Chapter 10: Family Tables and Thunder Nights

That day, I no even know wetin dey my mind. I just follow Musa go house.

Him house far, I never go before. As we reach, na that time I begin fear.

I dey worry say I follow am come house, maybe him parents no go like am.

But as he open door, change shoe, he just talk normal.

"Papa, Mama. I bring friend come house, make more jollof."

First person wey come out na Musa papa.

"See this boy, you get friend? The person get better mind to fit manage you."

"Ah ah, na girl join body."

He laugh, flour full him face.

Before he finish, gentle woman voice cut am.

"Close mouth, you go scare the girl."

"My pikin, come in. Today na jollof rice and fried plantain. You dey like plantain?"

"Old Musa, why you dey look? Go cut onion. Musa, malt dey fridge, bring one for your friend."

Musa: "Ifeoma, which flavour you want? Orange?"

…

That day, I no wan cry.

But as I see Musa parents, see as dem dey happy, my nose begin pepper me.

I hold am long, but thunder first strike, I burst cry.

That night, I no go house.

Because rain too heavy, thunder too much, Musa mama call my mama.

My mama dey busy with papa, no send me.

So that night, I sleep for Musa room.

Dem send am go parlour, and for night, he ask me from door, "Ifeoma, you dey fear thunder?"

"I no know say you dey fear like this."

"Heh, I go guard here today. Make I catch you dey cry, thunder girl..."

Him mouth wicked o.

I dey sad, but his words just make me laugh, I no fit talk.

"Get lost, dog."

He no go.

He rest for door, sit there all night.

Next morning, as I open door, he fall inside, dey shout pain.

So many years pass, I forget many things.

But the dry breeze, cricket noise, and the red cloud that year, I remember.

I even remember the smell of jollof rice and orange malt that holiday, the sound of pestle for mortar and old family photos with palm wine stains on the table…

"Ifeoma, sleep."

Musa voice sound like e dey come from past, through door, pull me back.

I sigh, close my eye.

And for my mind, I talk.

"Musa, good night."

Under the dim light, I hug my pillow. Sometimes, e be like spirit from childhood dey cover me, chase all the wahala away. I fit almost hear Mama Musa voice: "Sleep well, my daughter. Tomorrow, you go chop beans and dodo."