Chapter 3: Heavy Choices

Night don dark finish.

Village darkness get special quiet—the only light outside na rusty lantern for veranda. My head dey spin with thoughts.

After six hours drive, dem no even give me cup of water.

My tongue dry like sandpaper. My chest burn with hunger and shame. For the first time, I know wetin e mean to be outsider for your own land.

I vex, drive go town, find hotel sleep.

Receptionist look me with tired eyes. I drop for bed, no even remove shoe, just dey look cracked ceiling till I find strength call house.

I video call my parents, tell them everything.

The screen flicker, my mama face show, eyes wide, my papa dey frown inside brown wrapper.

My parents quiet for long.

Their silence heavy, only the wall clock dey tick behind them.

I say, “See how much dem dey ask—dem even want this marriage so?”

I try keep my voice from break. I see my mama hand dey shake as she hold her scarf.

My papa say, “Dem get only one pikin. Maybe na security dem dey find with big bride price…”

He talk am soft, almost as if e dey beg. I know say he want peace.

I know say na just talk, he dey fear make I no break up.

He look away, lips tight, voice no get weight like before.

My parents be old school. Dem just want make I settle down quick.

Dem believe for tradition—find wife, build home, raise family. Dem always dey say, “No time to waste, my son.”

When I never get girlfriend, dem dey play with children for street, dey touch their cheeks, dey hint me: ‘When you go give us grandchild? Na only that go complete our life.’

Sometimes neighbours go borrow pepper, my mama go pinch their baby cheek, eyes dey shine with hope. My papa go look away, pretend say e no notice.

After I start with Ngozi, dem pick new hobby: dey knit sweater. Marriage never even reach, but dem don fill half wardrobe with pikin Christmas cloth.

Every time I visit house, my mama go show me new baby socks, dey ask, “You think this one go fit your own?” My papa go laugh, say, “Make we see our own first!”

For pikin matter, only wahala be say papa want girl, mama want boy. After two seconds, dem agree: any one dey okay.

Na family joke. Dem even give nickname to unborn grandchildren.

So I dey feel heavy for chest.

All their dreams and expectations dey press me like bag of cement.

Now e be like say this journey no easy at all.

My eye dey pepper me, but I refuse make tear drop.

“Papa, this one no small o. Twenty-four million naira, plus house for her brother? Dem just dey see us like cow for slaughter?”

I talk from my heart, no send who dey hear. My papa look me, then my mama.

My mama sigh. She adjust her scarf, eyes red, voice low like person wey just finish night vigil. “Actually, me and your papa don dey reason to retire for village. To sell house no too hard…”

She talk am soft, like say make I no vex. Cold fear rush me.

“Mama, abeg, you dey talk like this? Village far. If anything happen, who go help? You want make I dey regret forever?”

I almost raise voice. I see her wipe eye, dey form say she no dey cry.

“Chijioke, Ngozi na good girl. If you lose her because of money, e go pain,” my papa say. “Money fit come again, but person wey go, you no fit see am again. Bride price, we go try more. You too, try talk to them, maybe dem go reduce am, or allow you pay small small…”

His words soft, but I know say dem ready do anything for me—even lose comfort. My heart break for them.