Chapter 1: The Card Game Trap

Halfway through the wedding reception, my half-drunk husband relatives just carry am go play cards, no even ask me.

The air outside the reception hall dey buzz with talk, children dey chase each other under the big mango tree, and the smell of fried goat meat from Mama Ngozi’s stand just dey everywhere. My husband, cheeks already red from palmwine and Star beer, no even struggle. His shirt untucked, tie already hang for neck like okrika. One cousin even try fix him collar, but he push am hand away. As his cousins dey drag am away, dey laugh and clap am for back. For my mind, I just dey pray make dem no give am ogogoro join.

Less than two hours later, Third Aunt waka come meet me, say, “Your man don lose scatter.”

She balance her gele with one hand, lips purse, eyes dey shine like person wey just see free gist. Around us, the band still dey play highlife, but her words cut through the music. She no even lower her voice—she want make I hear am well. Some of the women around throw glance give each other. For my heart, small worry just bite me, but I brush am off. How bad e fit be?

Na my wedding day, we dey my village—how much person fit lose for card game?

After all, this na Ogbunike, no be Lagos Island. Here, na bragging rights and maybe one or two thousand naira—enough for pepper soup and small drinks. But the way Third Aunt eyebrow bend, e be like say kasala fit burst.

As I waka enter card room, na there I see my husband slump for chair, face bend like person wey chop pepper and sugar together—he wan laugh, he wan cry.

The small back room thick with tobacco and sweat. Dim bulb dey flicker. My husband face be like person wey no know if to cry or laugh—confuse, shame catch am, but still dey try form big man. One hand hold table edge, the other dey press head, and laughter wey dey come from the people around am get small wickedness inside.

For the card table, the normal green chips of one naira don waka—na red ones I never see before dey there.

Na wa o! Dem dey shine for that yellow bulb like market gold. The chips bright, fresh, like person carry am from obodo oyibo. People dey turn them, dey look am like say na gold coin.

On top the chips, e write: “Ten Thousand.”

The number big, thick red ink. I even blink two times to check if na my eye dey deceive me. That kind money on top one chip—who dash monkey banana?

My heart squeeze, but I brush am quick. For this village, salary no dey pass two hundred thousand for one month. Even supermarket no dey here—who dey gamble ten thousand per hand?

I begin calculate for head: even councillor for this area no fit just drop that kind money. Nearest ATM dey three villages away. If my husband lose ten thousand per round, I fit faint here o.

My husband dey surrounded by people, face red, cigarette smoke full everywhere, him eyes no comot from the cards.

Laughter and shout make air heavy. Some men tie wrapper, dey lean in, dey blow smoke, dey slap my husband back like encouragement. That stubborn look for his face—I sabi am well. Once he decide something, even police no fit stop am.

Dem dey play Golden Flower—three cards each.

Golden Flower. Na this game my uncle use teach all of us during harmattan. E simple, but once money enter, na gbege. The way dem dey handle the cards, you go think say na solution for fuel crisis dem dey find.

Opposite am na my younger uncle, with Third Aunt, my cousin, great-uncle, and Dauda the neighbor pikin for side.

Younger uncle Chuka, always dey smile but sharp like blade, sit for front. Third Aunt dey fan herself, wrapper raise up as she dey monitor chips. Cousin Uche dey chew gum loud, Great-uncle Emeka dey lean forward, Dauda—shirtless as usual—sit dey shine teeth.

Crowd just gather, form second circle outside.

Women, children, even old Papa Ibeji from street squeeze for doorway. Some dey peep window. For my village, card drama big pass Nollywood film.

I force smile, say, “Husband, Mama and Papa dey call us. You fit play again later.”

My voice sweet, but the warning dey clear. Small snicker from the crowd—dem sabi that kind wife tone.

My husband squint, shake head, say, “I wan win back wetin I lose.”

That stubbornness na the same one wey he use talk say he fit climb Ogbunike cave without torchlight. Even as I stand, he no send me.

“Win back what? Losing small money to relatives na good luck. No worry, however much you lose, I go pay.”

I try make the thing light, but sweat don start for my armpit. I give that kind smile wey mean ‘no disgrace us here o’.

He just curl him lip, no answer, instead shout for younger uncle to deal cards.

