My Stepmother’s Hands Killed My Mama / Chapter 3: Papa’s Palm and Ghostly Whispers
My Stepmother’s Hands Killed My Mama

My Stepmother’s Hands Killed My Mama

Author: Andrew Salinas DDS

Chapter 3: Papa’s Palm and Ghostly Whispers

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My papa, Mr. Okafor, come house see say na mother and daughter dey clean, me I just dey like person wey dem use do rag.

As Papa enter, I wan talk, but my mouth just lock. For my heart, I dey beg make he notice say na me dey suffer. I dey hope say maybe today, he go hear my voice. But as I look am, na just business face he carry enter.

I hold my palm tight, dey pray make he just stand for my side, even if na this once. Make I know say I get person for this house wey fit support me.

Na so my chest dey hope say miracle go happen today. I remember as Papa dey pray for night, but for this house, e be like say him God travel.

But Papa, wey just dey find how to make stepmother happy—even as he sabi say dem dey bully me, dey act drama for am—still raise hand slap me. I look am, hope dey my eye. But before I fit talk, na so palm just land for my face.

My eyes big, I no fit dodge. Na so palm connect my cheek. Wetin remain, na for ground I go land again. For my mind, I dey shout, "God, abeg now!"

He shout, “Mama and your sister dey do housework, you just stand dey look like say you be oga? You no see say work dey ground?”

Na so him voice thunder for parlour. All the neighbours for corridor fit hear am. For my mind, I dey wonder if dem dey plan film for this house.

Him voice loud, but the slap loud pass. Even bell for church no loud reach am. I just dey see stars for afternoon. My ear just start dey ring, my eye sef blank for some seconds.

I feel say na my spirit waka comot body. My mind just dey float, like I dey inside river for rainy season.

Na that moment I begin see bullet comments float for air.

As I dey look, I no know whether na wahala spirit don enter my body, or whether suffering don open my third eye. For Naija, dem go say na village people dey pursue me. I quickly touch ground three times, dey beg say make my village people no dey involved.

[No be haunted house be this? Who dey move enter here?]

[True o, midnight na here parade of one hundred ghosts dey waka. Anybody wey stay here, wahala go jam am.]

[But e fit no reach like that. If you fit hide for storage room, you go escape. One soul-capturing talisman dey there—ghosts no dey come near.]

My head dey spin. I dey look bullet comments like say na Big Brother Naija voting line. For my mind, I dey shout, "Who dey send me this kind wahala?"

As I dey see these comments, I just dey confused. Sweat dey run my back. My eye dey red. For my mind, I dey reason, say na so dem dey mad?

Na so dem beat me reach say I don dey see things?

I wan ask my ancestors if na sign make I run commot, but I just dey reason if na better pikin dey see this kind thing after slap.

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