Chapter 6: Trying to Make Amends

After I think well, I feel say the only way to calm Baba Musa na to clear his name. Person wey no do bad no go easily turn criminal.

I pray, walk up and down veranda for night. As day break, my mind made up.

First, I call the other four girls’ parents, hope say dem go follow me go court, talk true.

I beg, message, call. Some answer, some ignore. Nobody agree.

All of them refuse. Reason: dem fear say case go spoil work; some feel say Baba Musa no go forgive, so e no get gain.

One mother talk, “Oga, abeg, I dey bank. If dem know, na sack be dat.” Another whisper, “Who go believe say children fit lie? E go spoil everything.”

Since Mama Hauwa don die, Baba Musa lawyer run. I volunteer be him lawyer, go visit am for prison.

I waka pass iron gate, warders dey look. Baba Musa sit behind glass, face lean, hand dey shake.

The man wey fat before, now don lean, eyes deep, face hard.

Oversized prison cloth, beard rough. As he look me, I see pain, plus something sharp—maybe anger.

I apologise, Baba Musa hiss. When I talk say I fit help clear his name, him face change small.

He look me long, then nod. “If you fit do am, Oga, I go thank you. But time no dey again.”

Baba Musa say: After I comot, first thing na arrange my mama burial, tell her say I don clear my name, make she rest.

His voice crack, but him chin up. “I go kneel for her grave, beg her to forgive me for all the shame.”

Then, I go buy small truck, go Zaria carry tomatoes, Benue carry yam—anywhere, just make I no come back again.

He talk him plan like prayer. “I go start again, anywhere—just get peace.”

I breathe out. Prison fit change person, but Baba Musa still get good mind, and that one get value.

Small weight comot for my chest. No be all pain turn bitterness.

I know say the main thing for appeal na my daughter testimony. Even if others no gree, if she talk true, court go check if victims dey honest.

I spend nights rehearse with her, dey encourage her to get mind, to trust say truth, even if e hard, still be best.

I kneel for her bed, hold her hand. “No let fear hold you. God dey with you. I dey with you.”

My daughter nod, promise say she no go lie again. Her nod soft, but eyes meet mine, dey find hope.

Day of second trial, I carry my daughter go court.

The court full, ceiling fan dey make noise, everybody dey sweat, judge dey fan himself with file. I squeeze her shoulder as we enter.

For cross-examination, prosecutor ask my daughter, “Baba Musa ever molest you?”

The whole court quiet, all eye for her small face, waiting for truth.

She nod her head sharp sharp. “Yes.”

My heart drop like rain for zinc roof. Court exhale—some relief, some disappointment. My daughter look me, fear flash for her eye, then she look ground. The story never finish.