The room burst laugh. Younger uncle tap card for table, smile like person wey get juju for hand.

“Younger uncle, abeg, how much him don lose?” I ask.

My tone sharp now, play don end. I try catch Chuka eye, hope say sense go enter am.

Younger uncle just curl lip, no answer, continue shuffle cards.

He dodge my eye. Others start whisper, “She don vex o!”

Vex just dey rise for my body. I slap my husband shoulder, order, “Oya, make we go house.”

The slap no too hard, just reminder say na me be madam. Some people laugh low—village people love drama.

But he just talk am again, “I wan win am back.”

Voice low, stubborn, like goat wey no wan comot from yam farm.

I grab him collar, try drag am up. Na that time younger uncle and the others hold me.

Chuka reach, gently remove my hand. Third Aunt block my front, eyes big. “Haba, calm down, na celebration!”

“He no dey come back often. Allow am play small. Win or lose, na just paper. Why you dey too strict for your husband when e dey outside?”

She add small wink, like say make I dey learn how to pamper man. Some men nod, face already dey shine from sweat and beer.

True, I stubborn, hardly dey bend for anybody except who treat me well.

Even as I dey boil, I know say na true. Na only love fit make me soft sometimes.

And my husband na that kind person. I see am as part of me.

I look am—my other half. Even with drunken eyes and careless smile, my heart still dey melt. Village wedding or not, na my person be this.

As I dey reason, my husband sneak crawl back go card table.

He wriggle free, laughter from crowd follow am as he flop back on chair, eager to hold cards again. E be like say he forget say I dey vex.

“Younger uncle, we just come back for wedding. Plenty things dey wait for house. Next time, una fit play as una like,” I try again.

I try sound reasonable, look Third Aunt for help. I even point the soup pot for backyard—married woman work plenty.

Third Aunt just spread her cards, sigh, “Abeg leave them. We be family. No need to force.”

She look me like say I dey spoil groove. Others nod, their mind already for next round.

My cousin shout, “Make we settle am. I get 9.”

Him voice loud like say na national award.

“I get 11,” younger uncle yarn.

He raise cards, number bold for everybody to see.

“Me, na only 6,” Third Aunt sigh.

She shake head, form disappointment.

“I get 7.”

“I get 5.”

Everybody drop card for table, sound sharp like slap.

Younger uncle count, say, “All together, na 38. Thank you, nephew-in-law.”

He push the pile of red chips reach himself. Some clap, some whistle. My heart dey run marathon.

I carry phone, open payment app, say, “He don drink, I go pay. How much be 38?”

Phone dey shake small for my hand. I smile, but my eyebrow high like say breeze blow am.

“Three hundred eighty thousand.”

Chuka voice cool, like say na N500. Room quiet, everybody dey wait my reaction.

I no believe my ear. “How much?”

My voice raise. People outside dey stretch neck to hear.

“Three hundred eighty thousand.”

He repeat am, face straight, cards already dey shuffle for next round.

“Ten thousand for each chip?”

“Yes, you no dey see? E dey written there. Ten thousand each.”

Chuka point the big writing, others nod like national anthem.

I drop phone, try hold my anger. “So una really dey play this kind big money?”

Palm begin sweat. I force small laugh, but my eye cold.

Younger uncle play innocent. “Na your husband talk say make e more interesting. He agree for ten thousand per chip.”

Chuka just raise hand, like say na him order he dey follow. Others mumble agreement. The lie smooth, I almost clap.

I lean close, teeth grit. “You know say you don lose three hundred eighty thousand naira?”

He blink, then give sheepish smile, head wobble as he hug me, breath heavy with alcohol. I almost hiss, but manage composure as crowd dey enjoy the drama.

He once tell me: gambling na the thing wey he hate pass for life. Swear say if he ever gamble, make he turn goat for three lifetimes.

I remember the day he swear am, face serious like pastor for altar. Now, see am here, disgrace full everywhere.

The goat wey dey front me, dey drool for chips, eyes half close—I just wan poke him eye.

If no be people, I for knock sense enter him head. Instead, I pinch him arm, hard.

“Uncle, Aunt, una be elders. He just be son-in-law. Abeg, no dey bully am.”

My voice crack. I look them one by one, dey find pity. Some face soft, most just look away.

