Chapter 1: River Shadows

Three months before the university entrance exam, my daughter was dragged out of the river. The early morning air still carried the smell of wet earth and burnt firewood.

The shock that followed was like the sound of a market bell at dawn—everybody hear am, everybody gather. My own chest hollow, my heart dey knock as if e wan jump comot follow her. Her whole body dey soaked, skin white like fresh garri. Her hair stick for her face like soaked broom after big rain, lifeless, limp. I no mind all the people wey dey talk; their voices rise and fall for street like morning prayers, but my ear shut them out. I arrange her burial sharp-sharp after short wake-keeping, follow tradition but cut am short so wahala no go linger. The night of the wake, elders murmured say even ground dey cry for her. Some neighbors whispered say I too rush, but I tell myself: better make sorrow no drag pass necessary for this land where everybody must dey move.

During the wake-keeping, Mama Uche muttered, "Eya, this one pain me reach bone."

But police still show for my door, hold video of bullying. “Your daughter no kill herself because of school wahala at all.” The policeman voice thick, almost dey accuse, like say he don already see guilt for my tired eye. My hand dey shake as I reach for the bench; my legs feel like yam wey dem pound too long. Neighbours gathered by the window, whispering, "Wetin police dey find again for Chijioke house?" The policewoman with am eye me—her eyes sharp like razor, as if she fit see inside my chest.

Inside the magistrate’s court, I sign the settlement letter, my face blank. The ink from the biro smudge for my palm, but I no bother to wipe am. The courtroom cold pass harmattan, even my bones dey shiver, and I wish say I fit just disappear. But the law must run its course, whether your heart ready or not.

The child’s mother wept and cursed me: “Just 1.2 million naira, and you sell your own daughter. You be human at all?” Her wrapper slip as she shout, but she no send. Saliva gather for edge of her lips, eyes swell and wild, voice dey crack like dry firewood. The whole court dey look, some dey shake head, others dey click tongue in pity or disgust. Her voice echo for the room, heavy like ancestral curses, and I fit almost feel the words climb my back.

With everybody eye on me, full of disgust, I just look greedy: “She don go. We no fit make the people wey dey alive suffer join, abi?” My mouth bitter as I talk am, but I force the words out. Some for crowd hiss. Others mutter, "Na money kill am." But deep inside, my chest empty—a hole wey money no fit fill.

Three days before the university exam, three girls disappear, nobody see them again. The town buzz with rumors—some say na kidnapping, others swear na juju revenge. People lock door before dusk, mothers call their daughters home early, and the air tight, as if spirits dey watch.