Chapter 1: Beast of Burden

I don transmigrate come turn beast of burden for olden days, and my life dey hang for edge, fit end up as goat or chicken. No be say I die o—na just wake up, open eye, find myself for another body, another world.

As I land for this strange world, e be like say na play I dey act, but suffer no dey play with anybody. For this place, as you dey, na so dem fit carry you go market—one minute you dey alive, next minute you fit dey roast for fire, e no matter if na goat, chicken or even person.

My course for school no help me at all here: I no sabi make soap or bomb, and that invisible hand wey dey run market no fit carry me comot for this world.

Sometimes, I dey reason say all those talk about market and economy wey dem teach us for school, e no get weight here. If dem send you go farm, na farm you go. If dem say make you wash plate, na so. All that big grammar, na for city people.

If to say na chief pikin I transmigrate be, maybe I for gree stay small for this kingdom. But make I talk true: all I dey find na how to go back house.

The longing for home dey bite my chest like pepper. If na person fit see inside my mind, dem for see say I dey dream my old compound—mama dey fry akara for morning, generator dey hum, neighbour dey shout for NEPA, small children dey play ten-ten under mango tree. For here, na only breeze and dust dey answer me.

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The very first time I open my eye for this world, na leaky zinc roof and short mud wall I see. Na that time I know say na that popular 'start life with only one plate' level I land.

Mosquito dey sing for my ear, that kain humming wey dey remind person say dem dey alive but na sufferhead. Rain water dey drip for one corner, and the smell of wet earth and smoke dey mix together for air. Na so I know say, as I land, nothing dey for my hand—no slippers, no wrapper, no even old cup, only one plate wey dey shine like hope.

As small pikin wey no get power, wetin I fit do? I just gree suffer.

Sometimes na so e dey be for life—na only surrender remain. My belle dey rumble every morning like thunder, but if you talk, na slap go meet you.

E even hard before I fit survive reach seven years, before flood come wash my family away.

The river no dey hear person story. Rain fall sotey gutter overflow, everywhere turn river, even chief house no fit stand. That day, all of us dey struggle to hold on top ceiling, but as water carry mama and my younger ones, I just dey shout their name until voice commot for my mouth.

When water finally go down, na only me and my papa remain out of six people.

For our small compound, silence full ground like grave. My papa eye dey red, e no dey talk much again. Even the goats for backyard run follow river go.

My papa use raffia mat take wrap my mama and younger ones, hold my hand, and we begin beg for food for road.

The mat wey e use na the last respect wey we fit give. As we dey waka, every step dey heavy for leg, and sun dey beat our back. Sometimes, people go dash us left-over yam peel, sometimes na old groundnut water. My papa never beg before, but na so life humble person.

As we dey waka, refugee crowd dey swell. Just to chop one spoon garri, people dey risk their life.

Na so life hard. You go see old mama dey fight pikin for ground, just because of small handful of rice. If you cough too loud, dem fit collect your food.

After we no chop for three days, my papa sell me collect four wraps of moi-moi.

Na true, four wraps—soft, leaf-wrapped, with pepper wey choke throat. Hunger no dey let person reason shame. Na so e be. Na so hunger dey carry sense commot for person head. I remember as my papa kneel, dey beg, hand dey shake like leaf.

Him eye sink sotey e no fit cry again.

When you see man wey don chop life, wey tears no gree come out, na real pain be that. E just dey look sky, like say e dey search for answer wey no dey.

"My pikin, no blame your papa. If you stay with me, hunger go kill you.

Try work hard, obey your oga, maybe you go fit survive."

The way my papa voice shake, e pain me. But for inside, I gree say no be e fault. Sometimes, person no get choice for this life. The way hunger dey hold everybody, e sure for me say if I follow am, na early grave sure pass.

As I dey waka go with the trafficker, I no fit look back at my papa. E no get choice. The way hunger dey show for people eye, green like say dem wan chop person. If I follow am go, dem for don use me do two-legged meat chop.

The trafficker na big woman with wide hips, her mouth sharp. As she dey drag me, my leg dey shake, my heart dey beat kpokpo like talking drum. But inside my heart, I dey pray make this waka no end for inside bush.

Now, even the plate wey I start with don break, and na contract slave I be.

E pain me say all the small hope wey dey for my hand before, even plate, don waka go. From this moment, my life no be my own again.

From today, even my life belong to my oga.

The trafficker laugh that night, say, "Here, no pikin get body. Na oga get you." As she yarn, my spirit just sink like heavy stone.

Na so the trafficker teach me.

That night, she make us kneel down, teach us how to greet, how to answer, even how to waka for ground. She say if we miss am, na cane go land for back.