Chapter 3: Gidigba for My Pikin
The hope to get reasonable talk with the other parent just die for my mind.
My spirit drop, but small fire still dey inside me. I tell myself say, for this Naija, if you gentle too much, dem go ride you like okada.
I even dey shame for the way I try play polite before.
I shake my head, remind myself say this life na for person wey sabi stand ground. Na now I remember my mama advice: "If you dey swallow insult, no swallow am with water, swallow am with pepper."
People like this, no need to form gentle before you show strong face—just face the matter straight.
I adjust my wrapper, square my shoulder. This one no be time for beg, na time for action.
I open the class WhatsApp group, transfer ten naira straight to Ibrahim's mum.
I make sure say everybody for group see am. I write the message sharp sharp, no long talk, no apology.
"We no dey keep cash for house, so I don pay the money for your pikin. If your son still need money, maybe you fit apply for group donation."
The group quiet for like two minutes, then one parent drop "hmm." Another parent type "chai." For my mind, I know say I don set boundary. If dem wan talk, make dem talk. My pikin no go suffer for my silence again. Even if I stand alone, I go stand gidigba.