Chapter 1: No Hiding Place

When I dey play hide-and-seek with my daughter, I purposely lock the iron wardrobe wey she dey hide inside.

Even as I dey turn the padlock—na Aboki market I buy am, dem swear say even juju no fit open am—I dey hear her small voice dey giggle for inside. The sound still dey my ear sometimes, especially for night. Sometimes, breeze go blow, I go remember how she use to shout, “Daddy, I dey here!” That day, my hand dey shake small, but I tell myself say na for better life we dey do am.

After that, I sharply carry my wife and son move go another house.

We no even look back, just carry our small bag, lock the gate, waka go bus park before cock crow. My wife hold my son tight for hand, her eyes dey red. As the bus dey move, I see the roof of our old house from window. The zinc roof dey rattle small, as if rain wan start—even though sky dry. I no talk anything. Na that kind silence wey dey heavy like rain for August.

Twenty years later, I come back to my old house, plan say I go bury my daughter corpse.

For all those years, sometimes I go dream say I dey open the iron wardrobe, Keke dey inside dey wait. The guilt dey drag my heart anytime wey wedding or festival reach, but I always push am aside. Now, the baba talk say wahala fit happen, so I tell myself say this time, I go finish wetin I start.

As I just waka reach the iron wardrobe,

The house still get that old scent—mothballs, old dust, small scent of palm oil wey soak for wall. I fit hear my own breath. E be like say the air dey heavy, like spirit dey there dey look me.

Na so I hear small pikin voice.

My heart freeze. For this kind night, who suppose dey talk inside house wey empty since Obasanjo time? I no sure if na my mind dey do me. I stand like tree, ear dey stand.

"Daddy, you finally wan find me?"

The voice soft, like when Keke dey whisper that time she want sneak extra meat from pot. My leg weak. Na so sweat dey my body, even when cold dey.