Chapter 4: Bride Price and Bitter Truths

I no lie give Chijioke—I really dey plan to marry.

Even if na arrangee, at least my record go dey clean. For this estate, if you too dey single, people go begin suspect you.

Since I start work for chief house, matchmaker dey come find me steady. I reject tire, people for Mango Street begin look me one kind. For here, my age people already get pikin wey dey run errand for them.

Neighbours go dey hail me, "Guard wey fine like this, why you never marry?" Some dey suspect say I get strong head, some dey gossip say na juju dey follow me.

The year I enter this world, no get family record. That time, flood happen for Makurdi. I use another person name enter Okafor family for Palm Grove Estate, finally settle for this old world.

I still remember that night—water cover everywhere, people dey shout for help. My own name no get weight, so I borrow another name, settle quietly, blend like crayfish for ogbono soup.

For family record, I be man, so I must live as man. If not, for this kind strict place, as person wey use fake name, dem go just cut my head put for display.

Even elders wey dey greet me for street fit turn and judge me if wahala burst. Na so e be for here—survival before truth.

Sometimes I even thank God say I disguise as man—at least I dey free, fit learn work.

Na woman for this estate dey suffer pass. Me, I fit waka night, fit get job. I dey count am as grace.

The person wey I wan marry na my neighbour, Mama Chiamaka. She senior me by two years, widow, get one small pikin, three years old. I dey help her watch house, chase away area boys and drunkards. She dey grateful, always help me mend cloth, cook food.

She get soft hand, dey call me "my brother" for public, but inside, na real friend she be. Her small pikin, Chisom, dey follow me everywhere, dey call me "uncle." Life dey gentle when I dey with them.

Some time ago, Mama Chiamaka invite me go watch acrobat for central market. As we dey go house, she suddenly ask, “Ikenna, how you see me?”

Market crowd still dey for my ear, but her voice soft pass market woman's own. My body freeze, I no know wetin to reply.

For evening, as I see her blush, I understand her mind.

Sun dey set, breeze dey blow, her eye dey dodge my own. I know say she dey hope for better answer.

I think am well, then tell her, “Chiamaka, the reason I never marry na because I like men. People no dey accept that kind thing.”

My chest dey heavy as I talk am. I dey fear say she go vex or chase me commot.

Mama Chiamaka quiet for long. When we reach her door, she talk soft: “What if I gree make we do fake marriage?”

She talk am like say na small thing, but I know say e hard her mind. For here, woman no too get choice. Sometimes, fake marriage better pass real suffering.

That night, me and Chiamaka sit for her compound talk long. She rest her chin for hand, dey look hibiscus flower for yard, voice low: “Marriage no be anything. My parents collect plenty bride price from Musa, sell me as wife. When Musa drink die, na relief I feel. If he vex, he go beat me. Sometimes, I dey hide for kitchen, dey pray say morning go quick reach. My body still get scar from last time. When I born Chisom, if you no help me, I for drown myself and my pikin. If Chisom grow up come see same thing, e better make she no grow at all.”

She talk, eye dey wet, but voice strong. Na pain and wisdom dey mix for her tongue. I dey wonder how woman fit suffer reach like this, still dey smile for daybreak.

I no know wetin to talk to console her.

I just hold her hand small, squeeze am, dey hope say she feel small comfort. Sometimes, words no dey enough.

This world na so—nobody fit change am.

For here, people dey survive anyhow. If you talk too much, na you go first disappear.

When I first land for here, no family record, I waka everywhere, almost enter brothel many times.

Life no easy for stranger. I beg food, wash plate for chop bar. Sometime, I nearly sell my body just to see morning.

For here, women be like goods, animals, servant—anything but person.

Men dey boast for beer parlour, dey count how many wife dem get. Nobody dey pity woman, except woman help woman.

Mama Chiamaka see as I quiet, her voice come soft: “That night Musa die, I hide dey look. I see you pour water for bridge, e freeze quick. Musa pass, stone knack him leg, he fall for ice, no fit get up, enter river. You just stand under bridge, no shout, no try save am—just look as he die then waka go.”

She talk am like dream. For my mind, I dey replay that night. But true true, I know say I no fit kill Musa.

I look her, talk calm: “Chiamaka, you see am wrong. That night I dey drink with Musa for beer parlour, I no even come out.”

I try smile, but inside, na only confusion full my mind. Sometimes, pain dey twist memory.

I no promise Chiamaka marriage that night.

I tell her say make we wait, make tomorrow come first. Life fit show us another way.

Chiamaka cry, beg: “Ikenna, Chisom need papa!”

Her voice break, tears roll for her cheek. Small Chisom dey sleep inside, no know wetin dey happen for this cold world.

For this place law, if widow no marry again, her pikin must go back to family. Sometimes, the way dem dey do, na to force woman enter fire by herself.

Na wicked law. Even chief for this estate no fit stop am. If dem say "family right," everybody dey fear.

Musa people dey village, dem strong. If Chisom go back there, who know wetin she go face.

Village law pass government law. If you no get person for town, na suffer head go wear crown for you.

As I think of Chisom sweet face, I sigh, talk: “I go come do proposal tomorrow.”

I rub Chiamaka back, promise her with my eye. Tomorrow go settle this matter, by fire by force.