Chapter 5: Pride for Sale

This year na the hardest for my life.

I dey hustle anyhow for money, make my pikin fit get better medicine, make e no dey suffer.

For money, I shameless, dey go reunion dey borrow, dey work for bar as hostess, dey drink sotey my belle dey bleed.

The kind job wey I do, some days, I go dance for customer just to get tip, other times I dey wash plate till my hand peel. My feet dey pain me, but when I remember Chisom dey hospital, I gree suffer.

I think say na the last time I go ever see Musa.

Until some days later, that Halima girl come find me.

Halima hear say she resemble me, wan see for herself.

She carry her friends come bar, call my name, say she wan see me.

One babe ask, “Na you be Ifeoma? Musa first love?”

Her eye full of disrespect, dey look my heavy makeup like say I dey dirty.

The way she fold her arm, nose high for air, e pain me well. Na so Lagos babes dey do when dem no rate you.

I hold myself, no wan cause trouble, just ask dem if dem wan drink.

If dem no wan drink, make dem no waste my time.

That babe feel say I no dey respect, shout, “Why you dey form? I dey talk to you, you no dey hear? Who born you?”

She point one big bottle of ogogoro, talk, “Okay, Ifeoma, you like money abi? If you fit finish this bottle now-now, I go give you two hundred thousand.”

If I drink that thing, na hospital straight.

Halima come dey pretend, dey beg her, “No be say we wan disturb Sister Ifeoma, abeg.”

“Dem talk say she sabi hook men, make I shine eye—even Musa talk say I too naive, say she go use me. But I dey okay.”

As Halima dey talk, I understand—she dey tell me say Musa love her, hate me.

E be like say I dey watch old Nollywood film, but na my life dem dey act.

E pain me, but for Lagos, shame no dey feed person. I just bone face.

I just smile, no talk, ask her friend, “So if I drink am, you go give me two hundred thousand, abi?”

I carry the bottle, begin drink.

Everybody shock. Dem no believe say for money, I fit risk my life.

Halima hold my hand, dey beg, “Sister Ifeoma, why you dey do yourself like this because of money?”

“As women, we suppose get shame. I no wan talk, make you no vex, but you know, Musa no like women like you at all...”

Her own words dey bite like pepper. I just dey hear her voice dey far, as ogogoro dey burn my throat.

I finish the bottle, hold the pain for my stomach, cut her talk, ask, “Where the money?”

“Wetin Musa like or hate, no concern me. Na the two hundred thousand you promise I need.”

Halima squeeze face, look me with pity, talk soft, “Sister Ifeoma, to be honest, two hundred thousand no mean anything to me. I fit give anybody, but I no fit give you.”

“You fit blame me, but na for your own good. I no fit watch you dey fall anyhow...”

Her friend push me, dey laugh, “I just dey play with you. I no go give you money, wetin you wan do?”

I laugh with her, then carry bottle, break am for ground. The glass cut Halima leg, blood come out.

Halima begin cry. The other babes quiet.

For that moment, everything slow down. The barman just stand for back, dey eye us. Street people dey peep through window, dey gossip. My body dey hot, but my mind dey cold like early morning dew.

Next thing, door open. Musa enter, dey look me with cold eye.

I freeze, no fit look am well.

With all my makeup, dey hustle for bar, dey drink anyhow, na so Musa take see me.

I no dey fear people look down on me. I just no want make Musa see me like this.

But last last, even that one no work.

I just try form say I no care, force myself look up, see Musa carry Halima for hand, dey wipe her tears gently.

Then e face me, talk, “Ifeoma, na who you dey bully for my front?”

“You want money? No wahala, beg first.”

As I see Musa dey protect Halima, I remember say before, na so e dey protect me.

I know say Musa wan make I beg Halima.

E no matter. For money, anything.

Halima hide for Musa body, dey smile at me.

I look her leg, pick broken glass, cut myself well.

I stretch my hand, blood dey drip, tell Musa, “Give me, two hundred thousand.”

Musa look me, im eye red sharp.

Halima see am, her smile freeze. She bring out ATM card, put for my hand, talk gentle, “Sister Ifeoma, na today I give you money, no be say I owe you, I just no want wahala because of small money.”

I no send her drama. I collect money, wan comot, Musa hold me.

E call my name, dey grind teeth, “Ifeoma, e no dey pain you? You go die if you no get money?”

E frown, as if e dey pity me.

I shake im hand comot, turn back, hiss, “I be woman wey like money, Musa, you no know?”

“Face your own, face your woman. No dey disturb me again.”

My voice loud for bar, people look up, but I no care. Na so life be for Naija, you fit die for pride, but hunger go humble you. I walk out with head high, even as my leg dey shake.