Chapter 2: The Truth That Drove Me Out

For my generation, na only me be girl. All the elders pamper me, and my small brothers dey worship ground wey I dey waka. Since I small reach adulthood, nobody for our compound fit try me. I chop belleful for Makurdi for eighteen years. My hand sabi play keyboard for church, sabi write, but I never do farm work before.

People for our church dey call me 'Ajebo', say na only city finger I get. Every Sunday, dem go hail me as the one wey dey play 'Hallelujah' pass. My palm soft, my nail always neat. Work for farm na story I dey hear for market gist.

But on my eighteenth birthday, one girl waka come my house. She resemble my papa well, and she dey cry say her mama—my real mama—tell her before she kpai say dem swap us for hospital when we born. She talk say na she be my parents’ real pikin.

The tears wey dey her eye no be small. She hold one old photo for hand, the kain one wey colour don fade. She beg my papa with voice wey dey tremble, “Daddy, na me be your real pikin, abeg.”

After my parents recover from shock, dem carry the girl go hospital. Blood test show say na true, she be their real pikin. Na me dem swap.

The day dem collect the result, everywhere just quiet. Mama lock herself for room, papa sit for parlour dey look ceiling fan like person wey rain beat. I sef no fit cry, my eye dry. Na only my heart dey shout. My hand dey shake, I hold chair make I no fall.

She suffer for eighteen years, so her mind no pure towards me. Since then, as long as I dey house, that girl go dey cry steady. My family gather, talk say dem feel bad for her, so e no good make she dey sad all the time. Dem just put my name for the list wey go village as youth corper, plan to send me commot.

E pain me, but I gats gree. Everybody dey look me as intruder now, even my small brothers dey fear to talk to me anyhow. I dey waka for house like thief wey police dey pursue.

I don take another person place for eighteen years, but I no complain. I gree sharp-sharp.

My mouth no fit talk plenty. Wetin I wan do? Na fate bring am.

Before I waka, my brother wey love me since I small talk say, “Morayo, just endure small. Once Ifunanya don calm down, I go come carry you back.”

I hold my tears, shake my head. E no be my brother again. This no be my house again. Make I go village, so I no go disturb their family.

I look my brother, see say him own eyes red. I wan hug am, but I just stand. Inside me, I dey beg make e no forget me finish.

As I reach, my mind strong. Everything for house na her own. I no carry anything, just waka come village alone. I no expect say life go hard like this. Work start before cock crow, sleep na when everywhere don dark. My hand no get power, I no fit work like others, dem dey vex for me.

Mosquito dey chop me anyhow. My back dey pain, my nail dirty. Even my feet don hard. I dey remember pepper soup, cold malt, even suya for junction—now na garri and groundnut dey save me, if hunger no too bite.

Na the farm supervisor worst pass. Since I come, e go dey waka round me like say if I slack small, wahala go dey.

The way e dey eye me sef, I dey reason say maybe I offend am for dream. If I slack small, e go shout my name so that everybody go hear.