Chapter 1: Barracks Bed and Bitter Truths

The third month after marrying that rugged army commander, I don suffer so tey just to see bed dey make my leg dey shake.

Sometimes, as night dey near and I dey see that mattress for corner, na so my heart go dey do gbim gbim, as if trouble dey wait for me under the bedsheet. The mattress wey don soak sweat and powder, with old bedsheet wey get army logo for corner. All those wahala for soldier barracks, e be like say every night na new wrestling match. The way I dey tiptoe pass the corridor, even the rats for ceiling don sabi my fear. E no easy at all.

As I dey plan to pack my load run, na so different comments just flash for my eye.

Na so my brain begin replay all those Facebook wahala, the way people dey talk anyhow. E be like say na spirit dey follow me dey talk for my head, because as I dey bundle my wrapper, na so all these online wahala just dey pop for my mind. I dey hear their voices like market women for Iddo, each one with their own advice, their own wahala.

[LOL, all those eighteen bedroom styles wey the oga dey practice na pure wahala for the babe—some go dey beg for water, others go drown for too much.]

[Abeg, na because both of them no sabi talk true. Why the babe dey suffer like this? If she just call am 'husband', the guy fit bring down moon for her.]

I just look am say na joke.

I shake head, hiss small—who dey bring moon for who? For this Naija? Abeg, make dem dey play. Even if I call am 'husband' from now till next year, I no sure say him face go even change. But my chest still dey tight with small hope wey I no wan accept.

Until later.

Him big hand grab my thin wrapper, talk am like say e dey vex.

The way him voice cut through the air, e resemble thunder for rainy season. I nearly drop my bucket. For my mind, I dey wonder if na soldier training dey make person dey command like this for ordinary house matter.

"Wetin dey bad if I wash your clothes? Na me wan do am. If you touch cold water again, I go break your hand."

"You dey find charcoal fire? You think say you still be madam for house? Where your shame dey?"

Aunty Shola hiss, throw one bowl of sour rice give me.

The sour smell of the rice hit my nose, make my stomach turn. For this barracks, na only Aunty Shola hand dey ever bitter like this. Her face squeeze like person wey swallow pepper. Gari dey fry for fire, and one small radio dey play Fuji music low for corner. Even the small pikin for next room sabi say if you see her shadow, make you run.

Tears wan commot for my eye as I try explain.

My voice dey shake, but I still hold myself. I clear throat, adjust my wrapper. "Aunty, abeg, na small charcoal I dey find. I get my own money, I fit buy anything I want." My hand dey tremble as I hold the bowl. The way she dey look me, e be like say she fit slap me for just breathing.

"But I get my own allowance. If you no wan use am, you no fit stop another person from using their own, abi?"

Before I finish, Aunty Shola just laugh coldly.

Her laugh cold like morning bath for December—wicked and sharp. Even the wall gecko for window pause, dey look us. I swallow spit, dey pray make she just leave me alone.

She grab my collar sharp sharp.

Her nails dig enter my neck, I fit feel am. The way she yank my wrapper, e loud for the small kitchen. My chest dey rise and fall. Na only God know wetin go happen if another soldier waka enter now.

One quick tear, my whole body, full of red marks, show for air.

I rush cover my chest. "Wetin be this? Free me!"

I dey shame, I dey vex, my hand dey shake as I try hide myself. The rice for ground, my wrapper half-torn. Na so tears just dey gather for my eye, but I no wan let her see me cry.

But Aunty Shola hand for my shoulder strong no be small.

Her grip tight pass iron. For her face, you go see say she no get pity. If to say na my mama dey here, she for don warn her, but now na only me dey fight my battle.

"You really think say you be commander wife? If no be your papa force the commander marry you because of gratitude, you for dey run up and down for one beer parlour now, dey serve different men every day."

Her mouth dey sharp, words dey cut like blade. I dey look her, dey wonder if na so all women for barracks dey treat new wife.

"Na just plaything you be, you still get mouth dey make demand?"

She slap my face join.

My ear ring, my cheek hot. I hold my face, try stand well. Shame and pain dey fight for my chest. I dey wonder if anybody for this compound go even help me if I shout.

"Commander talk say when e tire to dey sleep with you, e go dash you to him brothers make dem use you play. Na big luck for person like you."

Her words sting pass the slap. I grip my wrapper, dey pray make ground open swallow me. For my mind, I dey beg God make e no let such thing happen. I dey count my luck, but e be like say my luck don waka.