Chapter 1: Shadow for Another Man House

In the olden days, inside big men’s compounds, there was a type of woman called half-bed wife. She was easier to control than a side woman, but her status was even lower than the personal maid wey sometimes dey sleep with oga.

Those days, as dusk dey fall and lantern dey shine for veranda, elders for village go gist about the arrangement. Some go say, "Half-bed wife no get mouth for anything! Just like wrapper for chair—dey use am, keep am, forget am." Others go add, "Na so half-bed wife dey, like groundnut shell—chop finish, throway." Sometimes, the older wives go hiss if dem see you waka pass, whispering say you be 'woman wey no get family'—a shadow in another man's household. "Na so e dey start—if you no get your own home, na breeze go blow you carry waka," one elder fit add, snapping finger for emphasis.

When I reach fifteen, dem sell me enter Okoye family house to become half-bed wife.

The road to Okoye compound that first evening no be small. My slippers dey drag for red sand, my heart dey pound like drum for festival. I no even sabi say my life don enter another track—na so dem carry me go, with my small bag, my eyes dey shine hope like person wey never see wahala.

Every first and fifteenth of the month, dem go cover my face with veil, naked, then carry me go young master’s room. Every time, young master go try remove the veil from my face, but I go always stop am.

The ritual itself dey carry thick tension. The women for house go waka fast-fast, their head tie high, but no one go look me for face. Na only the sound of my own breathing and the rustle of wrapper dey fill the silence as I dey pass that long corridor, feet cold for mat.

"Oga... abeg, no try am. If you do, you fit die..."

My voice dey always shake, almost whisper, but e dey carry the fear of all the things wey elders don yarn for village. To remove the veil na abomination, dem talk—spirit fit vex, curse fit land.

He think say na shyness dey worry me. He no know say if half-bed wife show her face, na true death go follow.

Inside his room, as the lantern dey faint, I go squeeze my eyes shut, praying say make temptation no enter his head. If only e sabi the kind fear wey dey grip my heart every time his fingers touch that cloth.

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1

That night, I turn look the man wey dey beside me—fine, gentle face. I shift small, my body dey pain me like say bone wan scatter. Before I fit catch my breath, I hear the sharp sound of small bell outside the door.

The bell sound sharp like blacksmith hammer—one, two—then silence. Na the code wey everybody for slave quarter sabi. My heart skip beat, but I quickly gather myself.

Na the signal: time for me to commot.

Outside, the harmattan breeze just dey calm down. Cold wind dey slap the paper window.

The moon dey hide behind small cloud, but everywhere still dey shine that cold blue. Sand for ground dey cut my feet, goosebumps dey my whole body. For our side, harmattan dey carry dust, and e dey always make my nostril dey dry.

I no wan leave the warm bed, but I gats. I quickly wear my wrapper to cover all the red marks for my skin, then waka go out.

The wrapper na old one—e get patch for the edge, colour faded to tired purple. As I wrap myself, I pray say nobody go notice the marks. My leg dey weak, but I stand.

As I pass Mama kitchen, the smell of burnt ogi and fried onions still dey hang for air, mix with morning dew. Mama Ifeoma, the madam’s chief maid, don dey wait tey-tey. Her face wey dey always hard, come even worse for this cold. She just grab my cheek twist am, no pity at all.

Her hand dey rough, finger cold like yam wey dem put for freezer. She smell of camphor and palm oil, as she hiss like snake.

She hiss, "Small witch, you still dey hope say you go sleep for here? Any small chance you get, you dey hold young master like say na your own. If madam catch you, na your skin go hear am."

The other maids dey stand back, dey watch, dey murmur. Some dey pity me, some dey envy. But none fit challenge Mama Ifeoma, wey her word be law after madam.

Madam... She sabi. Na she even choose me, send me go young master room.

For her eye, I be tool—nothing more. If I cry, she go call am 'crocodile tears.' My secret dey safe for my chest; who I wan tell?

But I no fit talk am. I just follow Mama Ifeoma go backyard, where she make me kneel for the place wey sand cold pass.

The ground dey wet, sand heavy with dew. The cold na another thing, e dey enter my soul. Even the moonself no gree shine for that corner.

Kneel.

Na the rule be that after you serve young master.

The house girls know am, everybody know am. If you complain, slap go meet you.

The cold quick soak my wrapper, cold enter my bone. I just dey shake anyhow. Mosquito bite my leg, but I no fit slap am—if I move, Mama Ifeoma go vex.

My teeth dey grind, jaw dey tight. I try think of something warm—mama soup, fire for village hut. But the cold strong pass my prayer.

Mama Ifeoma sneer, "See as you dey use your fine body dey find man, you dey enjoy soft bed—let’s see how you go feel this cold."

Her laughter harsh. The other house girls shift away, some dey cover their mouth as dem dey watch. For their mind, maybe na true, maybe I dey enjoy wetin dem never chop.

How I wan talk back? I just bite my teeth, dey tremble. If I talk, the beating go worse.

For Okoye compound, word na weapon. Better make I keep quiet, hold my pain, wait for morning.

I no even sabi how long I kneel for the cold, but finally morning reach.

My knee don red, like person wey pound yam for ground. As cock crow, I fit hear goat for backyard, children voice faint for kitchen. Sun dey try break through harmattan fog.

Through my numb ear, I hear Mama Ifeoma dey talk sweet for person: "...Young master, madam just..."

Her voice change—suddenly sweet like honey. Na so she dey, quick to switch for oga children.

I see one corner of blue cloth waka pass corridor, then disappear. Through all the small-small walkway, I jam those gentle eyes.

My heart catch. Nnamdi Okoye—clean skin, eyes wey dey always deep like water. The other boys dey behind am, their slippers dey make soft slap for corridor.

All the memory of last night rush me. My ear turn red, but small hope dey my chest.

I dey imagine say maybe, just maybe, he go look back—maybe smile, maybe talk to me small. My body dey yearn for small kindness, just small.

If young master remember me, maybe I go fit escape all this wahala?

But na lie. The eyes no even stop for me at all, just waka pass. Nnamdi Okoye, the young master, with all him boys, just enter main house.

Hope vanish like smoke from firewood. I bite my tongue, hold my tears.

My heart cold, like say dem pour me inside ice water.

Na only shadow dey get this kind cold for inside compound.

True. Some people dey live for window, some for inside house. Me, I dey for back, outside, cold dey inside bone.

True. I be only half-bed wife. Slave, maid, object. No be person wey young master fit keep for heart.