Chapter 1: Shame and Betrayal Uncovered

I dey run secret relationship with boy wey I senior by six years. He no gree use condom, say if I carry belle, we go marry sharp sharp.

Sometimes, as I replay those nights for my mind, I dey wonder if the age gap really mean anything to am, or na only me e dey worry. Na this Naija, e get as things dey. For this Lagos, dem go say woman wey dey date small boy no get shame. Many go say make I dey shame—me wey suppose don dey plan wedding, na small boy dey follow me knack.

The next day, my body dey ginger, I hold pregnancy test, dey eager tell am the news. But as I hold him phone, na group chat with him guys I see.

My hand go cold, sweat dey my palm, leg dey weak. I think say I go just call am with sweet gist, but the blue light from the screen dey shine for my eye that morning like say e dey expose all the things wey I never wan see. For our side, na taboo to dey too curious—but na so hand dey carry person go where e no suppose enter.

“Farouk, Morayo go soon come back—that one na your real babe. Wetin you wan do about the old woman?”

As I read 'old woman', memory flash—my aunty for house used to call me 'old woman' when I dey do gra-gra, but na with love. This one wey dem talk so, e just bite me for chest. Na pure insult. I just dey look, dey try hold myself make I no break the phone.

“Farouk don package the old mama like moin-moin wrapper. Wetin remain? Just hurry break up with style.”

My hand dey shake. All the gbegborun and gist dey sound like dem dey dissect goat for village square, with everybody adding pepper and onion.

Farouk no reply, so another person drop another crude comment.

“Guy, you sure say you never catch feelings?”

For Naija boy wey dey front for him guys, that kain question fit make person drag you. I just dey hope say Farouk go shut dem up, defend me small.

This time, Farouk reply sharp sharp. My ear dey ring, like generator sound for blackout night.

“How e go be? She be just old woman for practice. Who send am?”

My blood run cold. So na so e dey? Even the Farouk I carry for heart dey call me 'practice'? Tears almost drop but I hold am. My mama always say, 'Woman no dey cry for man front.'

“If no be say Morayo dey too careful, no gree make I touch am without condom, I for run go her side.”

My hand just dey stiff. So all the times he dey beg me make I no use protection, e dey wish say na Morayo e dey do am with?

Their chat log no fit enter mouth, full of dirty talk about me.

As I dey read, e be like say snake dey crawl for my spine. Na so dem dey talk woman matter for beer parlour, just dey use person take do gist.

“Brother Farouk dey raw am? Na wa o.”

Their laughter almost jump out from the screen. I imagine all of them, mouth wide, teeth shining with wickedness.

“Of course. Brother Farouk pick old woman because she dey clean and easy, no be say na because of age o.”

I wan shout, but my voice no come out. For these boys, age na mark of shame—dem no see say woman wey don pass thirty fit still get value.

“She sabi say Farouk no like protection, so na she dey take pill by herself. By the way, how many pills she don swallow this year?”

Na my own body, na im dem dey use measure like garri for market. E pain me. For here, people dey respect woman wey dey responsible. These ones dey talk as if I be street girl.

Normally quiet Farouk just drop one number.

“99.”

My body cold. My ears dey ring. Na only God know if na joke, but the number just wound my mind.

Maybe the number shock dem—the group burst.

“Chai! Brother Farouk, you try! You don train the old woman finish.”

I hear their laughter in my head, as if dem dey for my parlour. All my self-respect just dey run like water from leaking tap.

“Abeg, God Farouk, show us the way to find correct babe wey no dey do shakara.”

All these 'shakara' wahala—so na crime to get small standard for this country?

“Brother Farouk, run am again. That old woman body set die. If not, once Morayo land, nothing go remain chop.”

As I dey hold the phone, my whole body dey shake anyhow. I sabi every word, but as dem join am together, e turn to something wicked and strange.

The shame, the anger—na mixture dey boil inside me. My head dey buzz. For Naija, person dey talk say 'if shame no kill you, anger go make you craze.'

I snap all the chats, put the phone back, then sink heavy for sofa, lost.

The chair swallow me. I just dey look ceiling, tears dey gather for eye. For Lagos, woman suppose get sense, but na today I know say I mumu.

Na this be the Farouk I know? When he dey chase me, I tell am say I senior am by six years, I no fit run relationship with small boy.

Flashbacks dey run like film for my mind. I remember when he go squeeze through danfo, buy gala, pure water, just to make me smile inside hold-up. The small small things wey make my heart dey soft those days.

That time, my bestie carry my fiancé run, everybody dey wait make dem laugh me—say I don old, no market.

Mama Chidinma for compound go dey point, dey whisper say "Amina don old, na small boy she dey follow now." People for my compound dey gossip, dey point. 'That Amina—her mate don marry born, she dey find small boy.' The mockery, the whispers—my pride almost disappear.

He do everything to win me. I no get confidence, so he dey always check on me. I talk say I no fit do long-distance, he just resign land for my company, make me assistant, so we go dey together everyday.

The sacrifice choke me that time. E even dey cook for me sometimes, carry my bag, give me small flowers. My colleagues dey hail am, dey ask if e be my brother or my husband.

He give me all him sincerity, I come fall for am.

I fight am, but love na spirit. Person no dey control am. Before I know, I open my heart.

He no like protection, so na me dey take pill steady. He like adventure, so we try different styles.

At first, I dey feel say maybe na love dey make am want me that way. For inside Naija, woman dey fear make dem no talk say she loose, but with am, I feel free.

