Chapter 3: Trouble Finds You Anyway

I went home.

Evening breeze meet me for gate. I wipe sweat, slip off tired school shoes, enter battered slippers.

As I dey change, my mama come out with wooden spoon, smiling: “My genius boy don come! Today I cook your favourite—jollof rice with beans and goat meat. Go wash hand, food ready!”

The aroma full everywhere, my stomach rumble. I remember how she always add extra pepper, just the way I like am. Her smile calm my heart small.

In my last life, my mama prove my innocence.

She do more than any mama suppose do. Her sacrifice still echo for every corner of this house.

She no hesitate to use her own death to bring attention.

Her last act of love—desperate cry for justice in world wey no dey hear weak person.

That time, I dey detention, no fit see her last time.

Cold wall, metal bars, my grief no get boundary. I scream her name all night, but too late.

My mama na my only family.

Na she teach me to pray, to read, to fight for better tomorrow. No cousins, no aunties, just me and her against the world.

When I small, my papa die for accident.

I no remember am, but mama always tell me story—how he love palm wine, how he dey dance when happy.

To raise me, my mama do any work.

She wash clothes for rich people, sell vegetables for Ketu market, clean office at night. Her hands rough but gentle when she touch my face.

She leave early, come back late every day.

Sometimes I no see her till midnight. She tiptoe enter my room, kiss my forehead, collapse for mat, snore soft.

She never reach fifty, but hair already white for side.

Stress and wahala age her. I dey tease her, “Mummy, you dey bleach?” She go laugh: “Na wahala bleach me, no be cream!”

Looking at my mama smile, remembering everything, I no fit hold tears.

Tears rush, sting my eyes. I blink, try hide am, but she notice.

My mama worry, hold my shoulder. “Femi, anybody trouble you?”

She drop spoon, wipe hands on wrapper, face full of concern.

“Tell me, I go fight for you!”

Her eyes shine with fierce love. Even if world turn against me, she dey my side.

I wipe tears, smile, shake head. “Nobody trouble me. I just dey think, if I get that guaranteed admission to University of Ibadan, I go carry you go Ibadan, give you good life. Na that dey make me happy!”

She squeeze my hand, face light up. Promise of better tomorrow na all we dey hope.

My mama laugh. “Who teach my pikin to be this wonderful!”

She pat my back, laughter echo for house. “Ah, God bless you, Femi. You go make me chop life soon!”

Yes.

That one word carry my hope, pain, dream. Yes.

My biggest wish: make I grow quick, let my mama enjoy life.

To see her wear lace Sunday, hear her laugh, spoil her small—na my real dream be that.

In my last life, this wish suppose don come true.

We set everything—the admission, scholarship, even new dress for her graduation day.

I get guaranteed admission to UI, tuition free, scholarship.

She dance for joy, tell everybody. People bring gifts, congratulate us. Our happiest moment.

E suppose remove big load from her mind.

She dey talk: "If my pikin go university, my enemies go shame!" I believe am.

After graduation, with degree, I for get better job, earn steady, let my mama rest.

She dream of small shop for Bodija, dey sell provisions, dey gist with customers, dey live soft.

But one betrayer spoil me, destroy my family.

One person selfishness turn my life to ashes. The bitterness still dey my tongue.

My bright future turn dark.

I watch my dreams fade till only pain remain.

For this life, I no go ever put mouth for another person matter again.

No more hero. No more sacrifice. This time, I choose my own peace.