Chapter 2: Second Chance, Second Sight

When the caretaker find me, maggots don already dey my leg.

My mind scatter as I remember the moment. Caretaker, Baba Musa, break my door after neighbours complain about smell. Maggots crawl inside the sores for my leg—my own flesh dey rot, hidden. My body already dey near ancestors.

Na just small breath dey hold me for this life.

I dey feel the edge—one leg here, one leg for other side. My chest rise slow, mouth dry. For mind, I beg God, 'Just one more chance—small mercy.'

Na the first time crowd enter my house.

Irony. When I dey alive, na like stray goat I live, but now body dey go, neighbours and strangers full my small flat. Some come to help, some just for gist. The house never loud reach like that before.

Caretaker, some community people.

Faces I only sabi from street. Church women, their eyes wide, dey press handkerchief for nose, dey whisper prayer.

One young nurse dey feed me gently, dey encourage me to try hold on.

She be the only one wey touch me without fear. Her hands gentle, words soft, she dey talk Yoruba proverb for my ear: 'Igi to ba dara, ko ni pe ni igbo.' Then she add blessing: 'Olorun a fi orun rere fun yin, iya mi.'

Somebody ask, 'This sickness no too hard before. How e take bad reach like this? Where her people dey?'

Voices dey buzz above my head like flies. Dem shake head, dey cluck tongue. 'Na wah o! Even Christmas, dem no come?'

I no fit talk.

My throat na graveyard. Words no gree come out, no matter how I try.

Dem recognize my son from all the pictures wey full the wall.

My parlour wall na shrine for my pikin—graduation, birthday, that big competition. Visitors dey point, 'See am, na her son be this.'

'Her son na big man o—correct entrepreneur, dey among rich people.'

One with big eye dey read magazine cover where my son face dey shine beside top politicians. The room full with surprised murmurs.

'E strange sha, why e no carry her go when e japa? For that interview, e talk say all him family dey with am.'

Aunty Efe shake head. 'Abeg, make una see wahala for this life.' Another add, 'Na mouth people dey use for media, real life na another thing.'

Small time, dem help me reach my son.

One smart volunteer borrow person phone, dial foreign number. I hear the ring from far, my heart dey knock for my ribs.

I try use all my strength lift my head, wan see the man for the screen well.

Even with my vision wey blur, I strain, dey search for the baby I once carry.

Almost twenty years don waka since I last see am.

Time don draw new lines for him face, pepper him hair with grey, but still, him forehead dey squeeze same way as small pikin wey dey vex.

Now, na old man of fifty years.

Suit fine, room bright and big behind am. He dey look like person wey chop life—mouth full, eyes sharp like razor.

But for my eye, na still that small boy.

No matter beard or accent, na still my Chijioke—the boy wey once cry for my lap when e fall.

With all my energy, I call am: 'Chijioke...'

I push the word out, soul full of longing. The room go quiet, everybody dey watch. Some shift, some sigh.

He just frown, ask me, 'Why you never die?'

The words land heavy like stone. Some people gasp; nurse eye full with tears. My chest crack inside.

After that, he cut the call.

Him face vanish, screen go blank. Phone fall for floor. The volunteer hiss, shake head. 'Kai, see this kain pikin.'

The volunteer call am again.

Her hand dey shake, she try again. 'Maybe e go pick, abeg.'

'How you go do like this? Your mama dey use last breath just to see you.'

Voice tremble with anger, she try reason am, remind am of the woman wey born am.

'Doctor talk say she no get much time again. You no suppose come arrange her matter?'

For background, one person dey pray loud. Others dey mutter, 'Abomination.'

The voice from the other side just hiss.

Sharp hiss full the phone—disgust. Everybody for room freeze.

'Make I talk true, that woman be stranger to me. Whether she live or die, e no concern me.'

He spit am with finality. People dey look each other, eyes red. Some cover mouth in shock. Nurse squeeze my hand.

'Bury her, throw her ash for river, do as you like. Just no disturb me.'

The line die. The air thick. Aunty Ngozi shake head. 'Wetin this woman do?'

Tears full my eyes.

The dam burst. Tears mix with sweat for my face. Sobs shake the bed. Somebody wipe my face with rag, whisper, 'Sorry, ma.'

All the memories of my son, from when e small till e grow, just dey flash for my mind.

Inside the tears, my mind dey show me: first steps, first school uniform, Christmas morning—all of am.

Suddenly, one memory just pause.

One particular birthday, laughter, argument—it just hang for my mind. My heart jump.

I shock small.

Something shift. Soul tremble, pain turn to curiosity. Why this memory? Why now?

Next thing, I see myself dey stand for bathroom mirror, my face young again.

Like sleep I wake. My body light, face fresh for mirror. Birthday song dey float come from parlour. I realize—God don press reset.