Chapter 5: Childhood and Loss

My papa na police. E dey travel for work more than 200 days every year. Sometimes e go carry me for lap, show me badge, talk say 'One day, you go strong like me.' I go just nod, dey dream of meat pie and Fanta, the way pikin dey wait for Sallah ram.

Anytime e come house, joy dey catch me, I go disturb am with question. I go ask why thief dey thief, why police dey carry gun. E go laugh, rub my head, call me 'Inspector Smallie.'

That day na my fifth birthday. Papa and Mama talk say dem go carry me go Mr Biggs. That day, happiness full my chest. I even wear my best dress—pink gown with lace. My mama plait my hair, give me small lip gloss.

I sit for back of Papa okada, dey hold pinwheel. The pinwheel dey spin, life dey turn. The wind for my face sweet, the road dey clear. I fit remember my mama laughter, my papa voice dey sing old highlife song.

Na only the loud "pa, pa" of gun I remember. Like thunder for clear sky, two shots. My ear ring, my heart stop. I fall from Papa okada. My back land for tar. My pinwheel fly enter gutter. Everywhere just red, blood full ground.

My eye dey search for mama and papa. Blood dey pour from their body, people dey run, some dey shout. Papa and Mama dey ground, blood everywhere. I try crawl reach them, but person pull me back. I dey scream, but my voice small.

I no know how long before one uncle run come, carry me, cover my eyes: "E go dey okay, small girl. No fear." E voice calm, e chest dey beat steady. For the first time, I feel small safe.

The uncle carry me go house. E wife receive me, give me water, wipe my face. For days, I no fit talk, no fit eat. The pain too much. At first, I no dey eat, no dey talk, no dey cry—just dey like dead person wey dey waka. For night, I go dey hear my mama voice for dream. I go wake up dey shiver.

The uncle get son wey small pass me—Tunde. E dey talk to me every day, dey play with me, do police and thief. Tunde go bring toy gun, dey act drama. E go tell me, 'No fear, I go protect you.' Na that small play help me start to dey smile small small.

Later, we go school together, do homework, write exam, enter same police college. We dey share everything—pencil, sweet, even fight. For every wahala, na Tunde dey stand my back.

After we finish, we join same police station, become detectives. Our names dey everywhere—'Tunde and Ngozi.' We dey work as team, solve matter wey senior officer dey run from. We handle big cases, sweat and blood together.

From robbery for Onitsha to cult clash for Warri, our name dey spread for force. One year, I wound for mission. Before dem push me enter surgery, Inspector Tunde hold my hand, dey cry, confess love. E voice dey shake, tears for e eyes. E no fit hide emotion. For that moment, I know say na true love.

"Ngozi, you must live. I wan marry you."

I fit remember how I squeeze e hand, dey promise say I go come back. For school, we no date anybody. After work, we no dey talk about marriage, but we dey wait for each other. Everybody for station dey call us 'old couple.' Dem dey laugh, but for our heart, na only two of us know wetin we dey plan.

After I heal, Inspector Tunde take special off for Valentine, carry me go Christ Redeemer Church in Aba to see new yam festival. E talk say tradition dey important—make we thank God together. The air sweet with smell of roasted yam, palm oil dey flow for table. Rain just fall, yam heavy with sand, church roof bend for back—like olden days painting.

That picture dey my mind till today. I fit smell earth, feel the mud for my slippers. Under yam barn, Inspector Tunde propose. E kneel, voice low, eyes full of tears. I no fit say no. The whole village dey clap, even mama put woman join. We hug each other, swear say we go protect each other till old age. I fit feel the warmth till today. For that moment, happiness choke me.