Chapter 3: The Price of Ice Cream

E take me small time before I understand say I don come back.

I pinch my arm, feel the flesh. Scar from last year firewood burn still fresh. Old pain don vanish. For moment, I think say na madness, but the parlour gist remind me: this na real.

Today na my son’s eighteenth birthday.

House dey bubble. Relatives from far, bowls of jollof rice full table. Children dey play ten-ten, men dey argue football under mango tree.

Outside, laughter scatter everywhere, papa dey show love, pikin dey respect.

Na the kind day only God fit give—sun dey shine but e no dey burn. I feel hope dey grow inside me.

For my hand, na birthday gift I dey hold.

My palm dey sweat for the package—this one special. I hold am like say my future dey inside.

Na ticket to American winter camp—na beg I beg, use all my connection, even swallow shame get am.

E no easy. I kneel for Madam Sade, beg old schoolmate, call people wey owe me. My pride I lock for back pocket, just to make sure my son fit stand where others fall.

All the pikin wey dey go, na children of big people; to get sense na just the starting point.

I watch dem—Senator pikin, Doctor daughter—all dey prepare for camp. I want my boy to waka with them, make e see say life pass our estate.

For my last life, na this ticket help my son meet correct people, open way for am to start business, become big man.

I remember am clear: na this ticket open door for am. I hope say one day e go look back, thank me. Instead, he lock the door for my face.

'Morayo, why you dey dull? Chijioke wan make wish.'

My husband voice cut my thought. He dey call from centre of room, face already dey squeeze because I slow.

As he shout, I waka come out.

I stand up, smooth my wrapper, force polite smile. All eyes dey follow me. I waka reach table, dey wish say I fit disappear, dey wish the day fit change.

As usual, my presence just cold everywhere.

Like harmattan breeze, everywhere freeze. People look away, some continue their gist. My son face hard, no emotion.

My son just look me one kind, then put hand together, start to pray.

He give me side-eye before e bow head, palms join. Voice steady, like rehearsed.

'Abeg, make my grandparents live long, as long as Iroko tree.'

Elders nod. Mama-in-law mumble, 'Amin o.' Neighbours snap finger, 'So shall it be.'

'And make my papa work dey smooth, dey climb up, dey make big money.'

My husband dey beam. Baba Ibeji for corner clap, 'That’s my boy!'

The three elders clap, happy well well.

Gifts dey change hand, wrappers dey tear, joy dey flow.

Dem give their gifts.

Basketball. Basketball shoes. Everything the boy want. Elders dey smile, dey bask for gratitude.

Grandpa and grandma give basketball.

My son bounce am once, the dull thud echo for parlour. He laugh, hug them, for that moment I see the small boy inside.

Papa give new basketball shoes.

He wear am, waka small circle, dey show adults.

My son collect am, kiss all of them for face.

Aunties and uncles cheer, phone dey snap picture. He hug each elder, give quick kiss as custom.

Next thing, e wan blow candle.

Everybody crowd round, dey sing off-key. Candle light dey dance for him eye.

My mother-in-law hold im hand, eye me one kind.

She squeeze him hand, her eye sharp like razor. Lips press tight, she throw me silent warning: 'Behave yourself.'

That eye talk say: If you no wish for her, wahala go dey.

I know that look. If I miss am, tomorrow market go full of my gist.

So, just like before, my son form face, join hand again.

He arrange face, close eye, pray again.

'I hope my mama and papa go divorce soon. Make my mama, this wahala, far from us. Best make she no ever show for our life again.'

My throat tight, but I no cry. I recognize every word—like bad belle wey refuse go, dey follow body like shadow.

Na the same words.

Every syllable, the same. I feel world dey tilt, but I stand straight, feet firm.

But this time, I no react like before, I no cry, I no ask why.

I breathe deep, count ten for mind, blink away tears. I remember wetin I see for that other life—no more begging.

I no kneel down give am gift, dey beg am.

I straighten my back, hold gift tighter, refuse to bow. My hands no shake again.

Baba Segun just laugh at me. 'Na you dey too hard for the boy, see am now, im no dey near you again. Na your cross be that.'

He throw the words like stone. Room dey laugh small, but I ignore them. I done dey for their wahala finish.

Papa and mama-in-law still dey mock me:

Dem take turn, dey twist knife, words full of pepper.

'The boy don big. E know say na we really love am, unlike some people wey dey claim say na for the pikin good but dey do wickedness.'

Neighbours dey nod, dey wait for next drama.

'If to say the boy mama gentle, our Chijioke for don go far.'

Mama-in-law voice dey drip pride. She adjust wrapper, dey smirk.

I just nod.

I let words pass. I no go give them joy of my tears.

'Since na birthday wish, I no get reason no to fulfill am. Make we divorce.'

My voice calm, surprise even me. Room still, everybody dey wait.

Everywhere just quiet.

Only ceiling fan dey creak. Nobody move. Pin fit drop, you go hear am.

Then the four of them just squeeze mouth, dey laugh one kain.

Tension snap. Dem burst laugh, dey shake head, think say na empty talk.

Baba Segun cross leg, dey yarn: 'Na today I first see you talk straight. No wahala, tomorrow make we go do am.'

He look me with amusement, sure say I go change mind by morning. Others nod.

I shake head. 'No, tomorrow I get things to do.'

I talk soft but sure. I no go let them control my story again.

Dem laugh even more.

Dem laugh louder, dey slap knee, dey mock me. 'See this woman!'

My son, like say he know, just dey mock me: 'Excuse again. You no wan divorce—na control freak you be.'

He sneer, voice full of sarcasm. Fold arms, look away like say e don grow.

I look them straight. 'I mean say, na still midday. No need wait till tomorrow. Divorce fit happen this afternoon.'

I look all of them for eye, let words settle. Even neighbours for window stop dey listen.

My mother-in-law glare at me. 'Abeg, stop this your acting. I go believe say sky go fall before I believe say you go divorce. Give Chijioke him gift jor.'

She snatch package from my hand, dey mutter, eye sharp like blade.

She collect the gift from my hand.

Wrapper dey crinkle. I clench fist, face blank.

My son take am, open am anyhow, dey mumble, 'So flat—wetin be this cheap thing? I no want am.'

He tear wrapper, no care if gift break. Voice full of disappointment, lips twist.

He tear the package anyhow.

Bits of wrapper dey drop. Elders dey watch, some dey shake head, some dey wait for drama.

The ticket, inside nylon, fall out.

E drop for him foot. Room go silent.

When my son see am, na so im eye bright like morning sun.

Face light up, excitement full am. Friends rush near, dey whisper, 'Na real Sain ticket!'

'Na Sain Winter Camp ticket!'

Room buzz, everybody sabi the value. Even him grandma gasp.

I collect the ticket back.

My hand steady. I take am before he grip am tight.

'Since you no want me as your mama again, my things—you no suppose collect.'

My voice soft but strong. Message clear—no more give myself away for nothing.