Chapter 2: Family by Force

Later, I come know wetin dey.

E no take two days, gist begin spread for kitchen and corridor. Househelp wey dey plait my hair tell me as she dey twist braid, dey munch groundnut, dey gist as she dey work, “You no know say dis house na Adekunle family own? See that pikin, Femi? Na him papa be oga. You and your mama just dey manage for here.”

The Adekunle family get money pass wetin person fit imagine. That boy wey kick me enter pool na Femi Adekunle, the real oga pikin for the house.

Dem get big flat screen for parlour, water dispenser, generator wey never dey off. I dey see things wey I never touch before. Femi dey waka like king, servants dey fear am.

Dem talk say na my mama cause Femi mama death—say she vex so tey, she die because of my mama.

Some people dey whisper for corridor, “Na that new wife dey cause all this bad luck.” I hear am, even though dem think say I no dey listen. Some drivers dey do sign of cross as my mama pass.

He hate me. He no even want make I dey alive.

If I enter parlour, he go lock door. If I chop meat, he go carry spoon commot for my mouth. Sometimes he go look me, hiss, call me “village goat.” Sometimes I dey wish I be small ant, so I fit disappear.

After that, I dey always dodge am, because just to see am dey remind me of that drowning fear.

If I hear him voice, my leg go just dey shake. Sometimes, I dey peep behind curtain before I cross corridor. To breathe the same air with am dey feel like punishment.

But how I wan take avoid am when we dey live for the same compound?

E no get how. We dey use the same gate, same water, same table sometimes. My shadow dey always long anytime Femi near.

One rainy day, I just come back, never even pull my shoe, na so Femi Adekunle car park behind me.

Rain dey beat roof, thunder dey rumble. As I enter compound, my body already wet small. That time, my heart dey beat like talking drum.

Driver and house helps rush go welcome am, dey show concern.

Househelp dey open umbrella, dey help am carry school bag. Driver dey shine teeth, dey hail am. Even mama Adekunle dey come outside, dey peep.

I no get where to hide, so I just shrink for one corner, head down, dey pray make he just waka pass.

I try blend into wall, dey pray, “Make him just forget say I dey here.” But I dey unlucky that day.

But he stop for door, come talk, “This shoe dirty.”

Him voice loud, e echo for corridor. Shoe really dey dirty—muddy, as rain don scatter everywhere.

Everybody begin rush, dey clean shoe for am, but he just raise chin towards me, wey dey shake for corner.

“Na who dey there? You—come clean am.”

My heart jump. Eyes of everybody for corridor land on me, pity mixed with fear. Even househelp pass rag, whisper, “Sorry.”

I no get choice, I collect rag from house help, bend down.

The ground cold, dust and rainwater dey soak my trouser. I dey pray say if I quick clean, he go forget me.

“Kneel down clean am.”

He want make I kneel. I no even fit argue.

Househelp kneel to clean shoe, dey mutter “na God go judge am.” One aunty hiss. But I no get choice, my knee touch ground, my pride dey leak away small small.

As I kneel dey clean shoe, na so he push me commot.

I nearly fall, rag fly from my hand, but nobody talk. Rain dey drip from ceiling, everybody act like nothing happen.

“Spineless.”

The word land for my back, heavy like slap. My chest tight, eye hot, but I no fit cry for crowd. I just hold my pain like secret.

As I dey hold my paining shoulder, I think say, bone wey too strong dey break quick. Maybe to dey soft no too bad.

That moment, I reason say to bend no mean say I don break. Maybe na survival way. My breath dey heavy, but I swallow am, dey promise myself say e go better.

For that moment, I really no be anybody for this house.