Chapter 8: New Beginnings, Old Ghosts

8

Half sleep, half wake, I open eye—na afternoon already.

My room hot, sun dey slap window. For my mind, I dey reason whether to get up or just disappear inside mattress.

I check phone. After that call, Halima no send me any message. No ask, no blame, no curse.

Her silence dey louder than insult. For Naija marriage, when woman no talk, na wahala big pass.

But Morayo send many, all night. Last one: “I wan see you.”

I dey scroll her messages, dey feel small joy.

I send her my house address. Before thirty minutes, she land.

Her knock dey soft. When I open door, she dey smile, carry small bag. We hug like say na reunion after war.

We hug for door like old couple. I give her slippers; she hug my neck. I make coffee for her; she cook for me. I carry her enter bedroom; she close eye sharp sharp.

The kitchen dey smell like egusi and fried plantain. Her laugh dey echo for corridor, na like new life enter my house.

Under wedding photo of me and Halima, for our marriage bed, me and Morayo naked, dey shout, dey tear, dey act like say na only two of us dey this world.

E be like we dey act Nollywood forbidden love, but na real wahala dey happen.

Bedroom door open; Halima stand for door, face no show anything.

She just stand, dey watch us. Her face cold, her eye dey empty. E be like say she dey look through me.

As I see her, no fear catch me, na relief, like heavy load don leave my body.

My own shame don finish. I just dey hold Morayo, dey wait for judgment.

I hug Morayo tight, light cigarette, puff smoke for Halima face.

Smoke climb for air, Halima eye no blink. She just stand, dignity dey her back like wrapper.

Halima hate smoke, but I no care. Na final disrespect be this.

She never let me smoke for bedroom before, especially for bed.

Her rules na law. But today, na rebellion.

Halima stand small, then waka commot from house.

She no talk, no shout. Her dignity strong. I fit see pain for her back as she dey waka go.

Morayo fear catch her; she grab blanket, say, “I like you. I no care say you get family, but small fear dey catch me.”

Her voice dey tremble. E get as e dey do my heart.

I kiss her forehead, get up, pack my load.

As I dey pack, memories dey fly for my mind. Every shirt, every shoe get story.

I move go Morayo house.

Her small room dey smell of lavender soap and fried plantain—better than any big house wey empty.

Her room small, but na peace dey there. No more pretense.

No more marriage, no more family tie, na only me and Morayo dey. I no know say I get this kind craze for body; Morayo dey joke say if she just see me, her leg go dey weak.

She dey tease me, dey call me bush man with city spirit. We dey laugh, dey play, dey chop life like say tomorrow no dey.

I dey release everything, just dey wait for final moment.

Na new freedom, but the price heavy.

One week later, Halima message me, say she wan talk.

Her text short, no emoji. I dey read am with shaky hand.

I tell Morayo with pride, ask if she wan follow.

She just laugh, say, "You dey craze? Go face your wahala. Na you and your wife get story."

She say I dey craze, make I go alone; she no fit waka enter wahala.

But she hug me, whisper say no matter wetin happen with Halima, she go support me, make I no fear.

Her hug warm pass new Ankara, her eye dey talk say she go stand gidigba for my matter.

She go always love me.

As she talk am, my chest dey light. For once, I dey sure of something.

That time, I really wan ask God why e reach now before I meet her.

I dey reason—if na fate, why e dey wait till person don spoil finish? But life na journey. For Naija, everybody get him own secret mountain, own wahala, own search for peace.