Chapter 2: Memory and Regret

Six years after we break up, na for my worst period I see Musa again.

That day na class reunion for one joint in Ibadan. Nobody expect say Musa go show.

The joint na one old buka for Sango, with yellow bulb dey blink for veranda, smoke of suya dey hang for air. People dey jolly, dey throw back bottles of Legend and small chops dey waka round table. Some dey gist about Naija politics, some dey remember those secondary school days.

One person just dey yarn, “Oga Musa no dey gree show face. Wetin bring you come this year?”

“You hear say Ifeoma go come, you miss am abi? Na why you show?”

The moment the person yarn that, everybody eyes begin shine, wahala for who go break the gist first. Some dey eye me, dey wait for my own reaction, but I just dey corner, my body stiff small. I look up, see Musa, cigarette for mouth, dey look me like say I no mean anything.

Everybody sabi how Musa love me that year.

E be big man pikin, but na me e fall for sharp sharp.

That year, because of me, e quarrel with im family, leave money and power, dey hustle with me.

We dey manage for small room, dey chop indomie, dey share one bowl of pap. Life hard but we happy.

Sometimes power go go, we go use candle dey read, dey laugh for darkness. That time, na true love I believe say we get.

Every night, we dey hold hand, dey promise say nothing fit separate us.

Then I carry belle.

Im mama give me three million naira, beg make I comot the belle, leave am.

That day, Musa kneel down for outside the hospital room, dey knock the door, dey cry, dey beg: “Ifeoma, Ifeoma... I go try, I go hustle, I go take care of you and our pikin. I go make as many three millions as you want, all for you, abeg.”

“I beg you, no leave me, no throway our pikin...”

I bite my lip, dey press pillow, make cry no escape, make nurse no notice.

Just that small door between us, I dey hear Musa dey talk say e go hate me till forever.

If say thunder fit strike person for regret, e for strike me that day. The nurse wey hold my hand talk, "No cry, sister. Everybody get secret pain for this life. Na you go fit carry your own." The smell of Dettol and boiled yam dey mix for air, cold fan dey blow my leg, but my heart dey burn. The hospital cold reach bone, my whole body dey shake as I dey listen to Musa voice break for corridor, every plea dey enter my heart like cutlass.