Chapter 8: Bathroom Queue and Lagos Shame

Even as I off the cigarette, that urge no gree go. Ifeoma still dey bathroom—how I wan enter? Even if I fit, Sister Zainab still dey inside.

My body dey shake, but I dey try maintain face. No be me go do disgrace for this house.

Ifeoma come out. Sister Zainab dey fetch water. As I wan rush enter, Aunty Halima just waka enter before me.

She just march go, carry her own bucket. I just dey look her back, dey shake head. For Naija, elders no dey drag with you—if dem reach door first, na dem own. If old woman reach door before you, just respect yourself—na who first reach river dey fetch clean water.

As man, e no make sense to drag bathroom with them.

I just bone face, dey whistle. Pride no go let me shout, but my body dey cry inside.

Before Aunty Halima finish, Morayo enter, still dey wear pyjamas, go do her own.

I dey wonder if dem dey use sign language, because na turn by turn. I just dey calculate how to survive.

...

E be like say all these sisters get secret code, dey use the small bathroom turn by turn—na only me dey for parlour, dey squeeze my hand, dey hold myself, eye dey red.

My face dey tight like garri without sugar. I dey try hold body, but my mind dey curse landlord.

How I go take survive like this? If every day na so my belle and bladder go dey fight, I fit last?

Na so I dey plan how I go dey use Mr Biggs toilet as my backup plan. Na Lagos be this—man must wise.

Just as e dey hook me, hair almost stand, Temi see me, cover mouth laugh: "Downstairs get Mr Biggs o."

Her laugh dey sweet, e be like say she dey pity me. Na only woman go notice your wahala and still smile for you.

"Thank you, sister!"

I grab tissue run downstairs. Behind me, Temi voice soft: "Wear shirt, make cold no catch you..."

Her voice soft like ogbono soup. But me, I no reason anything. I dey run like thief.

As I enter Mr Biggs, I no feel anything. Na when I dey come out I realize say I no wear shirt. The workers dey look me, wan ask but no fit. E no cold for morning, but my mind cold.

As I stand for corridor, one woman wey dey mop just dey look me, shake head. Na so embarrassment catch me.

As one person carry phone—wan turn me to WhatsApp status—I run commot.

I sharply dodge, dey pray say nobody go recognize me for street. Na Lagos, anything fit happen.

As I dey go up, I jam Temi dey come down. She still dey blush, cover mouth laugh. I just thank her again.

Her laugh dey follow me reach upstairs. Na so I know say for this house, cruise dey.

Most people for house don commot. Only Morayo remain, dey whistle, dey do makeup. From Sister Bisi room, na snore dey come—she never wake.

Morayo dey sing small gospel song as she dey rub powder. I dey reason say maybe na she go be my friend for house.

I rush wash face, carry my green calculus textbook, run go library.