Chapter 3: Sacrifice No Dey Pay for This House

My husband, Mr. Okafor, na second marriage e do.

People for street sabi the story. His people dey always use tongue cut me: "Na second wife you be, so respect yourself." Even church people dey measure me with side eye.

Amara na him and him first wife born. Dem divorce when Amara be three years old.

The story long, but everybody know say that separation pain Okafor well. Amara become the only bridge between two families wey no fit ever meet.

That time, Mrs. Zainab don already carry belle for another man. She no want Amara, na the Toyota Corolla she collect from Mr. Okafor.

She sharp o! Na only car she carry, she no send the child. All the neighbours dey talk am for compound, but na Amara suffer pass.

She no ask for house, because na Mr. Okafor parents get am.

Na so e be for olden days. The man house no fit be woman own unless dem write am for paper. My mother-in-law dey always remind me.

When I marry Mr. Okafor, Amara dey primary two. She dey stay with her grandma, always dirty, nose dey run anyhow.

That girl, na pity I take carry her. Her uniform dey always brown, shoe tear, sometimes dem go pursue her from school because she no pay levy.

Because she dey rough, other children for school dey bully am.

Some dey call am orobo, some dey hide her food, one even pour water for her locker. I see all this, my heart dey bleed.

After I marry enter, I no fit get belle for two years, so I treat Amara as my own. Her life come dey better.

Na every school open day I dey carry malt and gala come for her. I dey plait her hair, buy new sandal, even sew new uniform. I promise myself say I go do better by her.

I put her for better lesson, art class, swimming lesson, holiday camp. After school, I dey help her do homework, dey exercise with her.

Na so my day dey full. From work, straight to lesson. Sometimes rain go beat me sotey my wrapper tear, just because I no wan miss her open day. But I no complain.

Her result move from bottom for class to top three for primary four and five.

When her report card change, everybody shock. Some people begin hail me, some dey jealous. But my own, na see Amara smile for face.

All my savings before marriage, I use am finish, but Okafor family never ask how much lesson dey cost.

Even when I borrow money from my sister, nobody for this house know. Na so so "thank you" I dey get.

Her grandma just dey mock me say I dey do too much, dey worry her granddaughter—as if na me dey punish her pikin.

She go talk, "Ngozi, you wan turn my pikin oyibo? Dey do am like say na your own. E go tire you." But I no mind.

Third year after marriage, I get belle.

Na so joy fill the house. My mama even come village to pray for me.

Mr. Okafor happy, my mother-in-law too.

They buy fowl, do small party. Na big thing for our people.

But one day as Amara dey play with toy car, she drive am reach my leg, trip me as I dey carry hot ogbono soup.

I scream, the pot fall, soup pour for my leg. I just see blood and hot pain. My voice no even come out. Amara start dey cry.

I miscarry, my hand burn well well.

That pain, no be only body, na for spirit too. My in-law come house, shake head, say na village people. My husband just dey pray, but e no help.

Amara cry come hug me, dey beg, say she no see me come from kitchen before she press remote.

Her tears full ground. "Sorry, Mama, I no see you o!" Her body cold, she dey shiver like small goat. Neighbours gather, some dey pray, some dey gossip.

That year, she be ten, her face full of tears and fear.

I believe her.

I hold her, pat back. I say, "No cry, my pikin. God go heal me."

But after that, I no get belle again.

The pain heavy, but I no show am for house. Some people dey whisper say my time don pass.

I no stress am, because I really see Amara as my own.

I still dey check her homework, dey buy small gifts for her birthday. If she sick, I dey run up and down for hospital.

That time, she dey always follow me up and down, dey call "Mama, Mama". If I busy, she go rest her chin for my body, dey look my face.

I remember those days. Sometimes she go follow me enter market, dey help carry bag. We go laugh, dey gist about small small things.

But my husband sister and mother-in-law no dey forget to talk about her real mama, Mrs. Zainab, especially when things dey sweet. Dem go dey talk say her mama love her well before.

If Amara get award, na Mrs. Zainab name dem go call. My heart go pain me, but I no talk.

Later, Mrs. Zainab start to carry Amara go her house for weekend, say na to visit her child.

From there, wahala begin. Mrs. Zainab dey buy her things, dey spoil her. My hard work dey waste. Amara eyes begin change.

Small small, Amara begin dey vex for me.

Her talk no sweet again. She dey form busy, dey lock room, dey avoid me.

By the time she enter secondary school, the vex don turn to real hate.

Sometimes she go blank me for house, go call her real mama for phone, dey laugh loud. I dey hear, but I no fit talk.