Chapter 4: Family Wahala No Dey End

Papa and Mama fight again. This one loud, neighbors fit hear for corridor. My heart dey pound.

Because Aisha fall from stairs. Her scream loud, everybody rush commot.

Mama no touch her. I dey there, I see everything, Mama just stand for one side, dey look her phone.

Aisha no talk say Mama touch her. She dey hold her ankle, face dey squeeze, but she no open mouth blame anybody.

She just look Papa with red eyes, dey talk small small, “Brother, no be Aunty fault, na me no careful…” Her voice low, like person wey dey beg make dem no shout.

Mama shock. “I no do anything.” Her hands dey up, eyes wide, voice dey tremble small.

Papa just grit teeth. “Okay, you no do.” His jaw tight, eyes cold. The kind look wey he give Mama, e fit freeze water.

He just give her cold look, carry Aisha go health centre. No talk, just walk, Aisha dey limp, Papa dey support her.

I hold Papa hand. I dey drag am, beg.

I wan talk: Mama no push Aunty Aisha—I see am, she fall by herself. I dey struggle, my throat dey burn.

But I no fit talk. My words choke, no come out.

The story collect my voice again. My hand dey shake, I dey wish I fit break the wall for my throat.

That frustration dey burn small fire inside me. My head dey hot, my eye dey red.

I wan shout, I wan vex. I wan scream say dem dey wrong Mama, but body no gree me.

But I no fit lose my temper. I remember as Aunty Kemi talk—no let anger carry you enter trap, e go worse wahala.

Aunty Kemi don talk am before, the more ‘leaf-eye’ person set you up, the more you suppose calm down. Na wisdom from old people mouth, "No dey drag with person wey dey look for pity."

I beg, “Papa, abeg, no go. We fit call nurse make e come house?” My voice dey shake, eye dey red.

But Papa face just dey dark. E no even look my side, him mind no dey for me at all.

“Amina, you dey use the pikin now? No make me look down on you.” His words heavy, like stone.

Mama look like say she wan break, she bite her lip, her eyes red. Tears dey hide under her eyelid, but she dey force am back.

“Musa, you suppose check your brain for health centre.” Her voice dey bitter, pain full am.

Dem separate again for wahala. Papa slam door, Mama collapse for sofa, I dey stand for corner dey watch.

I no understand. I dey reason, "Wetin really dey happen for this house?"

Why? Why e be like this? I dey wait for better answer, but none dey come.

Why e no fit explain? Why everybody dey pretend?

Why dem dey always blame Mama? Why her own be say na she dey always collect?

For my small body, I dey carry big wahala—my back dey almost bend under the load. I dey feel like old woman for small body, every day na new problem.

Until something happen for school, I come know say some things no get explanation. For life, no be everything go ever make sense.

People wahala be like wall, e dey block person eye from the real truth. Sometimes na who get loudest voice dey win.

One new girl, Ijeoma, wan take meat from my food. She sit near me, eye dey shine like thief wey see opportunity.

She for just ask, but instead, she try grab am. Her hand dey fast, but my own dey faster, I push my bowl small.

She no even grab am well, just fall by herself. Her chair slip, she land for ground.

She begin cry loud. Her tears scatter everywhere, she dey shout, "My meat, my meat! Yaya, abeg no take my meat, no push me, abeg!"

Everybody come dey pet her, dey look me bad eye. Na so crowd gather, teacher rush come, wahala start.

I talk loud, “Na you take my meat! I no take your own.” My voice crack, anger dey my face.

But Ijeoma blink, come use pity put one meat from her bowl inside my own. The way she do am, e be like say she dey try form peace, but she dey mock me.

“Yaya, no vex. I go give you my meat too.” She dey sob, but eye dey shine.

That meat get tendon and teeth mark—she don chew am, no want am again. She wan give me her leftover, like say she dey dash me punishment.

She wan make me feel bad. Her smile dey small, but her eye dey talk another thing.

“I no want.” I push the bowl back, I dey vex.

But Ijeoma bowl fall. The meat roll for ground, oil stain her uniform, wahala double.

The teacher wey dey always like me shout for me: “Yaya, you no suppose rude like this.” Her voice high, like kettle wey boil.

I shock, then vex come hold me. I dey shake, I no fit believe say teacher turn against me.

I no wan make them bully me like my Mama. My anger boil, I no fit hold am. My hand dey shake, I bite my lip, try hold back tears, but the pain stubborn.

I scatter her bowl, my own bowl, and other people wey support her. I throw food, rice dey fly everywhere, children dey shout.

If I no fit chop in peace, nobody go chop. My own pain go reach everybody, make dem feel am.

That day, wahala burst. School turn market, teacher dey shout, other pikin dey cry.

Teacher call my parents. She say make dem come explain, make dem know wetin dey happen.

Mama come, believe me. She no doubt me, her eye dey soft, her hand hold my own tight.

She stand gidigba, insist make dem play the CCTV. She strong, her voice no shake. "Play the tape, make everybody see."

The video show say na Ijeoma really take my meat. E clear for screen, everybody shock.

But Ijeoma parents come—Papa and Aisha. As dem enter, I dey confused, my heart dey race.

Ijeoma cry, run go meet Papa. She hug am tight, "Daddy, I think say my meat waka go Yaya bowl, so I wan take am. I just dey hungry, wan chop meat. Daddy, abeg no leave me."

That day, truth show face. Everything scatter, people dey whisper for corner.

But everything just worse. Instead of better, wahala increase, everybody dey vex.

Teacher say I get bad temper, dey scatter people food. She write report, call principal, the matter big pass meat.

Mama and Papa fight big fight—about why Aisha get pikin, why Ijeoma dey call Papa ‘Daddy’. Voices dey fly, door dey bang, my heart dey shake.

Aisha cry, threaten to go, then faint. Her body fall for floor, everywhere quiet. People rush, carry her go health centre.

Health centre say her heart condition don worse. Doctor dey shake head, say make dem careful with her wahala.

Grandma say Mama no train me well—even that story of the boy wey share big fruit with his brother, but me, I dey fight for meat. Her words dey sharp, like blade, "Children wey dey fight for meat, dem no go see better life."

Everybody go health centre visit Aisha. All of them, even the people wey no like her before.

Only Mama stay with me. She no go anywhere, just dey hold me for our small parlour.

We just dey look each other, both of us dey lonely and tired. The house quiet, pain full everywhere.

For the first time, I really feel the kind loneliness and helplessness Mama dey face, as she no fit defend herself. My mind dey open, I dey see as e be for her.

I ask, “Mama, na because I no good, na why Papa become Ijeoma Papa?” My voice dey tremble, my heart dey break.

But wetin I really wan ask be: Mama, na because of me things come worse? My eyes dey search her face for answer.