Chapter 3: No More Mumu

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All the wahala wey I don chop for years, na today e find way come out.

The girls wey dey there shock.

Dem don fight before, but dem never see person fight with this kind madness.

“Go call madam!”

One shout.

Some run commot.

Na only me and Rashidat remain.

Her eyes dey red, she use nail scratch my wrist till blood come out, dey try make I leave her. She never beg before, but today her voice dey shake like small pikin wey lose mama for market.

But I no send. My mind just dey tell me: continue.

My grandma always talk, “If talk no work, use your hand.”

Today, na these hands I go use take find justice.

The pain for my wrist just dey ginger me more.

The more I beat, the more she hold me.

The more she hold, the more I dey enjoy am.

Na real wahala cycle.

Just now as dem dey beat me, I even think make I record am as evidence.

But that idea no last one second for my mind.

Prove my innocence? For wetin?

I no do anything—why I go dey prove?

Na only for yeye Facebook story dem dey do that kind thing.

Now, na only my hand I trust.

For my last life, dem bully me. If I allow am again after I come back, wetin be the point?

As I dey beat am, I see say Rashidat face dey change.

From wickedness, to anger, then fear begin enter her eye.

If anybody tell me say violence no dey solve problem, I go show dem Rashidat eye.

No be solution be this?

My heart dey dance for my chest, as if Fela trumpet dey blow inside me. The taste of sweat and small blood dey my mouth, but e sweet me. My knuckles don red, and my mind dey shout: “Today, no more mumu!”