Chapter 6: Shrine of Hope

Spoon set, three stainless bowls, some wooden ladles, two kitchen knife—all enter iron bucket. That one na all our kitchen load.

I still remember say mama dey say, "No leave am, I use am for my marriage." Some things get memory pass their size.

Cloth and wrapper too plenty and heavy. The weather hot, over 27°C, so we no need worry for cold. I just carry some sheets, if wahala catch, we fit use tie things. The rest cloth and wrapper, I tie dem for tree trunk, so if water no wash am, we fit come back later.

My papa dey tie rope, dey whistle old highlife song. Even as wahala dey, e still get time sing.

Other important things na the rest dry food, vegetable, crop seed, salt, medicine, spirit, lighter, candle, and my cutlass—na survival tool for bush.

I fit use cutlass chase snake, clear bush, or even open coconut if wahala too much. My mama dey laugh, "This my pikin sabi bush life o."

Even as we reduce am, na two big bags remain. I tie am for okada, carry go summit first. Papa and mama dey tie and secure the rest for tree.

My papa dey look sky, dey say, "If rain go fall, make e fall after we finish."

The hill road rough, bush don cover am. After heavy ride, I see the white shrine for top.

Mosquito full everywhere, but I no dey reason am. I just dey happy say the building still dey solid.

The entrance get big iron door, rusty padlock dey hang. I carry cutlass, one strike—the lock fall. As I break the lock, I remember say Naija man talk—if road block, find another way enter.

My hand pain me, but I no care. Survival na the only thing wey matter.

I open door, everywhere dust full. Nobody don come here for long.

I dey sneeze, but I use old rag wipe ground. My mama go thank me if she see am.

I rush sweep, drop our things, rush go call papa and mama.

My leg dey pain me, but I dey fly down the hill. No time to waste.

After I bring them reach up, na midnight already. Even as I tire, my mind still dey sharp, I make more trips go viewing platform, carry thirteen chicken, some bags of yam and maize up.

The chicken dey make noise, dey flap wing, but I tie dem well. My papa dey help, my mama dey sing hymn, "Nearer my God to thee." Mama voice dey tremble, but hymn still dey sweet, like morning ogi for cold weather.

By 5 a.m., I no fit again, I spread sheet for ground, sleep off.

For my dream, I dey see water dey climb, but I dey hold my family tight.

I fit hear water for my dream, but for real life, wahala never even start.