Chapter 1: The Widow In My Room

Our village get one old custom: if your elder brother die, na you go marry him wife.

They say this tradition na from our forefathers; dem no dey question am. Sometimes e be like say the spirits of our land dey look from behind the iroko tree, dey judge who obey, who no obey. For village square, old women go gather, dey chew kolanut, dey gossip low voice—who follow tradition, who stubborn pass. Dem go whisper say if you no gree marry your brother wife, wahala fit visit your house. Sometimes I dey wonder if na true.

My brother just die finish, na so my mama rush push my sister-in-law enter my room.

The way Mama take do am, e be like she dey chase bad spirit commot house. She no even gree allow me cry well. She just bundle the woman come my door, face hard like granite, say na tradition, say make I no bring shame come her body. Mama voice dey shake small, but she no let me see am. Her wrapper dey smell of camphor and red oil, like every old woman for this village.

She tell me, “Your sister-in-law na pure woman. Abeg, treat am well.”

Her eyes shine like who dey beg me with all her spirit. I just nod, but my mind dey run kpekpe. For this kind thing, how person go take treat am well?

I squeeze my hand tight, dey look my confused sister-in-law.

She stand for there like goat wey stray enter another compound. Her eyes big, lips dey shake. She shuffle her feet, arms hug herself tight. I fit hear as she dey breathe, fear just full everywhere. The room suddenly cold like harmattan morning.

As she stand there dey shake, just dey try remove her cloth, na so my phone ring. Na Uncle Rafiu dey call, and e sound like person wey dey run.

The ringtone even sound like juju drum that moment. The whole air choke, spirit tight everywhere. I look the phone, my heart dey beat kpom kpom. I wipe my palm for trouser, phone dey heavy like stone for my hand.

Uncle Rafiu talk, “Your sister-in-law don hang herself for the big iroko tree for village entrance. She don die. Why una never come carry her body?”

The voice loud for my ear, like thunder for raining season. I almost drop the phone. My leg dey shake, mind dey fly.