Chapter 1: My Wahala Start for Death Cell

My transmigration na real wahala, chai! Other people dey cross enter new life with plenty glory, but as for me, I land for death cell—thin like broomstick, skin yellow, na convict slave just dey wait make dem execute me after rainy season judgment. Rain dey beat tin roof outside, cold dey enter bone. No be small thing oo, as I land for that cell, cold just grip my bone. Prison cloth wey dem give me be like rag; e no get fit, e no get style—just dey hang for my body like those borrowed aso-ebi wey no reach person size. Na so I dey dey, my leg dey shake inside that darkness. For inside that place, person wey get hope sef go tire. You go dey hear your own breath loud for your ear, sometimes na only the sound of rats dey remind you say you never craze finish.

Food wey sour, na old raffia mat, the kind wey market women dey use for stall, I dey sleep on top. For forty-nine days, na darkness and loneliness dey chop my head, rats and cockroaches dey run anyhow for ground, nearly make me craze.

Anytime I hear the scratching, e dey do me like say na ghost dey waka for midnight. My own sleep sef dey run from me. Sometimes, when breeze blow for corridor, the smell go just remind you say even air fit dey prison. Harmattan dey blow sometimes, and the chill dey enter my bone.

On the fiftieth day, na so some warders drag come one man wey blood full him body.

I happy no be small—like monkey wey see new padi, I dey jump waka around am.

My leg no fit stand one place. I wan even dance small shaku-shaku, if to say my strength remain. For this place, new face be like festival, as e dey break that curse of silence wey dey hold person mouth.

"Bros, where you land from? Abeg, make we yarn small, this silence fit kill person."

My voice just dey echo for cell like bell wey dem ring for early morning devotion.

I try call out: "System?" "Fated One?" "Transmigration Office?" I even knock small for wall, as if say I fit summon spirit wey go help me. Na only me dey call like mumu, as if say NEPA go answer.

No voice answer me. Na only silence just full everywhere, heavy like early morning harmattan. I even dey hear the sound of my own heartbeat.

Wetin be this? I be better person before, dey do good things—na which kind person thief soakaway cover for rainy night wey make me fall inside gutter die?

As I dey think am, na so my mind begin remember all the times I help people. I come dey wonder if na mistake my guardian angel do or if my village people finally catch up with me. Maybe na my village people dey laugh for backyard now—dey toast groundnut as I dey suffer.