Jesu!" One of the children start cry, the sound sharp for air. Women cover their mouth, some bend down as if dem wan faint.

The Toyota even reverse, stop for door—but nobody come down, window no roll.

The car just dey there, still. Nobody fit see driver face. Some of the elders dey mutter, "Spirit waka?"

After some seconds, e just speed comot.

The silence for those seconds thick like ogbono soup. Only the smell of burning palm frond dey stubborn for air. People dey hold breath, eyes wide. The car disappear for road corner.

During those seconds, camera catch the plate number clear.

As Musa slow the video, my car plate just dey shine, no dust cover am. Some people look me, some dey shake head.

Na my car, even the small Ankara doll wey dey hang for mirror show for video.

My body cold. That Ankara doll na special, my mama give me. Only me get am for village. Some women for back whisper, "No escape for this one."

"You no only jam my mama, you even run! You know say na death matter be this? You still dey deny?"

Voice loud, pain full inside. One old man begin shout, "She for no run! She for show face!"

Fear begin catch me.

My leg dey shake, my hand cold. My mind dey spin, my head heavy. I dey look for air to breathe.

Na my car, but I no drive am.

I dey repeat am for my mind like prayer. The picture no clear. My eye dey hot, heart dey beat gbum gbum.

Yesterday night after bath, I drop everything for my room—even car key. I wake early today go hill, so I no carry key.

I dey try remember. I lock my door? I drop key for shelf. Nobody fit enter my room except family.

Who carry my car key from my room, drive my car, jam person, then run?

Na so e be. Na only person wey sabi my movement fit do am. Sweat dey my back.

I just try calm myself.

I breathe in, close eye small, try find courage. I open eye, face Musa Kudi well.

"Brother Musa, abeg play am again."

I talk am, voice low. People look surprise. Some dey say, "She still dey drag?"

Musa Kudi play the video again.

The crowd just quiet, everybody dey watch screen. Even the breeze dey hush small, as if harmattan sef dey watch.

I don see am from first time, but I need time reason.

I dey watch small details—how the shadow take move, the way the driver hand take shift for steering. Something off.

Wetin dey strange no be just who drive my car, but why all my people wey follow grave-clean now dey point finger say na me.

My mind dey twist. I dey ask myself, e get as this thing be. Why everybody dey too quick blame me? Na because I come from city?

He play the video many times. Musa Kudi just pocket him phone.

The crowd dey restless. Some people dey talk, "She no fit escape am." Some dey shift leg, dust dey rise for air.

"Evidence dey. I dey tell you, the chemist wey near and the one for other side get camera too—dem all catch am. You no fit deny."

Musa voice steady, eye red, pain for face. Some elders dey tap stick, like say judgement dey near.

I take deep breath. "I no dey deny, Brother Musa. The car na my own, but no be me drive am. Person thief my car, jam your mama, run. Make we call police—I too wan call police. To thief car na crime."

I talk am clear, voice steady. Some people begin murmur, "Police kwa? For festival day?" One man for back hiss, "You wan bring outsiders come disgrace village?"

My cousin shout, "No call police o! If police come, how we go live? People go gossip us finish!"

The fear for him voice clear. Some women agree, dey shake head, one dey slap her thigh, "Abomination o!"

My sister-in-law add, "Na true! Tunde just start primary school. If people hear say killer dey our family, how we go do?"

She dey wipe sweat from brow, eyes dey shine with worry. Some other women dey mutter, "Shame no good."

"Little Musa," my uncle roll him wheelchair come, "abeg make I talk."

As e talk, everywhere calm. Even the crying people quiet. The wheelchair sound as it roll on stone dey echo small.

Since grandpa and grandma don go, my uncle be family head.

Everybody dey look am, elders nod. For our family, anything e talk dey carry weight. Even children respect am.

"Little Musa, me and your mama na padi since. We dey find bitterleaf together, do farm work together. Abeg, no call police. Make Morayo kneel down, beg your family here. Make we settle for this hill. When we go down, we still be neighbour. How you see am?"

