Chapter 2: The Cycle of Pain

As I dey grow, I come sabi say wetin my papa dey do na domestic violence.

Textbook teach us say home suppose be safe. But my own house, na war front. Every slap, every shout, e dey build story for my head.

Teacher talk say if e happen, call police, police go protect me and my mama.

For assembly, principal dey shout: "Children, no let anybody beat you! Police dey your side!" Na so hope dey enter my mind like small light.

So one night after beating, as my papa sleep, I pull my mama hand.

Her hand dey shake, but I hold am strong. My body still dey pain, but I dey happy—maybe we fit change story.

Happy, full of hope, I even forget say my body dey pain.

That hope dey shine for my face. For my mind, na movie I dey act, where hero go save mama.

"Mama, make we call police, make dem arrest papa."

I talk am sharp, voice strong. I dey see future where we go rest for peace, no more slap.

But my mama no happy as I think. Instead, she look me with shock and pain.

She look window, then back at me, like say she dey see police uniform for my face. Fear and shame dey fight for her eye. Her face change. Eye wide, mouth open. E be like say I insult her.

"Ngozi, na your papa you dey talk so. How you fit do like this?"

She hiss, eye red, voice carry thunder. My chest dey drum, cold run my spine.

Her voice hard, hit me like slap.

The shame burn my face, I bend head. I no fit look her again. My heart dey cut.

I shame, my face red. I feel like say I be bad pikin.

I wan vanish, just disappear from earth. The way she look me, e pain pass cane.

But e no suppose be so.

For my mind, justice suppose dey my side. Why e be say na me dem dey blame?

Teacher talk say domestic violence na domestic violence, no matter who do am, e no get excuse.

I remember teacher talk say "wrong na wrong," whether na papa or neighbor do am. My mind dey spin.

So I still insist make we call police.

I raise voice small, stubborn. I no wan give up, I want better life for us.

Na that day, my mama beat me for the first time.

Her face stone, eye cold. Stick land for my back, pain cut deep. She shout, make me kneel down, face wall. I cry, but e no move am.

The stick thick like finger, e even break; she make me kneel down dey think my life.

My leg pain, but my mind dey pain pass. That stick break, but the pain last long.

That day, I learn say no be only my papa hand dey pain—my mama own pain too.

I see say pain fit pass from one person to another, like torch. Nobody get monopoly of suffering.

That day, I learn say my mama fit beat person—just no fit beat my papa.

The weakness, the fear, e dey show for her body. For my mind, I dey reason how life fit twist person reach like that.

My papa beat me tire, I no dey cry. But that night after my mama beat me, I cry till day break.

The tears come like flood, e no stop. For my mind, I dey mourn the mama wey I know before.

Next day, my mama, as e surprise me, boil egg, use am rub my bruise.

She dey sing soft, dey blow breeze for my wound. I dey look her, dey wonder who she be.

Normally, na only my papa dey chop egg for house.

Egg na like Christmas food. The smell, the soft, e dey remind me say better dey somewhere for life.

I sabi say this one na "give sweet after slap".

I don see am before—na so my papa dey do am. Today cane, tomorrow sweet. E dey confuse person mind.

Because na so my papa dey do her.

This pattern, e don turn to family tradition. Pain first, then small comfort.

But I no like this kain mama. She dey strange for me.

Na new person I see for her body. My heart dey far, trust dey low.

Before, when I dey collect beating, I dey hope say when I grow, I go fit protect my mama.

I dey dream say one day, na me go stand for her front, block pain from reach am. But dream dey fade small small.

But as I dey old, I see say to grow na sad thing.

Growing up mean say you dey see truth clear. Na truth dey break person heart pass.

E dey scatter all the hope wey dey my mind.

All the small hope wey she dey patch like old wrapper, everything tear for ground.

Time dey go, beating dey repeat.

Every week, na the same thing. Routine na pain. Forgiveness dey follow am.

Forgiveness too dey repeat.

After every wahala, my mama go smile, go dey act like nothing happen. Na so the cycle dey go.

I begin dey cold, dey look my mama cry now, laugh later for my papa.

Na only my eye dey watch am sharp. Sometimes, I dey pity her. Other times, I dey vex.

I think say I no fit disappoint pass like this.

Disappointment na like rain for August. E dey pour, no dey stop.

But after disappointment, na only hopelessness remain.

Inside my heart, emptiness dey reign. The kind cold wey get no remedy.

