Chapter 1: The Day I Dey Chopped Lesson

Dem say when breeze blow, everybody go see fowl yansh. Musa Garba, after him finally reach where him dey go, na only two people him remember, come carry along—no space for extra baggage.

Yusuf, the boy wey carry my eyes and Musa stubbornness, na our only pikin. The other person na Amina Danladi, him white moonlight.

Dem call Amina him 'white moonlight,' the way some people dey call their own peace 'morning dew'—rare and gentle for this our dry land. Some go say na her own destiny cross path with am, tie them like agbalumo seed for mouth.

He no go let Yusuf just dey like every other pikin for street—his own blood, he must rise above ordinary.

Amina Danladi, that one, na another matter. For Musa mind, promise na debt; you fit forget anything but no forget who rescue you from wahala.

As for me, he said—

"Halima, we have been husband and wife. When I get chance, I go bring Yusuf come visit you."

Na so him take talk am—voice flat, face like person wey dey look sunset, no remorse, no apology. Even the way im mention am, e dey like say na afterthought.

In my former life, because of these words, I waited three years, then another three years again.

Time crawl pass me like snail for rainy season. Even my wrapper dey gather dust as I dey wait. I count Harmattan, count rainy season, yet na the same ground I dey stand.

At the end, I died alone, never seeing him again.

Dem say life na pepper soup—hot, sometimes bitter. Last-last, I waka enter night by myself. Musa no come. Yusuf no come. Even the four corners of the room cold pass ice block—na so loneliness fit bite person.

This life, I no dey wait for his return.

No be my portion again. I don chop that lesson—wait for man, e go leave you for dust.

I go follow my own path, leave the house behind.

Time to untie my wrapper from this compound, find another road. Life dey outside, make I go see am.

From today, he fit dey pursue his own greatness, make I live my own life.

As e be so, make Musa dey chase im big dream. Me sef get my own to find.

The hills dey high, rivers dey far—no need for us to jam again.

Na so e suppose be. For this life, make everybody face their journey. If our shadow cross again, na by accident, not by design.

As I waka back, the sun dey rise behind me, but my shadow dey long for ground—like say past still dey follow, but I no go turn look.