Chapter 1: The Girl Wey Sabi Boast

When I dey junior secondary school, my seatmate na one girl wey sabi run mouth anyhow. She go dey talk say her family get big flat for GRA, say dem even get one special room just for keyboard—dem get old Yamaha wey dey gather dust, say na only her sabi play am. She go yarn say her mama love her pass anything, dey always collect her advice before dem buy car, say dem dey plan holiday for Dubai, and say she never wash her own pant till she reach thirteen. She even talk say when she small, her mama go wake up by 5am just to roast fresh corn for her breakfast, like say na only she dey this world.

I remember how she dey boast ehn, people for class go just dey look her, some go hiss. She go carry shoulder high, dey talk as if na only she waka come. The way she dey describe how her mama dey roast corn, you go think say na only her mama sabi love pikin for Naija. Sometimes I go dey wonder if na Nollywood film she dey act for her head.

But if you see her hair ehn, e be like goat chop am. For boarding school, she no even fit buy pad, she dey always carry one kind body odour. She go chop only one meal—sometimes moi moi, sometimes old akara—divide am for breakfast and lunch. The bottom of her trouser dey almost reach her knee, socks always tear.

Anytime I see that her hair, I go just shake head. All those big-big talk no match wetin my eye dey see. Her uniform dey always rough, socks dey scatter, and the way she go arrange her food ehn, you go pity am. Sometimes, when hunger wire her, her stomach go cry like generator wey no get fuel, she go chew the bread like say na medicine, dey use small water dey manage am.

Na so poor she poor, nothing dey hide again for her side.

Even her body language dey show say e no easy for am. When dem dey share anything for class, her own dey always be the smallest. Sometimes, dem go just overlook her, but she go still dey smile, dey talk say she no need am. Poverty na real shadow wey follow her waka.

Everybody just dey vex for her.

Even me, I dey tire for her boasting. Sometimes if she talk, the whole class go just quiet, dey side-eye her. The thing dey pain everybody, but nobody fit talk.

One day as I dey listen to Afrobeats for my small Tecno phone, she start her boasting again. I vex, ask am, “Na your mama matter dey make you dey form like this? Abi you wan use am take win sympathy?”

That day, heat just dey my body. As she open mouth dey talk, the music for my ear just pause. My voice sharp like blade. My mouth dey itch, but my hand dey shake small. I look her face, see say she dey wait. I still talk. I no know say e go pain her like that.

She slap me, my nose begin bleed.

I shock. Before I fit talk, her hand land for my face. My body just hot. Blood rush come out, I no fit even shout. The slap loud, the sound echo for corridor like NEPA wire spark. People dey peep from louvre window, dey hold mouth.

“My mama na the best mama for this world, you no fit talk about her. I dey like this now... because my mama no dey see. If my mama see—everything for dey okay.”

Her voice dey shake, but her eye red. I know say the thing touch her. Her face strong, but I see small water for corner eye.

I hold my nose, jump climb desk: “Okay, okay, abeg call your best mama for this world make she come pay my chemist bill, na now now.”

People for class begin laugh, but the laughter no sweet. Some girls dey cover mouth, dey whisper. Boys dey slap desk, dey shout. Even cleaner stop sweep, dey look. Some dey look me like say I do bad thing, some dey whisper. The air just dey heavy, I for no talk that thing.

I dey wonder if I ever go see her again, or if my own heart don follow her waka.