Third Aunt vex, drag me go one side. “Why you go talk like that? How we go take play cards next time if you dey accuse us?”

She squeeze my arm, whisper serious. Her eyes flash, voice low so outsiders no go hear.

She bend near, whisper, “If I no stop dem, water go pass garri. Dem for dey play one hundred thousand per chip. No be say you suppose thank me?”

Her words cut me. I force nod, but my mind dey run. That kind money—my NYSC salary no reach half.

“Three hundred eighty thousand too much. Na wahala be that. We no fit play that kind big stake.” I beg the group, “Abeg, make I transfer one thousand naira to each of una, as thank you for coming wedding.”

My voice beg now. I try tap into family spirit. Wedding suppose join us, no scatter us.

Awkward silence. Somebody clear throat, another just dey look ceiling.

You fit hear small fan for corner dey struggle. Some people dey look ground, some just dey suck teeth.

One thousand each na five thousand. For this village, e fit carry family for months.

No be small money. I remember how Mama Ifeoma dey talk, “No matter how e small, money na money.” But the silence loud pass generator.

But younger uncle and the rest just dey look me, nobody gree, nobody talk no.

Face strong. Chuka shuffle cards, Third Aunt smooth wrapper, cousin dey pick teeth. Only tension dey move for room.

After a while, one old voice from back: “If you bet, you pay. Once game finish, you no fit change mouth. If you try am, wahala go jam you.”

Voice raspy, strong—everybody turn. I feel like small pikin again.

I turn, see na my second grandaunt husband—the card room na him own.

He stand, cane for hand, cap bend small. Old but sharp, eyes like torchlight. Once he talk, even elders listen.

“Second grandaunt husband, three hundred eighty thousand—if police hear, dem go close everywhere now now.”

I try appeal to fear. Some people shift for chair.

“No dey threaten me. If dem close am, I go siddon dey wait for death. But for my place, I no dey allow anybody break rule.”

His words heavy, final. He look me with that kind disappointment only elders get. My chest cold.

He always gentle. We just toast am for wedding. He wish us well, now na rule before family.

Only yesterday, he pray for us, pour libation, laugh with my parents. Today, rule pass family.

I look round. Everybody face just dey somehow.

Some face show regret, some just dey curious. Nobody wan break silence. Kids outside dey whisper, dey pass gist.

Suddenly, I understand.

Everything clear. I see the look, the silence, the way dem rush me to accept.

“Una do am on purpose.”

I talk am low, but e thunder for room. Some face turn away, others pretend deaf.

Younger uncle smile, pat me, say, “Winning and losing na normal thing. Win first, lose later, or lose first, win later—na just for fun. No carry face.”

He try laugh am off, like say na play. But hand dey gather chips, eyes sharp.

“So if I no pay the three hundred eighty thousand today, una no go let us go?”

I look everybody, dare dem deny am.

“How e go be? If you wan go, who go stop you? Debt of pikin, papa fit pay. Your parents fit pay too.”

He shrug, but the threat hang. Meaning clear: pay or carry shame forever.

If my parents get three hundred eighty thousand, we for no do wedding for village.

I remember how we suffer raise wedding money—borrow from uncle, sell old fridge, even pawn phone.

Dem plan am, set my husband up, so if we no pay, dem go use am hold us.

Aunties and uncles dey exchange look, small smirk. This matter pass card—na family politics.

Third Aunt vex say, “For wedding, your parents talk say your husband people bring bride price of three hundred eighty-eight thousand. No be say una no fit pay. Your family dey do well—no come dey form poor for us.”

She fold arm, voice loud. People outside dey giggle, gist dey fly.

That bride price na lie. Me and my husband gather am. Him na orphan, na grandfather raise am, and we just say three hundred eighty-eight thousand make people no talk say I marry down.

Truth dey burn my chest. We act rich for village, but na struggle. Only my parents sabi the story.

I tell my family well well: bride price must return complete, for pikin school.

We plan everything—even the return—so nobody go lose. Every naira count.

I warn my papa make e no tell outsider, but I no expect am to get drunk come dey boast.

Palmwine sweet, but wahala now bitter. I curse small for mind.

Now my husband don lose three hundred eighty thousand—leave me eight thousand. Dem get mind.

The calculation bite me. Too perfect. My hand just dey shake for side.