Chapter 2: Family Shame and Sacrifice

“Your parents don come,” Third Aunt point door.

I turn, heart sink. Last thing I want be this.

My parents enter with my brother, see my husband slump for table, but still greet us with smile: “Still dey play? Play small, nothing dey this our town.”

My mama voice bright, papa smile forced. Brother look worried, hand for fist.

I sneer, “Play what? Your son-in-law don lose three hundred eighty thousand. Younger uncle and Third Aunt dey ask for the money.”

I no fit hide am. Voice echo for small room.

“What?”

Smile disappear. Even papa walking stick dey shake.

I shout, “Three hundred eighty thousand!”

Even people wey dey fry akara for junction hear me. I no care. Make everybody sabi the wickedness.

“Three hundred eighty thousand? Who?”

My mama face pale. Brother mouth open.

“Your son-in-law, no dey himself, lose three hundred eighty thousand.”

I point my husband, slump, eyes close. People begin murmur outside.

My papa ask, “True?”

Voice low, almost beg.

Younger uncle reply, “Brother, for card table, no papa and pikin. Nephew-in-law really lose three hundred eighty thousand. Plenty people see am.”

He point crowd. Heads nod, confirm story. Nobody fit lie for public.

My mama scream faint—thank God brother catch am.

People rush forward. Somebody dey fan her with wrapper. Brother kneel, carry her head. Tears dey my eye, but I swallow am.

“Three hundred eighty thousand? That one fit build four-flat! Wetin we go do now?”

She hold her chest, voice crack as she shout. She begin wail, dey call ancestors, wrapper dey slip as she try stand.

My mama dey cry, my brother dey hold am, look me lost.

He squeeze my hand, eyes red. Papa just dey look table, lips dey pray low.

Noise draw crowd—everybody for village sabi each other.

News don spread—before I blink, neighbor dey crowd window, some dey chop puff-puff, others dey lick orange, all eyes on us.

Younger uncle yarn again, “Three hundred eighty thousand plenty, but nephew-in-law agree am. He win first, just lose last. Everybody sabi as card dey be—win and lose dey turn. Maybe play more, fit win am back.”

He talk like say na small thing, but eyes dey sharp for chips.

Everybody nod. “Na true, na so.”

Some mumble, some just shrug. Game must go on.

My papa ask me, “You play?”

Eyes dey search my own, dey find excuse.

I shake head. “Na so I meet am.”

Try keep voice calm, even as leg dey shake.

Papa pat my husband say, “Our family dey protect face. Son-in-law na family—if he lose, he lose. Anyhow, we go accept am.”

He pull my husband up, voice loud make crowd hear. For am, dignity pass gold.

I shock. I fit still argue with younger uncle and Third Aunt—say stake too big, even call police. But as papa talk so, e mean family don carry the debt. Anything I talk no matter again.

The weight of his words just press me. People relax. Story don end.

Papa pull me go one side, talk serious, “Me and your mama never shame for this village. I no fit let my son-in-law lose face. We go sell house, empty savings, gather wedding money. If e no reach, me and your mama go find work. Your brother fit manage too. But we no fit let people look us finish.”

He squeeze my shoulder. Eyes dey shine with tears, jaw strong like stone. Na so men for my family dey show love—by sacrifice, no be by talk.

My brother hold my mama say, “Sister, I go hustle. We no dey fear.”

He look me for eye, pride wound am, but ready to fight for our name. Family na everything.

For us, face pass money.

We fit hungry, but pride must remain. Anger and love mix for my chest.

My husband wake, stagger come hug me, mumble, “Wife, I fit win am back.”

He smell of drink and sweat. Arm heavy, word light. I want push am but hold am make he no fall.

All the boldness I get before turn to vex. My hand just dey shake—I for punch my husband.

I clench fist, but instead pinch him back hard. Crowd laugh. Even my vex no fit hide their joy.

Simple, easygoing, too trusting—na these things I love, but na wahala too.

I remember his laugh, his trust. Na these same things bring us disgrace.

Younger uncle say, “Since brother talk, we be family. Just write IOU, make we end am.”

He bring battered notepad from bag, dey flip page. Air thick again.

Third Aunt bring notepad, pen. Papa hold pen, hand dey shake, line no straight.

Pen dey wobble. I see lips tremble, shame dey start.