Chapter 3: Birth of the Twins

Steamed goat meat, roasted bushmeat, grilled catfish.

The aroma choke me, enter my nose like incense for church. My mouth water, my stomach turn like say I never chop for one year.

Roast chicken, fried plantain, suya.

E be like say dem gather all food for Benue, arrange am for Okoye table. I dey eye the pepper, the onions, the juicy meat wey dey shine for plate.

Dry meat, sausage, puff-puff, everywhere smell nice, the aroma full room.

The smell of fried onions and palm oil hang for air, and the floor cold pass river stone.

I dey thank God for life as I dey see puff-puff dey pass suya, as I dey see chin-chin dey pass dried fish. Even the fufu for corner dey shine.

I no fit hold myself again, I rush food like hungry lion, chop everything. I grab fufu, dip am inside egusi soup, pepper dey bite my tongue, but I no send.

People dey look me, but I no send. Hunger na strong master. For Naija, if you never really suffer, you no go know say dignity dey run when hunger enter house.

Chief Okoye and Madam Okoye just dey look me, mouth open.

I see their surprise, but my own na to chop. My hand dey waka from plate to plate.

Doctor just dey smile. "This young lady get twins for belle, more than seven months. She faint just now because hunger nearly finish am."

The man wise, e talk am gently. E no wan make anybody blame me. I see as e use soft voice talk to the old couple.

"Twins?"

Chief Okoye mouth open, even Madam Okoye hand dey shake. Some people for house begin dey whisper.

I shock. Madam Okoye sharply hold my hand.

Her palm cold, but e strong. She look my eye, like say she dey look for hidden truth.

"My pikin, tell me, na Ebuka give you this ivory thumb ring?"

I lower my eyes, fear dey catch me, I no talk.

For that moment, if I talk, na wahala. If I lie, I go dey Okoye house. If I talk true, I fit sleep for street. My mind dey fly.

Chief Okoye see say her body dey shake, e pull her go one side.

I see say the man sabi care for him wife. As e pull her, e dey pat her back. Old love still dey sweet.

He ask, voice dey shake, "Young lady, you from Otukpo?"

Even though him voice dey calm, e get this heavy undertone. Like person wey dey carry heavy load for chest.

I just nod.

I fit see say e dey try remember something. For that moment, my whole future dey hang for that nod.

He smile small. "No wonder, Ebuka spend last two years for Otukpo."

That small smile na like sun wey dey shine for harmattan morning—e no last.

"What’s your name, my dear? How many people remain for your family?"

The way e ask, e soft, but you fit hear pain for the question. E be like person wey no wan hear more bad news.

I pause. "My name na Morayo."

I choose that name because e soft for ear, and nobody for Makurdi sabi my real name. E fit hide me small.

"My family... hunger kill all of them. My papa and mama die, na only me remain."

As I talk am, my eye water. For Naija, if pikin talk that kind thing, people dey nod in respect.

He sigh. "Locust wahala, na God hand. My Ebuka too..."

Old man like him dey always talk, "Na only God fit explain some kind thing." I see small tears for him eye.

"You get luck. After all the suffering, with belle like this, you still survive. Na God do am."

People for Makurdi believe say if wahala jam you, but you still stand, na hand of God hold you. Chief Okoye voice get that kind faith.

I touch my belle, nose dey pepper me.

My hand cold, but I remember as my mama dey rub my back when I dey small.

That time for Otukpo, serious drought come, then locusts fly come from west.

People dey run, dey shout, dey throw sand for sky. Even my papa, strong man, no fit fight the locusts. People dey pray, dey cry.

Anywhere dem pass, farm finish, not even grass remain.

People dey collect leaf, dey grind for soup. Even dog dey thin, goat dey disappear. Na real hunger.

Otukpo and everywhere around suffer hunger.

Na that time, pastor for church begin dey pray, imam dey call for prayer. But food no dey come.

Just a few months, town and village full of dead bodies.

Some people dey bury three, four for one grave. My neighbour, Mama Kudi, even bury her two sons with own hand.

My parents save last food give me, dem starve die.

My mama tell me, "Morayo, survive. Even if hunger wan kill you, remember say we love you." As I chop that last food, I dey cry.

Later, to survive, I give my body for small bread.

E pain me, but for Naija, sometimes, woman no get choice. Hunger no dey respect pride.

No marry, but belle enter, I no even know who do am.

As pikin dey grow, I dey confuse. I try count, but everything blur for my head.

I cry, I fear, I try kill myself, I wan just end am.

Many times, I carry stone reach river, but my leg dey shake, my spirit dey shout "No!"

But as death near, my body still struggle live.

Something dey push me, small stubbornness, maybe my mama prayer.

I no gree, I vex, I refuse.

Every morning, I go swear, "I go survive, by fire by force!"

My life na my papa and mama use their own buy—how I go throw am away?

I dey talk to myself at night: "Morayo, your mama dey watch you."

Day by day, life hard well well.

Each day, my hope dey reduce, but small, small, I dey move.

The pikin for my belle strong pass wetin I think; e dey grow, heart dey beat, e stubborn like me.

Sometimes, I go feel am kick, e go remind me say, "Mama, I still dey."

So I hold myself, for me and for am, fight to survive, crawl enter boat from where dem throw dead body.

As I climb that boat, na only prayer dey my mouth. I whisper my mama name, tell am, "I dey go, abeg follow me."

Reach Makurdi, reach Okoye house.

I no even know how I manage, but God open road.

But now, as I see Chief Okoye and Madam Okoye, hair white, face full of pain—

I see say dem don suffer. The way Madam Okoye dey look me, na so my mama go look me if she dey alive.

I begin regret. Dem love their pikin like my parents love me.

Pain dey my chest, I dey sweat, even as cold dey room. If I fit turn back time, I for no bring more pain for their house.

I no suppose use my own wahala deceive people wey don already lose their own.

Na so Naija dey—if person dey suffer, e no mean say you go add am for another person pain.

Just as I wan talk, Madam Okoye no fit hold herself again.

She grab my hand, knuckles white, tears dey roll down her face. Everybody for room dey quiet, even the wall dey hear.

She sharply hold my hand, eyes red like fire, voice dey shake, nearly craze as she dey shout.

If you see the way she dey tremble, you go fear. The cry carry power, e go fit break wall.

"Talk am! Talk say na Ebuka give you this ivory thumb ring!"

Her voice dey shake, but e get hope for inside. She dey beg God make my answer be wetin she want hear.

"Talk say the pikin for your belle na my son own!"

Her hand dey squeeze my hand, e dey pain me but I no fit talk. My mouth heavy.

Fear catch me, I stammer, "Sorry... I..."

Inside me, I dey beg God make dem no catch me.

The whole room quiet. Even air no dey move. I dey try talk, but words no gree come out.

Suddenly, I feel water rush from my body, pain knock me scatter.

E be like say my waist go break. My mouth open, I shout. "Jesus!"

Chief Okoye and Madam Okoye look the water wey drop for ground, fear hold them.

Dem both rush near me, dey shout for help. "Nurse! Doctor! She wan born!"

"She wan born!"

People run enter room, even some dey cry. Na so my eye close, pain carry me go.