Chapter 1: The Birthday That Broke Me

In our part of Lagos, birthdays like this no be small matter at all. My in-laws show for house in their finest lace, neighbours drop by with bowls of rice, and the scent of fried plantain already winding through the house from the backyard kitchen. Somebody dey pound yam for backyard, the pestle sound dey mix with small children laughter. I sat close to the parlour window, watching my son blow out the candles, the light dancing on his sharp, determined face. Aunty Ronke dey adjust her gele, give me that her famous side-eye, and whisper, 'Na only you know wetin you dey find, Morayo.'

He wished for his grandparents to live as long as the Iroko tree.

The whole room echoed with that wish—everybody smiled and nodded. For Yoruba land, if you compare person life to Iroko tree, na big blessing be that. The elders clap and mutter, 'Ase o, you go live long pass your enemies.' My mother-in-law, with her gap-toothed grin, squeeze my son’s shoulder, 'Na so, my pikin!'

For Dad to have a smooth, rising career.

You fit hear the hope for his voice. My husband, Segun, adjust his agbada and grin like one politician, slap my son's back. 'God go butter my bread, ehn?' he joke, and everybody burst laugh—even those wey only show face for food.

When e reach my turn, I look at him, my face full of hope.

My heart dey pound for chest. I dey try catch his eyes, my lips already dey form silent prayer for am, but inside, na plea for myself too. Everywhere quiet, dem dey wait for his next words. Even the neighbour's baby pause crying, as if e wan hear.

I dey sure say he know say wetin I want pass na good health.

I don talk am before, in front of everybody: 'Make my pikin grow, make im get sense, make my body dey okay so I go fit dey for am.' He always act like say he no dey hear, but I sabi say im dey watch me with corner eye.

But instead, he just roll im eyes at me.

That eye roll cut me deeper than insult. I shift for chair, pretend say I dey adjust my wrapper, hide the pain. My sister-in-law cover laugh with her hand, like say na big comedy.

Before he drop him wish, I scan the faces around me, hoping to see small support. For one second, I catch a sympathetic glance from quiet Mama Chinedu, but as quick as e come, the room turn cold, everybody just dey wait.

'I hope you get divorced soon and stay far away from us.'

For a moment, I think say my ear dey deceive me. My heart jump enter my throat. The words just hang for air, sharp like broken bottle. People dey look each other, one person gasp—Aunty Kemi spoon freeze halfway to her mouth.

I shock.

I feel like say my chest tear open. My mouth no fit form words. My hands dey shake, the world spinning around me as if I was standing in hot sun too long.

My husband just laugh. 'Who send you dey strict with am every time? E fit you well.'

He laugh like say na the joke he dey wait for. The elders join, dey slap their thigh as if na play. The pain for my chest dey burn, rise up my throat, but I press my lips together, force small smile—make dem no get more gist to carry go.

Later, my son japa, carry the whole family go—except me.

The day he waka go abroad, e be like Harmattan enter my soul. Dem pose for picture, big suitcase and bright smile, and I stand for door, hold rice spoon, invisible. The compound empty, only echo their laughter as car drive off, their voices fade with the dust.

When I beg am, he just fling my hand like say I be ordinary fly—no value.

At the airport, I try hold his arm, beg am softly so people no go see my shame. He fling my hand like say I be ordinary fly—no value. My hand drop back, empty.

'I don already find gentle person for Dad. Abeg, no come spoil their own.'

He talk am cold, like say I be one house-help wey overstay her welcome. He no even look my face, just hiss, waka away, him new sneakers dey scrape airport tiles. My co-wife—woman with soft eyes and softer voice—stand beside my husband, already dey smile like say she don arrive.

Later, I die alone inside one small, tight room.

The room small reach, you no fit even turn well. I dey there, the only sound na generator hum from far and rats dey run for ceiling. My bones dey pain, my eyes dey search darkness for any familiar face, but na only emptiness answer me.

When I wake up, na my son birthday day I see myself again.

The first thing I hear na laughter and plate dey clatter. I open my eyes, confuse—my body light, my face fresh. E be like say time don rewind, I dey for my house again, stew smell full air. I blink, dey try believe wetin dey happen.