Chapter 2: Memory Heavy Like Bag of Garri

I waka go join the crowd.

Ibrahim’s face strong, e no even happy at all.

The guy tall and fine, get better future, all the girls for Palm Grove village dey eye am.

Everybody dey talk say I no reach him level.

Na because after him mama and papa die, my own parents pity am, carry am like pikin, almost like foster son.

Na so the engagement start.

Since small, I dey follow am everywhere, dey call "Brother Ibrahim, Brother Ibrahim" up and down.

That year, if you see the way I dey run after am, even Mama Funke dey tease me, "Ngozi, you go soon follow this your brother enter kitchen." Sometimes, as we dey walk come from stream, our shadow go long together for red sand, I go dey dream say na so life go soft for me.

[This babe try, all her life na just the guy dey use her play.]

[I hear say the guy just dey use the babe hold body, but outside dey follow the supporting babe, even leave the supporting babe pikin for the babe to train.]

[To be honest, why una dey watch all these stories wey dey show women suffer? Me, I don sign out.]

...

Which kind talk be this?

Na me be the babe? Na Ibrahim be the guy?

All of a sudden, my head begin pain me.

Strange but familiar memory just rush enter my mind.

3

So, I don come back again.

I remember my former life.

That time, after my parents die, I for like follow my relatives go Aba try my luck.

But because I get engagement with Ibrahim, I decide to stay.

That stay na my whole life.

Goats dey bleat for compound, as if dem dey mock me.

After Ibrahim finish him wedding leave, he go back to him work for town.

From that time, we no dey see each other again.

He tell me make I help look after him friend widow, Halima, even carry Halima pikin as adopted son.

After Halima dig the gold, she waka go city go start business.

Later, Ibrahim begin dey climb for life, but when time reach to choose person to follow am for city, he give the slot to Halima.

He talk say, "No think am too much. Halima fit work for outside pass you, and you still get pikin to look after."

I treat the adopted son like my own, for some years, the boy even close to me.

But as Halima return from city, fine and fresh, always dey bring the boy different better things,

The boy begin dey hate me, dey follow them:

"You be just village woman, you no be my mama. My mama fine and get money. She go carry me go live for big house for city."

Later, dem carry the boy go city go school.

When I fall sick, wan go city for treatment,

Na the same adopted son pick my call, talk say:

"Aunty Ngozi, you no reach Uncle Ibrahim level. If no be you, he and my mama for don dey together since."

Halima sef complain give me:

"Ngozi, Ibrahim always talk say he just see you as small sister. Just because your family help am that year, e mean say you go hold am down for life?"

Hold am down?

Who really hold who down for life?

Ibrahim dey climb, Halima don get money.

Na only me remain for village, dey manage small land, dey train pikin wey no even be my own.

I waste my youth, miss all my chance, just dey live anyhow till I old.

Na only me.

As I dey under sun, my skin dey peel from heat, dey harvest rice, dey pick corn, my hand dey bleed to save money for school fees and coat for the adopted son, Ibrahim dey with Halima, dey pretend say he dey work hard, but na love them dey do.

All the praise and enjoyment na for them; all the wahala na me carry alone.

Why?

When I marry Ibrahim, I never even reach 25.

Me too, I get better dream, hope, and ambition.

But na marriage and responsibility tie me down, dey train another woman pikin like house girl.

At last, dem reject me, I die for village, regret full my mind.

So, who really hold who down?

The memory heavy for my chest like bag of garri. My inside cold, but sun dey burn my skin. All the sacrifice, the nights I cry alone, the days my body ache from farm work—wetin I gain? For this Nigeria, na woman dey always carry last if she no wise. This time, I swear for my mind, I no go gree.

I sit down for ground, rub red dust for my palm. My mind wander to my mama voice—soft for my ear, "Ngozi, my pikin, no let anybody use your head do mumu." My tears mix with dust. This pain, I no go let am waste again.

4

I hold the paper wey I pick, tears dey my eyes.

God dey look face.

Thank God say I come back again.

Back to the day wey dem draw land.

I never marry Ibrahim yet.

I still fit go city, grab my own chance.

Everything fit start again.

Inside me, my spirit begin pray, "Chineke, abeg, make this second chance no waste."

This time, I go use sense, no be love go carry me enter gutter.