Chapter 6: Death in the Red Wrapper

Next morning, na my brother shout wake me.

E loud, like person wey fire catch. Him voice scatter for compound, birds fly comot tree. My body jump from sleep.

As I rush come out, I see say the woman don die—she hang herself, wear one red George wrapper, pattern like village river, the kind only married women dey wear for festival. Her face dark, tongue comot anyhow.

The wrapper na the type married woman dey wear for festival—red, with black and white lines. E dey show say she don lose hope. Her neck bend, leg dey hang for air. Death dey quiet, but heavy for air.

Leg just fail me, I fall for ground.

My eye no fit believe. My body weak, like person wey malaria dey worry. I dey shake for floor, no strength to stand.

Before I fit get myself, Uncle Oche enter, face hard like stone.

Uncle Oche na elder for family. Him voice dey loud, hand strong. E dey always carry big staff—sign say na him dey settle quarrel. Today, him face dark pass charcoal.

He tap his staff for ground, nod once—everybody bow head small, respect. He waka go the woman dead body, check am well, then sigh, look my mama. “Where you see this woman?”

He squat down, check neck for marks, smell her hair. Then e stand, look mama straight, eye no blink. Him question heavy, no space for lie.

My mama try dodge. “From my mama side.”

She look ground, shift leg. Her voice dey quiver. For village, lie dey easy, but not for Uncle Oche eye.

Uncle Oche no gree. He just narrow eye, voice deep. “I ask you again—where you see this woman?”

He point finger, eye dey red. Even goat for corner stop to chew leaf, everywhere calm.

Him eye strong so tay my mama dey shake, no fit lie again.

Her hand dey shake, she swallow spit. Voice drop, almost whisper. She know say if e catch her, wahala go land.

“She waka come herself. I see as she fine, I wan make her Dauda wife. Who know say she go do like this?”

She talk am like person wey dey regret. For village, beauty na big market, so mama reason say she fit use her luck help house.

My mama look the woman, hiss. “Dey do drama for nothing. No luck at all.”

She hiss long, eye dey roll. "Person wey see fine woman for market dey forget say soup fit burn for fire."

Uncle Oche vex, “Enough.”

He raise hand, voice cut like blade. All children for compound freeze. E no dey like noise or story.

My mama fear, keep quiet.

She cover mouth, eye dey ground. For that moment, even fly no fit waka near her.