Chapter 4: Ifunanya’s Story (1)—Fireworks and Poverty

Everything start with my papa and the fireworks factory.

You know as e be, for small Naija town, everybody sabi everybody. My papa, Nnamdi, na one of those men wey quiet pass their own shadow. If e waka for road, nobody dey notice am. But for house, na different thing—he fit sacrifice last kobo for us.

I still remember my papa. Gentle man, steady, quiet.

He no be the kind papa wey dey shout or use belt anyhow. If e vex, e just go sit outside, look sky, dey count star. Sometimes I go sneak join am, sit for his leg. He go touch my head, no talk anything, but that small touch fit heal wound wey words no fit reach.

My mama marry am when she still young, then I land. Their marriage no too sweet—just like normal couples, no too much love, just dey manage life.

For our side, na so e be. People dey marry because of family, not because of love. My mama, Nkechi, na woman wey get pride, but life humble her with sickness. Even though dem no too do love, dem dey together for the sake of me.

My papa na quality inspector for county fireworks factory—na technical work. Maybe the work itself dey make enemies, and he too like rules, so he no dey flow with the workers.

That factory work na serious matter—anything wey concern explosives dey dangerous. The other workers no like my papa, because e dey do pass himself. E no gree cover for their mistake, and for Naija, that one dey pain people.

Everyday after work, others go come back as group, but my papa always dey return alone. His slim body go show for village entrance, like person wey dey on his own.

Sometimes I go peep from window, dey watch as other men dey gist, dey laugh, my papa go just pass quietly, slippers dey drag for sand. My mama go hiss, say "see your papa, too stubborn."

One time, I go factory find my papa, na so I see as some workers corner am, begin beat am.

Na one afternoon for rainy season. I sneak go find am because I miss am. As I reach, I see as four men gather am, dey shout. Before I fit blink, slap land for him face. I freeze. My leg dey shake like agidi for hot pot.

Compared to those big men, my papa just thin anyhow. Even as dem beat am fall ground, he no beg for mercy.

E just hold ground, cover him face. No shout, no beg. The kind pride wey some men get dey dangerous.

I small that time. As I see dem dey beat my papa, fear catch me, I begin cry.

The tears no gree stop. My nose dey run, my hand dey shake. I shout, "Leave my papa!" but my voice low like mosquito.

The workers turn see me dey cry. E funny dem, so dem stop the beating, but still surround am, no gree make am go.

One of dem talk, "Ah ah, see this pikin, e come defend papa?" The rest just dey laugh, their face hard, but their heart soft small because of me.

My papa dey ground. Through the people wey surround am, he see me. His eyes red sharp, he turn face, no gree look me. To chop beating in front of pikin—na big shame.

Na that moment I know say my papa strong, but the world dey quick judge weak people.

That moment, the factory manager son pass. He just shout on the workers, then help my papa stand. The workers fear am, so dem just laugh, waka comot like say nothing happen.

The boy tall, his voice heavy. "Wetin una dey do here? Una wan kill person for my papa factory?" Na so the men just disappear, carry their wahala go.

The factory manager son name na Chijioke, two years younger than my papa. He help my papa get up, but e be like say na carry dem carry am. Chijioke get body, my papa just slim beside am. The difference clear.

The difference clear like new naira and old torn note. Chijioke muscle full everywhere, always wear canvas. My papa, just bones and skin.

Chijioke look me, then smile tell my papa, "You too weak—how you wan protect your wife and pikin?"

He talk am with play, but I see as my papa face fall. That kind words dey pain man.

My papa just dey shake, no talk.

For inside, I know say he dey try swallow pride. The beating, the shame—e heavy for heart.

No be only their body different.

For this life, some people just dey born lucky. Chijioke fit snap finger, people go run. My papa na the type wey dey struggle, dey beg.

Chijioke na only son of the manager, na him go inherit the factory. Their family get money, get power, always dey comfortable.

For our town, if Chief Okafor cough, everywhere go quiet. Chijioke dey drive brand new Golf, na we dey trek waka under sun.

But my family poor. My papa just dey manage for factory, my mama dey sick and get bad leg, every year we dey find money for her medicine. We no get savings, every kobo we dey count am.

My mama dey sell akara for junction, sometimes na only garri and groundnut we dey chop for night. Na garri and okra soup, na so we dey chop. Sometimes I go school without shoe. My mama dey do small akara for road when leg strong.

My papa just thank am small, then drag me waka go house.

He no look back. I hold him finger tight, I feel as he dey shake. Silence follow us home.