Chapter 2: Old Promises, New Roads

I entered the palace at thirteen, only a simple silver hairpin dey my hair.

That hairpin, na only thing my mama give me before she send me go. My own hair that year na tight cornrow, scalp dey show. Even as I waka through the palace gate, heart dey beat, I feel the hairpin cool against my scalp—like small hope in strange land.

From tea-serving maid to senior nanny, I endured twenty years inside these red walls.

Every step na learning. From kitchen to queen’s chamber, I waka. Sometime na slap greet you, sometimes na smile. But I learn how to dodge trouble, how to help small girls with their first period, how to whisper prayer for boy wey dey fever.

Chiefs once dash me coral beads, the Queen rewarded me with golden groundnuts. When things good, I even kneel down to collect a string of prayer beads from the late king.

Those beads, eh! Chief Nwankwo press am for my palm that year dem born his last son. Queen Ifeyinwa call me one day, hand me golden groundnuts with wrapper, say, "You get good heart, Nnenna." That day, pride full my chest, I dey shine. The late king, may his soul rest, call me 'my daughter,' give me prayer beads, even make small joke say if I dey boy, e for marry me to his prince.

Now, twenty years don waka pass. The day I dey leave the palace, na still that plain silver hairpin dey my hair.

Na so life be—fortune come, fortune waka. All the beads and gifts, some people collect pass me, but me I hold my silver pin tight. The shine never fade, even though my own shine don reduce.

And thirty naira in my bundle, na the severance pay be that.

Thirty naira—na only God know wetin person fit buy with am. As I tuck the money for wrapper, I shake head. The number small, but I no beg. Palace get rule: you take wetin dem give, hold your head high.

That steward wey dem dey call Musa watched me well, as if say person fit try smuggle something out.

Musa stand for corner, eye sharp. Palace people sabi say nothing wey come out without permission. I remember when person smuggle royal soap, dem flog am sotey e faint. So, I open my bag wide for Musa, show am all: wrapper, Bible, small Vaseline, hairpin, nothing else.

But when he see me, he just smile, his cheeks folding up, and he greet me well:

"Mama Nnenna, abeg look again. No leave anything wey get value behind."

His voice soft, not the usual command. I see real worry for his eye, like say he dey beg make I check myself, not just my bag. His smile gentle, as if e wan wipe tears for me.

I glance back at the room.

For the wall, one paper kite with broken wing dey hang—na that time Obinna fall when he be nine, break am; we promise say we go repair am and fly am again.

The kite still dey, the colours dull from dust. I fit remember the day Obinna cry say e wan kite like other princes, so I hustle small change buy am. When wing break, I say, 'tomorrow, we go fix am.' Tomorrow never reach till now.

By the table, one old kerosene lantern dey. I use am that time, run for rain at night, find Obinna as he hide dey cry.

Lantern black with old oil. Na that night I almost break leg as I chase am through rain, my wrapper tie anyhow. Palace guard see me, laugh say 'this nanny go follow pikin fly one day.' But I hold lantern high, shouting Obinna name till I find am.

But later, every rainy season na rain. We keep dey talk say tomorrow, tomorrow, but we never go again.

The years pass, rain come and go. Each season, I remember the promise, and I feel small pinch for chest. I tell myself, one day, one day, but palace duty no get end. Rain, sun, festival—always work, always somebody dey need me.

That lantern sef get hole. If you no hold am well, breeze go blow am off, you fit fall for darkness.

Sometimes, when breeze blow strong, the flame go die. That hole, e wide pass small pikin hand. I sew patch for am once, but life no let me repair finish.

But Obinna no need am again.

Palace don get generator, new light everywhere. Na only old memory dey attach to those things. Obinna don waka pass all that.

His Majesty palace dey shine like afternoon, even for midnight.

Now, e fit on light with switch, no need for lantern or candle. Even the scent of kerosene don disappear from palace air.

I smiled, no wan delay am:

"Thank you, Oga Musa. I no leave anything behind."

I add small bow, as custom demand. I take one last look—room empty, even air feel like e dey wait for next person to fill am. My shadow join me for door, long and thin like those early palace days.

As I waka commot from Ugo Palace, harmattan dust start to fall, light like say na cotton wool.

The dust swirl round my feet, gentle at first, then small-small start to sting my eyes. I adjust my wrapper, tuck my bundle tight, and step out with steady leg, even though inside me dey shake. But for my chest, old fear dey drum, like masquerade wey no ready show face.