Chapter 1: Shadows in the Ajibade House

Everybody dey talk say Musa Ajibade love me.

Even as dem dey talk am for every corner, e be like say dem dey gossip with one kind secret joy. Sometimes, when I dey waka for market, Mama Ekaete for provision stand go dey look me with that her knowing smile, like say she sabi something I no know. For mosque, the Alhaja dem go dey nod, whisper, "That Amina, see as she get luck, Musa love her well." E sweet for ear, but deep for heart, I dey feel say something dey off. My skin go cold, as if breeze from graveyard pass.

After we marry, na so we dey behave like strangers—just dey do formality, as if we be visitors for each other compound.

Even our neighbours, dem dey notice. When we dey pass each other for corridor, na only 'Good morning' and 'Welcome' we go talk, nobody go smile reach eyes. If breeze blow for night, e be like say harmattan dey dance with my bones, even when generator dey hum. Sometimes, I go sit for veranda, dey watch Musa press him shirt, two of us just dey form busy, like say we be tenants for the same yard, each person minding their own wahala.

Until that day wey I discover say e dey hide him real woman—the one wey dey inside him heart—for outside. My eyes red as I go meet am.

That day, I waka with hot anger, my slippers dey slap ground sotey the dust rise. My body dey tremble as I remember the soft voice I hear from his phone, the way he dey smile for corner when nobody dey look. My heart just dey bite me. E pain me sotey I no even remember to greet anybody wey pass me for street. My own man, dey hide woman for outside? My blood dey boil.

But instead make e worry about my own face, na her reputation e dey protect. Na so e lock me inside the back room for the house.

As I dey shout, dey try explain my own side, Musa just bone face, dey talk, "Amina, abeg, no dey shout for my head—person go hear!" Before I know, na inside back room dem lock me, iron door shut for my face. My pride scatter for ground. For that moment, I feel say the world just turn upside down, and nobody for this house send me.

Inside that darkness, as I hear the iron door close, I remember my mama words from childhood—"If trouble come, pray for strength." My voice low, I whisper, "Allah, na only You sabi my heart. No let shame bury me." My chest tight, tears wet my cheek, but I no let my voice break. For that small room, I dey alone, only me and my prayer, the world outside deaf to my pain.