Chapter 1: The Year Fear Hold Me Pass

The year fear hold me pass, na that year my real parents—rich people wey I never meet—find me and carry me go their own house.

That day, even the air inside the tinted Prado smelled different, thick with that new-leather scent wey remind me say I dey leave everything wey I sabi. I sit for back seat, squeezed between these two people wey now dey call themselves my parents, and e be like say dem just tear yam from mortar before pounded yam go start. The car, with cold AC and silent driver, glide for road—no pothole jolt, no street hawker tap glass. Everywhere just dey strange, foreign.

I cried my eyes out inside the car.

Even the driver dey glance mirror, like say he never see pikin cry for big car before.

My face press against the window as houses dey flash, I just dey let tears and snot flow. My new mama handkerchief find my face, dey dab my cheeks. I wan hide inside seat. I sob so tey my chest dey ache, eyes red like person wey chop excess pepper. In between sobs, my mind dey race—what if I never belong for this new place?

Mummy and Daddy think say na joy dey make me cry so.

My new mama dey pat my back, whisper, “Don’t cry, nwa m. This is your home now, ehn?” My new papa, wey smelt faintly of old money and Robb, that strong balm wey big men dey rub, just dey smile for mirror, dey nod as if my tears mean big happiness.

But to be honest, na fear dey catch me.

I tuck my hands between my knees, dey peep the woman wey call me daughter. My chest dey beat kpokpo kpokpo. Fear no let me breathe well. E be like say car roof dey press me.

I don read too many stories about daughters wey dem swap for hospital—once the real pikin land, nobody dey welcome am. Everybody go side the fake one, the real daughter go just dey like stranger, dem go ignore am, maltreat am, even collect kidney or heart join.

I remember the stories my cousin Onyekachi dey gist when NEPA take light—WhatsApp and Facebook tori: ‘Hospital swap—real daughter enter wahala’. As I dey for this car, all those stories dey play for my head like African Magic marathon. My heart dey cut.

This new house fit be den of monsters for all I know.

I imagine house wey wall get eye, everybody dey look you like ogbanje. Place wey juju dey hide for ceiling and nothing dey ever safe.

I no get mind at all.

My hands dey shake. If dem ask me to talk, voice no go come out. I dey pray inside mind make things better pass all the stories wey I hear.