When I reach eleven, my papa beat me so tey my bone break.

That day, e high pass normal. E use belt, then hand, then stick. The pain loud, neighbours gather but no fit enter.

No matter wetin she talk, I still insist say police must enter.

Blood dey my mouth, I still shout. I no wan die for nothing.

She kneel down, dey cry, dey beg, talk say if I call police, I dey push her go die.

Her voice dey break, tears dey drop. For ground, she dey plead like beggar.

Mama kneel down for pikin.

That scene break my spirit. Wetin I go do?

Na shame hold me for neck, I no fit go front, I no fit go back.

My mouth heavy, my eye red. I just freeze.

She love me?

I dey doubt. The love dey, but the fear too much. Maybe na both dey fight inside her.

I no even know again.

Every time I try reason am, e dey confuse me. Love fit make person weak?

Maybe, but the love wey she get for my papa don finish am.

She no get much left for herself or for me. Na so pain dey reduce heart.

Wet in remain for me na small.

Small crumbs. Sometimes, e even no reach.

Plenty broken bowls dey house, and because life hard, my mama dey keep any one wey still fit use.

The shelf full of pieces, but she dey sort am every day. Some dey leak, but we still dey manage.

She dey give my papa the best one, the next best for me, the one wey get plenty crack na her own.

She always dey put others before herself, like say her own no matter.

Later, the broken bowls too plenty, she no even know which one good or bad again.

E reach one point, e no matter again. All na the same.

Everybody dey use the same kind broken bowl.

We dey share pain, we dey share lack. No special treatment remain.

Everybody dey live the same kind scattered life.

House na symbol of how our life be—patch patch, confusion, pain.

My papa dey ask for money pass before, e dey come house with more wahala, and the beating dey heavy.

He no dey tire. Each time, my mama dey thin, dey fade. Sometimes, she no even get strength to cry.

But one day, my papa come house dey shine.

Him voice loud, him step light. Neighbours dey peep, dey wonder wetin happen.

He carry roast chicken, buy new dress for my mama.

Chicken wey I never see since Christmas. Dress fine, yellow with small shine. My mama eyes big, mouth open.

My mama think say better days don come.

She even dance small, dey hum song for herself.

But wetin my papa talk throw her for gutter.

Her smile vanish. Cold dey her bone.

He hold her hand, talk:

"Ifeoma, one big oga for our betting joint like you well. If you wear this dress, follow am chop for night, how you see am?"

My own ear dey ring. For my mind, I dey pray say na joke.

My mama fine well—everybody sabi for town.

When she dey young, na her beauty dey win festival. E reach market, women dey copy her style.

Her smile freeze, her eye empty as she dey look my papa.

She just stiff, like wood. Voice no gree come out.

She ask, slow slow: "Na just food?"

Her mouth dey shake. Fear dey for her voice.

Like say she dey try confirm.

E eyes dey run up and down, sweat for forehead. For the first time, e dey act like small boy.

My papa eye dey run, e no fit look her face.

E scratch head, e voice low. E dey beg with eye, but mouth stubborn.

He talk: "Ifeoma, abeg help me this once. The oga say if you agree, e go help me for future. Then I fit give you better life."

E dey promise heaven, but na hell e dey open.

My mama just dey shake, she no fit talk, like say all the hope for her body don die—she old instantly.

Face dry, tears no gree come. She just stare, like person wey see ghost.

I never see her like that before.

The pain cut me. My chest dey heavy.

E be like say all her hope just scatter.

All the small hope wey she dey patch like old wrapper, everything tear for ground.

My papa think say she no go agree, so e start to insult her:

He voice high, pride dey body.

"No be you dey shout for my bed, now you dey form say you no fit do am with another man?"

E dey mock am, like say e no get feeling.

"You sef no reach the back of Mama Chinyere foot."

Dem dey talk for market say Mama Chinyere na big madam, her style na survival. My mama no fit walk where she dey.

I sabi Mama Chinyere. She dey west end of town.

Her shop always full, her voice loud, her body strong. But e get story for everybody.

People talk say she dey sell herself make her husband fit survive.

For area, na open secret. Her pikin dey wear fine cloth, but the price na her own.

My mama don dey cry, dey hold my papa cloth, dey beg make e stop.

Her hand dey weak, her voice dey break. She dey beg, but my papa face hard like rock.

"I go go, I go go."

She just collapse for ground, cry dry, voice crack. I dey hide for corner, dey watch everything like film wey get bad ending.