Before, I dey fear say if I mistakenly carry belle, wetin go happen? He never hesitate: if e happen, we go marry. I don enter my thirties—I think say he go give me home.

All my hope na to get small peace. Even my mama dey pray for me. I think say I don finally get person wey go stay.

But na all that love and comfort just because he no fit touch him real babe, so he use me practice and release.

The betrayal dey choke me. For here, if man no love you, make e tell you straight—no dey use person play.

As I dey look the two lines for the pregnancy test, I just feel like mumu.

My hand dey tremble. For our side, if belle show, dem go say 'congratulations.' But now, na only disgrace I dey feel.

“Why e get two lines? You don carry belle?”

Farouk voice wake me from my thoughts. E stand for back, towel for waist, water dey drip from him hair.

I no even know when Farouk finish bath, come snatch the test from my hand.

His face dey search my own, like say e dey try read my mind. I fit smell the soap for his skin, but e no sweet me again.

My heart shake. I avoid him eyes, force myself act normal, collect the test back, hand dey shake as I throw am for dustbin.

I try form strong face. For Naija, woman suppose sabi arrange herself, even when heart dey break.

“Na malaria test. I no too well today, so I buy am check.”

I lie with small voice, hoping say e go believe me. Wetin else I fit talk?

He no press further, just dey bite my ear playfully, begin touch me.

Na so e dey always do—if e wan change topic, e go turn to play. My body no even respond.

“I buy new crotchless stockings, sister, abeg try am.”

His voice soft, almost like pleading. Na so he dey charm me before. But today, the thing tire me.

As he talk, he hug me from back, dey rub my leg gently.

His hands dey warm, but for my body, na cold dey spread. Na so e dey start all our moments—small touch, small whisper.

“I too like your long legs. I fit die on top your body.”

Before, I believe say na so he dey show love, so I dey always follow him do wetin he want. But now, I know say I don fool myself.

All this sweet talk na wash—my eye don clear. This kain sweet talk dey work for Lagos girls, but today, e no fit wash me. My mind already dey for another place.

I push am away, cold.

My body just dey stone. I no even care whether e vex.

“I dey my period. E no go work.”

The lie fly from my mouth sharp sharp. For this country, na only period fit stop man wey get mission.

Farouk stop, look me with pity.

Him eyes soft, as if e dey worry for me. But the thing no touch me again.

“Sister, abeg just wear the stockings. Today, I go do myself. Once your period finish, you go make am up to me, abi?”

The way he talk 'make am up to me' just dey ring for my ear. Like say woman na debt wey e dey pay.

How I go make am up? Like as dem talk for group chat—just run one last style before break up?

I dey think of all the effort I don put—gym, diet, salon runs. My pocket dey dry because of beauty routine, just to keep small boy interested. Who send me?

To please am, I never stop beauty treatment or yoga, dey fear make he no see me as old, shapeless or boring. I no know say na so dem dey use am take insult me.

For our place, dem dey say 'fine face no be food', but me, I carry am for head. Now, na insult follow me.

I be woman, I no be any cheap thing.

This thought strike me deep. My papa always say, 'Woman wey get sense no dey sell herself cheap.' Today, I know say I deserve better.

As I think am, tears start to fall. As Farouk see me cry, he panic.

He rush come my side, voice dey tremble. 'Why you dey cry? Na play I dey play.'

“Sister, na joke I dey joke. Na your soul I love pass your body.”

He quick understand wetin dey my mind.

For the first time, I see fear for him eye. Maybe e dey fear say I go waka. But me, my mind don already go.

Before, I dey always wonder if na only to knack he want, but he always talk say na love make am dey wild with me.

E always swear say na love. But all those words na empty breeze.

But this one na love? If he love me, why e no dey use protection?

For Naija, man wey truly care go protect woman, no be only himself.

He gently wipe my tears, him eyes show pain.

He dey beg, small small, dey try calm me. But the pain deep pass wetin hand fit reach.

“Na my fault. I go kneel on remote control punish myself, okay?”

He really kneel on top remote, dey beg me.

For our side, man kneel for woman dey rare—unless e mean am. But for my eye, e be like play.

“Wife, abeg, I no do well. Forgive me, I beg.”

His voice dey shake. If na before, I go laugh, hug am. But today, my spirit just dey empty.

As I dey watch his drama, my heart just dey empty. For that small thing, he fit act like say he love me die. E go tire am.

I dey wonder when I go reach that place wey nothing fit pain me again. All these small drama no dey move me.

I stand up, close bedroom door, think well, then message my best friend wey dey Makurdi.

As I dey type, my hand dey shake. For this country, na friend dey save woman from madness. Makurdi too far, but peace dey there.

“I go come meet you in three days. I gree for that partner plan.”

She respond fast. 'No wahala, I dey wait you.'

“Yes, I sure.”

I off my phone, wrap myself with bedsheet, curl for bed, begin cry like rain.

Tears dey wet pillow. My mama always talk say, 'Crying na food for woman.' Today, I chop belleful.

Farouk, if na only knack I want from you, e for better.

I think am well. If na only sex, I go find am anywhere. But na love I dey find.

But I too greedy. I want both knack and love.

For this country, dem dey say 'You no fit chop cake and still hold am.' Maybe I too reach.

If I no fit get am, make I just leave everything.

I dey ready to carry my load go, even if e pain me. I go start again, God dey my side.