Chapter 3: Ghosts of the Last Life

My senior sister carry me and stepmother go inside room, chase all the house girls comot, then take deep breath before she talk.

Na so she lock the door, siddon for bed, eye red like fire. My stepmother fold hand, me I perch for chair like chicken wey dey fear rain.

She say she don come back from another life. Everybody pause—my stepmother eye wide, my own breath catch. For Naija, if person talk this kain thing, na serious matter.

For her last life—She begin talk slow, voice low, like say she dey fear make spirit no dey listen. Even fan stop to blow.

For one party, I fall, land for Okonkwo Ifeanyi body. Na so I dey remember the gist—party loud, small chops dey fly up and down, music dey blast. Me, I fall like yam wey dem troway.

Just imagine: Okonkwo Ifeanyi, fine reach, stand like painting. His white kaftan dey shine, people dey hail am, women dey smile.

He just catch me, we spin, then fall together—me on top, him for ground. The shock! My gele shift, my wig nearly commot—shame just dey catch me. Shoes fly one side, my handbag nearly enter stew.

Okonkwo Ifeanyi no move. E remain small, dem for call ambulance. Me self, no move. Na shame grip me, my mind just blank.

But Okonkwo Ifeanyi mama move. Her gele big like mama market umbrella—nobody fit miss am. She just waka quick like cat, eye sharp like person wey dey look for thief.

She see as I knock Okonkwo Ifeanyi for ground, see as I strong well. Dem say e good for pikin. Everybody dey nod, dey whisper. Na so dem dey do for our side.

I dey round, face big, hips wide—dem say e good for pikin. You know say for Naija, dem dey look woman shape well. My own na full option.

Okonkwo family na only one main bloodline dem get, dem no dey do second wife, so pikin no plenty. Dem value pikin like government project. If you no born, dem fit gather prayer warriors for you.

So, even as everybody dey talk say no try am, she still come propose marriage give my family. My papa nearly faint, my mama dey dance. Na big thing.

Seven years after the marriage—If you check calendar, na long time. Rain and sun see us finish. Okonkwo Ifeanyi give me divorce letter.

The letter fine, but the content bitter. Na so marriage waka. He say, "We never love each other."

I nod. "Na true." No need to argue. Life na jeje. Honestly, me and Okonkwo Ifeanyi just no fit together.

Sometimes love dey like stew—if e no sweet, na to throway go better pass.

Stepmother suddenly ask, "A'Zhu, you get pikin?" Her voice low, eye dey search my face. For our side, dem dey value pikin pass gold.

My senior sister pause, then say, "Yes, three." The room quiet, even mosquito stop to fly.

"All remain for Okonkwo family." My stepmother shift for chair. My own heart jump like frog.

Shock catch me, my nkwobi fall land for my sister new wrapper. The way the nkwobi land, oil splash reach ground. Me sef shock.

Her fine wrapper just stain with oil, smell begin spread. That wrapper na Ankara from Cotonou—serious money. I dey fear make she no vex.

But my senior sister no vex. She just hold my coconut head, look me with pity. She just dey rub my head like say I be pikin wey dey learn walk. Her eyes soft, voice gentle.

"Three small meat pie... meaning three pikin. Make we no talk about them again."

My mind flash to those pikin—small hands, big eyes. My heart pull but I swallow the pain.

Last last—With my stepmother and senior sister dey look me like soldier, I kneel down swear—My knees pain me but I swear am loud so God and man go hear.

For this life,

I go rather marry goat than marry Okonkwo Ifeanyi.

I go rather old without pikin than born meat pie again.

Na so my senior sister begin pray—"God, abeg, help my sister."

But as I dey breathe, I know say this wahala never finish.