Chapter 3: Street Gossip and Old Wounds

I tear two cloth pieces tie my wound, try stop the blood, dey look the Left Minister pikin wey dey ground dey unconscious, just dey reason my life.

The cloth no even gree hold, blood still dey soak. My hand dey tremble as I dey look Alhaji Bello junior for ground—person wey dey terrorize everybody now dey lie for sand like old stockfish wey sun beat tire.

Thank God say na that time, Vice General Ibrahim push enter crowd.

E be like say angel waka enter, because if no be so, I for faint that day. Vice General Ibrahim, with him scar for cheek, tall like iroko, na Musa old padi. Once he show, crowd begin calm small.

Na one of Musa Garuba old soldier be that, he don dey see me follow Musa Garuba hustle reach this point.

Ibrahim dey respect street code, but him eye dey always sharp. For palace, na him dey settle fight, for war front, na him dey shout order. He look me, eye full of concern.

Now, as he hear wetin happen from people, the vex for him face no be here.

His face just strong, jaw dey tight. Na real northern soldier style. E show say he no happy at all.

“His Highness too do. Because of one woman wey we no even sabi, see wetin him do you.”

His voice loud, some people begin nod head. Some even dey whisper, 'E reach make Musa chop knock.'

“I go handle here. You don lose blood—quickly go see chemist.”

Na so he use his big hand help me stand. Him dey shake head, voice dey carry small pain, like person wey dey see him own pikin dey suffer.

I just remember that Musa Garuba strong head, sigh, shake my head, talk serious for once.

Inside me, I dey vex but mouth no fit talk all. I just lower my voice, reply like true palace guard.

“Ibrahim, na him be ruler, me na subject. If ruler talk, subject no fit argue.”

Words heavy, but na truth. For palace, who no know say na ruler word be final? Even if e pain you.

I follow Vice General Ibrahim carry the Left Minister pikin go their house.

Alhaji Bello junior heavy well, but Ibrahim just carry am like bag of rice. People for street dey clear road, some dey look me with pity, others dey whisper gossip.

Na Musa Garuba injure the Left Minister last born, and na that one be the papa favourite, wey dey terrorize the whole capital.

Stories about Alhaji junior plenty. Last time, dem say e steal turkey for Chief Imam compound, run go hide for river side. Now, see as big man dey carry am like small pikin.

Now as the Left Minister see us, the way he dey look me and Vice General Ibrahim, ehn, na like say eye fit kill person.

Left Minister dey wear fine babariga, red cap for head. Eye shine like say he wan burn hole for my body. For him hand, prayer bead dey roll non-stop.

“The Third Prince just become Crown Prince, he don dey do anyhow.”

His voice carry wahala. Council elders dey around, everybody dey tense. Some dey shift for chair, others dey tap foot for ground.

“My pikin don chop beating from am. I go report to His Majesty, justice must dey.”

He talk am loud, some people dey support am, others dey fear say palace go scatter.

Left Minister don get power for council, e get people wey dey his back.

Na true, because if Left Minister cough, council go shift. E be like old lion wey no wan retire.

Me, I no wan wahala, so I just dey smile, dey talk gently.

I bend small, voice soft like person wey dey beg for bread. "Abeg Minister, make we settle. True say Musa overdo, but na your pikin first harass woman for road. Musa just wan protect her, even though e too much small." I dey try make everybody calm.

Left Minister just hiss, no gree let me go easy.

He turn face, spit for ground, use hand wave like say my talk na breeze. E pain me but I just smile hold my side.

By the time I manage comot from their house, the blood for my shoulder don dry stick for my cloth, every step na pain.

My leg dey heavy, sun dey hot, but na pain for my shoulder dey bite pass. I dey pray say make breeze carry my body go palace quick.

As I dey waka go back, harmattan breeze dey slap my face, dust full my nose, but I gats finish this errand. I pass that long street again, hear one storyteller for mama put joint dey talk about Musa Garuba and Fatima Bello love story.

Na under mango tree, small children gather, mama put woman dey share puff-puff. Old man with grey beard dey narrate, mouth full of kolanut. One aboki for corner dey tap radio, dey update people with new gist as e drop.

“Na destiny join them, marriage wey God arrange. Make I tell una how Grand Tutor daughter, Miss Fatima, risk her life for her love, deliver gold for dry season…”

Children dey shout, 'Tell us! Tell us!' Some dey knock spoon for plate. My head dey shake, because the story no match wetin I know.

As I pass, I just snort.

If to say dem know true matter, dem no go dey talk like say Fatima na saint. I just walk pass, dey hiss under my breath.

Deliver gold for dry season? When Musa Garuba dey suffer, she run pass everybody, even the love token she return am throw for back gate.

I remember that day clearly. Musa beg her, she return gift, waka comot like say Musa na mosquito. Na me and Musa waka suffer for that harmattan.

That dry season bad well. When I find Musa Garuba, hunger nearly make am fight dog for food.

We dey sleep for old church, floor cold, bell dey ring for morning. Even dog no gree chop with us. Hunger dey bend our neck, cold dey catch our bone.

That time, we no even get two coins buy akara, dey shiver together for small, broken church.

Me and Musa dey share one old wrapper. If you see our face, you go fear. If you hear Musa cough, you go think say na ogbanje dey follow us.

I just transmigrate that time, and as I remember all those wahala novels wey I read, I ask Musa Garuba:

"Musa, if tomorrow Fatima come kneel beg you, you go forgive her? Or you go bone?"

“If she cry for you later, you go forgive am?”

I ask am again, just dey try see if him heart dey soft reach.

Musa Garuba just clench fist, eye red like blood fit drop.

He shake head, voice deep, "Betrayal dey pain me pass anything. Even if she cry finish, beg, roll for ground, I no fit forgive." His hand dey shake, I see say him no dey lie.

“Wetin I hate pass for this life na betrayal. No be only tear—even if she kneel down beg, I no go forgive.”

Him mouth set, him spirit high. I just nod, dey hope say na true.

I nod, half believe.

My mind still dey wonder if love go change person heart. Musa na strong man, but when woman dey involved, e get as e be.

But now, as male lead don die and Fatima Bello lose back-up, na him jump go defend her sharp-sharp.

E be like say once story change, Musa change mouth. I dey laugh for inside, but body dey weak.

Now I understand: no be say he go forgive Fatima Bello if she cry, na because he no go even let her cry at all.

Na him dey rush save her before tear even drop. So na so love dey play person mind, ehn?

Even strong man dey fall for woman.

I dey wonder how man wey dey form stone for heart, fit turn to yam for love. As I dey think, pain dey catch me.

My eye just dey turn, but I force myself no faint.

I hold onto one pole, bite teeth, dey recite Psalm 23 for my mind. I no wan disgrace myself for road.

As I finish Musa Garuba order, I suppose report back.

Palace law strict, if you no report finish, you fit lose your post. My body dey weak, but salary dey ginger me.

If not, dem go cut my salary.

Na so civil service life be. Even if you dey cough blood, salary must reach hand before you faint.

Person fit die, but salary must complete.

Who wan lose December bonus because of wound? Not me.

As I dey patch my wound, I whisper brief prayer: 'God, abeg, no let me kpeme for street. My mama still dey wait for my call.'