Chapter 3: The Evidence No Gree, My Mind Scatter

As hope show, my parents, wey don dey sad for days, finally relax small. Even my junior sister begin sweep compound with energy, Mama dey sing “God will make a way.” Papa dey whistle, dey polish his sandals.

I carry the investigation team go meet our neighbours and the community council, even video-call my old company. The elders for our street gather, dey hail me. Council chairman say, “This Olisa na correct pikin. Never bring girl come sleepover. Na book and work dey his mind.”

Everybody talk well about me, confirm say I be honest, well-behaved, always single, and say dem never see any child for my house—nobody even see me with babe before. Even my neighbor Mama Ebuka talk, “If na Olisa, I go use my chest swear say that boy never near wahala.” Some people even add, “If na pikin dey, we for don see, abi we blind?”

I think say matter don clear, my innocence go show immediately. I dey smile, dey give thanks for my mind. I even dey picture myself for government office, dey wear tie, dey sign file.

But the investigation team no talk anything, just say dem still need to check some other things. Dem just dey nod, dey write note. I dey try read their face, but dem hard like NEPA pole. Oga at the top say, “We will get back to you.”

I feel disappointed, but I dey encourage myself: truth dey, and no matter how dem check, I no get pikin. I talk to myself, “Olisa, your mind clean. God no go shame you.” At worst, I go wait small—good thing dey come after wahala.

I dey pray, dey tell my family make dem relax. As my people say, “Patience bitter but e dey bear sweet fruit.”

After five more days of stress, the official investigation results finally come out. That morning, I fast join, drink only water. Everybody for house dey wait my call. The air choke with tension.

But this time, wetin I see shock me pass. Omo, my legs nearly fail me. My sister dey peep my face, my phone almost drop for ground. If wahala fit find me for my own house, who I go run to?

The investigation report talk say I get six-year-old pikin, and say I never take care of am since. I rub my eyes, read am again. I even pass the paper to my sister—maybe my own eye dey deceive me. She just look me, mouth open.

Because of my so-called bad lifestyle, the original background screening result of ‘unqualified’ still stand. I wan shout, but no voice come out. Mama grip her chest, dey fan herself. Papa just waka enter backyard, no talk.

I hold the report for hand, my mind no fit accept am. I sit for sofa, look wall. Even the clock for parlour dey tick loud. My dog dey bark outside but I no even hear. No matter how I think am, I no fit understand how this kind of thing fit happen to me.

I reason tire. I dey count all my life events like say I dey mark attendance for exam hall. Gritting my teeth, I turn to the back to check the evidence attached to the report. My hand dey shake as I dey flip the pages. I dey sweat for harmattan.

Photocopy of my family record page. Even the booklet look old, get government stamp. My passport photo dey side, my birthday, my mama and papa name. On top, apart from my parents and me, another page dey for one boy called “Olisa Junior,” born six years ago.

The name dey bold, date of birth match my final year in school. I dey try remember any event from that period. Dem also attach DNA paternity test between me and Olisa Junior. Report carry my name, signature, everything correct. DNA match percentage na 99.9%.

All the personal and family details for the report match my own. Even address, school, all dey accurate. Chai, how dem take get all these?

If before I dey confident, after seeing this report, I begin dey doubt myself. I dey whisper, “Abi I sleepwalk that year?” My confidence begin dey shake. Abi I don lose memory, or this one na another universe? I get pikin wey I no even know?

I dey check my head for scar—maybe I get accident wey I forget. Or na juju? But I never even get girlfriend before! Na true, my last attempt na that campus fellowship sister wey ghost me after I toast her. And I sure say I never donate sperm before!

I dey reason, “Abi dem thief my blood for hospital that year?” By the boy’s age, that time I go still dey year one for university, I still be pikin myself—how I for take get pikin?

That year, na only garri and handout I dey manage. Which time for romance? I rule out every possibility... So where this six-year-old boy come from? Omo, Naija wahala too much. I dey pray make this one no turn Nollywood movie.