Reborn to Save My Stepsister from Scam / Chapter 1: Pepper for Chest, Blood for Back
Reborn to Save My Stepsister from Scam

Reborn to Save My Stepsister from Scam

Author: Brittany Mullins

Chapter 1: Pepper for Chest, Blood for Back

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My younger stepsister dey inside online relationship, she dey plan meet her boyfriend wey talk say him be Prince from Dubai.

The thing just dey bite me for chest like fresh ata rodo, because everybody dey hear tori of girls wey don use their head anyhow. For Naija, if you no get sense, you go fall mugu sharp-sharp, especially for this kind internet love matter. My stepsister no dey hear word at all; as dem talk, na person wey no hear go use experience learn. I dey reason say if na real Prince from Dubai, e for no dey find babe for Facebook or WhatsApp. Abeg, which prince dey hustle babe for WhatsApp? Even our local chief get better taste. But for her mind, na jackpot she catch.

As I dey fear make dem no use her head, I advise her gently make she forget the matter. I even help introduce her to one fine guy, tall like iroko, wey get better government work for state ministry, promise say I go pay for all her bride price join.

No be say I just carry the guy come anyhow. I first check am well—ask people for our area, check church, even ask him pastor. Person wey get steady government work and dey respect people no dey use woman play. I even tell am, "If you like am, I go run all the traditional list—yam, drinks, even live goat join. Your mama no go complain."

But after she marry, as her husband no fit buy designer bag wey reach one million naira, she begin hate me with her whole body.

As she dey carry face like person wey chop pepper, she dey compare her new life to all those Instagram people. If you see the kain eye she dey give me, e be like say I thief her destiny. For her mind, na me set trap wey make her miss her 'prince' opportunity.

"Na your fault! If no be you, by now I for don be princess."

Her words cut me pass broken bottle for beer parlour fight. If you see the way she dey para for me, you go think say na me plan her downfall. Me wey dey try help her, na me turn enemy for her mind. Even neighbours sef dey hear the wahala.

For New Yam Festival—our traditional Igbo holiday wey family dey waka go flex—she even push me from hilltop. Na so I kpeme just like that.

New Yam Festival na big thing for our place, e dey bring all the families together, people go wear their best lace, chop yam with palm oil, dey dance egwu. Children dey chase masquerade, women dey tie double wrapper, the smell of roasted corn and palm wine full everywhere. Na that day my own stepsister, blood for body, push me like say I be stranger. Na so I carry my head jam stone, kpeme! Nobody gree talk truth.

My papa and stepmama act like say dem no see anything, carry all my money, rush go Dubai with my stepsister, dey chop life anyhow.

E pain me reach bone! Dem no even bury me well. My papa, wey I think say go fight for me, just carry face like say I no exist. Dem carry my small savings, sell my things join, waka travel go Dubai as if dem win lottery. Na their own happiness dem dey pursue—family for mouth, for action, na stranger I be.

As I open my eyes again, mosquito dey hum for my ear, the smell of kerosene lamp full the room, my old wrapper still dey my waist—e sure me say I land for Naija, no be heaven. Na the exact day wey my stepsister first ask me whether she fit meet her online boyfriend for real life I land.

My spirit just dey float for body. I dey reason, abi na dream? Abi God give me second chance make I change things? I know say this time, nothing go spoil for my hand. My heart dey beat, sweat dey my palm, but I gats use my head well. For Naija, if person mess up, no second chance.

As I dey plan my next move, I fit feel the wahala dey wait for corner—this time, I go fight for my own.

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