Uncle voice crack small, he look Musa Kudi with wet eye. Some elders nod, "Na true. Family first."

I shock—my uncle really wan settle this for me.

Tears prick my eye. I bite lip, dey try hold am. I look ground, the sand for my toe dey brown with sweat.

"Uncle Sola, na reason make me climb this hill today," Musa Kudi talk. "If no be so, Kudi family for don scatter your house since. As dem talk, life for life. My mama dey healthy, dey run shop, dey wake 6 o'clock, close 10 o'clock every day, now she just die like that. Your family must explain."

Musa voice strong. Some women dey cry louder, men dey nod. The crowd dey restless, wahala fit burst any moment.

My uncle put hand together, dey bow small. "You talk true—life for life. I old reach your mama. If na life dem want, make dem take my own. My leg no work, I no fit move. Abeg, push me reach hill edge, push me down—na sure death."

Him voice deep, face strong. Some people cry, "No o!" My heart dey tear inside chest. My cousin kneel for ground, dey beg am, "Papa, no!"

"No! Na the person wey kill am go pay. No touch my papa!" My cousin rush shield my uncle, wey dey wipe tears.

The crowd dey murmur, elders dey wave staff. One pikin dey cry, "Make dem no touch grandpapa!"

My aunt hold my sleeve. "Morayo, abeg accept am. If you do wrong, claim am. Your papa and mama don go since, na you wey suffer pass for family. If you no accept, people go talk say Adeyemi family no train you well. We no go fit face your parents."

She dey talk with tears, voice dey crack. Her hand cold for my arm. The pressure dey heavy.

Musa Kudi turn to me. "You talk—wetin you wan do?"

Him face stone, eyes dey look deep. The crowd dey silent, like say everybody dey wait one last act.

I ask am, "You nko—wetin you wan do?"

I no let my voice break. I look am, try hold eye contact. I dey ready to hear the final word.

"Good, na that one I dey wait for." Musa Kudi look me, look my uncle. "Uncle Sola, you talk am—our family dey this village since. If we fight because of accident, my mama no go happy for afterlife. As long as una accept fault, kneel down nine times for my mama memorial, pay us compensation, we go fit talk."

Some elders nod, "E good so." One woman mutter, "Afterlife peace na the main thing."

"How much compensation?" I ask.

My voice low, my hand dey shake. I dey pray say e no go too much, even though the pain dey big.

"Five hundred thousand," Musa Kudi talk.

E call am, voice cold. Some people for back shout, "E too small!" Others hiss, "Na burial go chop am."

Half a million for life—no too much. But e no suppose be my head.

I dey reason am. My whole salary for one year. My chest dey squeeze. Even my vision dey blur.

Everywhere just quiet. Nobody talk, even breath I no hear.

You fit hear pin drop. Only birds for mango tree dey make small noise. Even the wind rest.

"Morayo, abeg accept am. If money no reach, all of us go join hand," my uncle beg, tears full him eye.

Uncle voice dey shake, hands dey tremble. My cousin hold him wheelchair tight, dey rub am like say e wan comfort.

"Morayo, be strong. No shame Adeyemi family," my cousin add.

He talk am, but him voice low, fear dey inside. Him eye dey wet.

"Morayo, I raise you like my pikin. No fear. Person wey accept mistake and change, still be good pikin," my aunt talk.

She sniffle, rub my back, her palm rough but warm. She dey squeeze my hand, like say she wan transfer strength.

"Sister, you suppose show example!" My cousin dey almost happy.

E talk am, eye dey shine, like say na opportunity for him. One small pikin dey copy am, dey jump for back.

Everybody for family come grave-clean today—except my uncle wife and son. Meaning, na only two of dem dey house. Who else fit enter my room? My mind dey flash, but I swallow the thought, dey look their face.

I begin dey reason the thing, my eye dey shine, my mind dey waka up and down. E get as the whole matter be.