Chapter 2: Death’s Bargain

2

Nnenna and Zubair stand by my side, dey cry so tay dem mouth no fit talk, dey call, "Mama."

Their tears soak my wrapper, voice dey shake with fear and sorrow. Nnenna hand cold, grip my own like say she fit drag me back from spirit world. Zubair, wey dey always form strong, let him tears fall like small pikin wey wound leg. I wan comfort dem, but strength no dey again.

I promise say I go live see my own grandchildren, but last-last, na promise I break.

E pain me to think of all the lullaby I no go sing, all the small hand I no go hold. I hope say dem go forgive me, remember my laughter more than my absence.

I too tired—after I don settle their future, nothing remain for my body.

Heavy tiredness land for my chest, like wet sand after flood. All my energy I use arrange their life—good marriage, tutor, hide small gifts for their future. My cup empty, nothing left to pour.

Nnenna hold my hand, kneel for ground, dey cry, dey beg:

"Mama, abeg, just wait small. Papa go soon come."

Her voice crack, eyes red with beg. Hope and fear join for her words—mix English, Igbo, as if correct combo fit call miracle. Junior wives stand back, dey cry softly, face show pity and relief.

After all the acting, everybody believe say I love Obinna.

Neighbours dey whisper, “See how she dey call her husband—even for death, love no dey finish.” I wan laugh but chest tight, joke bitter for my mouth.

See wahala. I turn head, too tired to look again, dey think: why I never die finish?

I close eye, dey try shut out their sorrow and disappointment. I dey wonder if death be like sleep or like sun after long rain.

Yes—na so. I no even want see Obinna again.

Make he come or not—no change. My heart lock door for am long ago, no need for goodbye.

But as I dey wish to die, na that time death hard pass. Instead, last strength just jump me.

Like say my stubbornness no wan let me waka quietly. Breathing rough, mind dey float in and out, dey catch memory like clothe for thorn bush.

Outside, I hear fast footstep and person dey shout:

"Otunba don come back!"

Him arrival scatter house. People dey run, wrapper dey rush, tray drop for kitchen. Even at last, him presence still get power.

I sigh. Wetin person dey run from, e go still jam you.

The thought bitter, like palmwine left for night. Fate dey always catch up, no matter how you hide.

Door open. That man, full of harmattan dust, waka come my side.

Dry air cling to agbada, face full of lines I no too sabi again. He stand over me, shadow long, eyes dey hide something.

Twenty years don waka; Obinna don old. That Aba boy wey dey run for stream now get grey for head.

I remember when he be small boy, laugh dey full everywhere. Now the laughter don die, only regret remain.

That strong presence don fade—even house girls no dey fear am like before.

Fear wey he dey carry before don thin, like soup wey dem reheat too much. Even pikin for compound dey sabi say something don change.

"How Madam dey?" he ask.

Voice rough, heavy—maybe na guilt, maybe na fear. He no fit look me for face, as if truth go burn am.

Doctor kneel down, dey shake, dey stammer:

"Madam don give up to die. Her pulse weak like dying lamp."

Doctor words dey hang for air, everybody dey hold breath. Maids dey look each other, dey shift like say dem no wan see my end.

Obinna face dark, he grit teeth, dey mutter "good" many times.

Jaw tight, eyes dey burn with something he no wan show. Na pain wey man like him no dey ever gree, except when death knock door.

He turn, push all cup for table fall, voice low:

"Everybody out."

The noise shock junior wives, dem rush go out, head down. Air thick with wetin nobody fit talk as door close.

Everybody waka, leave just two of us for room.

First time in many years—no audience, no junior wife dey peep, no steward dey listen. Only silence and all the truth wey we hide.

He hold my hand.

Grip soft, dey shake small. I feel the callous, scar from him own fight. I almost pity am.

"Ngozi, you dey vex for me?"

Voice low, careful—like person dey waka for hot coal. He dey look my face, dey find forgiveness wey I no sure say I fit give.

I no fit talk well, but I manage whisper:

"I no dey vex."

My voice thin, almost vanish. Even at last hour, lie sweet me pass fight. Old habit no dey die quick.

Obinna smile, but sadness dey inside.

Lips curve, but eyes empty, haunted by years we waste. I see say he understand, maybe for first time, how far we don scatter.

"Even now, you still dey try make me feel better."

He shake head, small, bitter laugh. Maybe he dey remember all the lie wey join us, all the truth wey pride and duty cover.

True, to lie don become like breathing for me.

Na the only way I survive for this house, for this world. I don dey use am so tey, my real self be like stranger.

I was about to die, yet I still no fit talk true.

Even death sef no fit drag truth from my mouth. Na so fear dey hold woman for this world.