Chapter 2: Family Thunderstorm

Everything na my fault. Na me, after drink, take advantage of Miss Ifeoma. She no get choice, I force am, and I... go bear the consequence.

Tunde Ayeni voice rough like road for rainy season.

He stand straight like iroko tree for front of scattered bed. Apart from that small panic, his face now just stubborn, dey vex.

Only collar open, cap for head shift one side.

I never see am like this before.

For my mind, Tunde dey always neat, never rough like this.

For ground, torn yellow lace dey spread.

Even mumu go sabi wetin happen.

Behind am, Ifeoma—my real younger sister—curl under wrapper like scared antelope.

After Tunde finish talk, she relax small, but her face still red like palm oil, round eyes dey look corner-corner.

People just dey look everywhere, some dey frown for the disgrace.

But most dey look me with pity and strange eyes.

For this town, who no sabi say the fine Young Lord Tunde Ayeni, for reason nobody know, insist say na me—pikin wey dem born from second wife—he wan marry, even as him family no gree.

My body dey hot, shame catch me like when teacher flog pikin for assembly. My face pale like chalk, my nails dey dig my palm as I try hold myself.

I try swallow spit but throat dry like garri. I fit feel sweat for my back, even as harmattan breeze dey blow. People dey shift small small, form wall around me, as if na me commit abomination. My mind dey scatter anyhow.

Big brother Chibuzor rush enter, eyes red:

"Idiot! Wetin you do my sister?!"

No talk again, he just grab Tunde for collar, so angry he even laugh: "Take responsibility? How you wan take responsibility? I think say you be better person, but you worse pass goat! If no be for elders wey dey here, I for show you pepper today!"

"You don spoil my small sister finish, you think say 'I drunk' and 'I go take responsibility' dey enough?"

Chibuzor voice crack like person wey swallow pepper. People dey whisper: "Na so! If na my sister, I for don break bottle for him head." My mama dey one corner, hand for chest, dey breathe like person wey run from masquerade. Even papa just cover face, no talk.

Normally, I suppose reason well, look bigger picture, step in settle things.

But this matter shameful no be small.

Yet my leg no gree move, as if I plant am for ground, my eyes dey look those lines wey appear for air when dem open door.

[Omo, wahala no dey finish! This one na real telenovela.]

[Abeg, side babe don lose guard. Next episode go mad!]