Chapter 2:

Since I small, my voice just too sweet, and I even enter puberty early—my body show quick, and the elders for my street dey notice sharp sharp. Even Mama Sade for corner dey whisper, “This one go give person wahala.”

Because of that one, my papa dey look me like say e wan strangle me, e eyes dey always red whenever I open mouth to talk. My mama just dey sigh every evening, dey clean her hands for wrapper, talk say I be pikin wey men go dey use play like ayo.

Later, one entertainment company see my face and body for church talent show, come recruit me like say na gold dem find.

When I debut, my agent use her chest swear:

"With this your body and face? Anyhow you pose, you go trend sharp sharp!"

She laugh scatter, sure say I go blow. Even my uncle for Ibadan send message say, "Na you be our own Tiwa Savage, make we dey wait for you for TV o!"

But dem no know say my syrupy voice na real wahala. The thing dey cause gbege like play-play.

One whole year pass, my public image just fall reach ground. Once I talk, people go just dey roll eye like suya seller wey see bad meat.

"Morayo na big time faker. If she behave like real queen, I go even notice her. Why she dey force this sweet-girl style?"

Another: "At first I think say she cute, but now this forming too much. Abeg, e don dey tire person."

Yet another: "She no fit just close mouth? If she wan seduce men, make she go club, no dey come online dey disgust person."

Bad mouth no dey finish. My social media always dey hot like new yam, and the comments dey bite like mosquito for rainy season.

But me, I be real ajebutter—I just dey bite my bedsheet, dey swallow my tears, no fit tell anybody for my family because I no wan give dem more reason to complain.

My agent try console me, her voice soft like agege bread.

"Bad publicity still be publicity, trust me. With your unique style, just focus on your work—you go soon dey cash out, hear?"

I just burst cry, snot and all.

"Na this be that internet wahala abi?" I ask, as I hug my pillow, my eyes red.

Aunty Kemi, my agent, na real firebrand from Ibadan. After one year with me, she talk say her patience don reach to handle nursery school children. She go always dey tap her head, dey say, "Ah, Morayo, you wan wound me! Kilode?"

This kind voice, women go dey scream, men go dey weak for leg. Even my choir mistress for church once ask me, "You sure say you no put honey for throat before you come?"

But the way my voice and my face take contrast ehn—nobody gree say na real. Na like moi-moi for takeaway plate—people no dey believe say na original.

All those yeye people even drag Aunty Kemi say she no get eye for talent, say she turn correct queen to cheap flirt. For one radio talk show, dem even mention her name, say, "That her girl? Na pure packaging."

Who go defend her? Nobody wan collect online dragging on top my matter.

Aunty Kemi vex die:

"I beg everybody wey I sabi just to carry you go big variety show. This time, we go collect everything back!"

She believe say if people see me face to face—man or woman—I go win dem over. She dey dream dey plot, dey say, "No worry, na their eye go clear."

Aunty Kemi just dey laugh herself, dey dream. I even catch her one day dey practice interview answer for mirror, dey form PR madam.