Chapter 2: Night for Bush, Truth Dey Shine

My cousin push one five hundred naira note for my hand. I dey shame to collect am.

My hand dey tremble small. For village, na big money, but for this kain hustle, I dey reason if I suppose chop from this kind market.

He force am enter my pocket. “Take am. You fit dey think say I dey form distance since these six months, abi?”

E dey read my mind. Truly, since e start this work, e dey different—e dey keep things for chest. But I dey gree, because I dey see say e dey protect me.

I say, “No, I just dey learn from you.”

I dey honest—na real talk. This kind bush work no be for person wey dey rush. If you mess up, nobody go hear your cry for bush.

“No be say I no trust you. This work—if you mess up, person fit die. I no wan put you for wahala. All these routes wey dey fifty kilometers, I use my own life scout dem. This money na life money.”

As e dey talk, I feel say e dey pass something for me—like old secret. In this work, person fit disappear for bush, if you no careful. E dey warn me, no be just as cousin, but as brother.

I gree. I raise three fingers, “Cousin, I understand. I swear—even if I no follow you work again, I no go guide for this area. You be my cousin and my oga. I go respect you till I die.”

Na so we dey do am for our side. Respect na currency, and oath for bush dey strong pass written contract.

He nod. “You get better mind, you dey careful. I trust you. Make we hustle for some years, build big house for family.”

I dey dream am too—see as we go raise block, call people, throw party. If money show, even elders go gather.

Through my cousin shoulder, I see the tent wey Boss Nuhu crawl enter begin shake for steady rhythm.

The sound faint but e clear—na so tent dey talk when two people dey do their own. Bush dey quiet, but that tent dey move like generator.

As I dey wonder, my cousin begin laugh, then bring another thing from the bag.

E dey do like magician, dey produce package. I dey wonder who go buy next.

When I see the square nylon pack, everything clear for my head.

The light from torch reflect for the thing, na then I sabi say no be only stocking dey for that bag.

One thousand each—na condom.

Bush business get different branch—if you wise, na everything you go sell. I nearly laugh—Naija men dey always prepare for action, even inside bush.

All these people talk say na adventure dem come do, but na wetin dey their trouser dem dey find.

I dey look them with new eye. Adventure for mouth, but na pleasure dey their mind. City life dey follow people everywhere dem go.

“Make I test your sense,” my cousin talk with sly smile. “Guess who dey inside that tent?”

E dey use me play, but I gree—na street sense dey test for bush.

I think well well.

Na big people full the group—eight rich people.

Dem dey carry demself like say na dem own bush. But for night, body dey humble everybody. Person wey be big madam fit change for darkness.

The four women self no be small.

You go see their face for billboard, or for TV. But bush na leveler—once mosquito bite, all the fashion vanish.

The oldest na Aunty Fadeke, business woman, get her own training school. She dey her thirties, short, curly hair, fair skin, gold-rim glasses, dey form madam.

She dey walk like principal—her voice dey command. When she talk, men dey listen, women dey copy. She sabi her worth.

Second na Zainab, senior person for company wey dey for Abuja. She get short, dark-red hair, dey always throw English for her talk, get beauty mark for left eye—men dey joke say she go be queen or big madam.

Zainab na person wey sabi run things. Her English dey shine, but her laugh dey Naija. She sabi where to throw shade, where to catch cruise.

Third na Mimi, long hair like princess. She young, fine, dey claim say na model, part-owner for modeling agency, don go abroad, dey teach dance.

Mimi dey float like butterfly, but she fit talk with pepper if you vex her. She dey teach people new dance step every night for camp.

Last na Ngozi, quiet, artistic, hardly talk since we start. E sure me say na her real name she dey use, unlike the rest. Aunty Fadeke once talk say she fit see from face say Ngozi still dey school. When dem ask, na true—she be grad student, dey write, dey draw comic.

Ngozi dey always draw for her small notepad, her mind dey different place. She be like person wey get old soul. Sometimes, e be like say she dey talk with spirit for bush.

I no fit guess.

My mind dey turn, because for city, na different code people dey use, but for bush, nobody know who fit shock you.

Boss Nuhu dey popular, but e fat, dey sweat. To play with am na one thing, but to knack am? E get as e be.

I dey imagine how e go be for tent—no be easy task. Bush heat dey high, plus e size no dey help.

My cousin dey look me dey wait. I say, “I no know, but make I try reason am. First, no fit be Ngozi. She still dey school, get sense—she no fit follow Boss Nuhu.”

For my mind, Ngozi too innocent. Her glasses dey always slip, and e dey look like person wey dey fear mosquito, talk less of man.

“Hmmm… e make sense.”

My cousin nod, e dey enjoy the guessing game.

“Next, e no go be Mimi. She too dey form, fine pass, model wey go abroad. Big men go dey chase her. Why she go pick Boss Nuhu?”

Mimi fit dey look for better catch, na so I reason. For city, na men like Boss Nuhu dey follow her up and down, but for bush, you fit want something wey be adventure.

“Go on.”

My cousin dey laugh small, e want make I use brain.

“So, between Aunty Fadeke and Zainab, I think say Zainab fit do am. You tell me before: ‘Better make you be chicken head than phoenix tail.’ Aunty Fadeke and Boss Nuhu na both boss, dem be mate. But Zainab na worker—maybe she wan near Boss Nuhu to climb up.”

I dey quote my cousin old talk—na advice for bush, but sometimes, e fit scatter for city matter. Na so hierarchy dey work for Naija office too.

“Oya, make we see if you get am.”

My cousin dey ready to show me the answer. I hold my breath, dey peep small small like pikin for Christmas.

Me and my cousin hide for tent, dey peep through small hole. After small time, the shaking stop. Shadow move inside. Boss Nuhu poke him fat head out, look our side.

The way e look, na like thief wey check if vigilante dey around. But e relax, e no see anybody, just us wey dey form sleep.

As e see say we don sleep, e relax, unzip tent, crawl come out, dey pull him trouser.

E dey careful, no want make noise. E waka small, make sure say breeze dey clear road.

Na there I shock.

I no believe my eye. Na the quietest for the group dey do the wildest thing.

The woman inside, wrap inside sleeping bag, na Ngozi—the same person wey I first remove from the list.

Her skin dey glow for moonlight, black stockings fine for her leg like Sunday church cloth. She no look like small pikin again—na full woman wey get her own mind.

Her shoulder dey open, hair scatter, leg dey outside sleeping bag, wear black stockings.

Na real story for inside bush—who fit believe?

Boss Nuhu waka go him tent. Ngozi stretch half body out from her tent, kiss am again.

The kiss long, like say dem no want make night end. Love for bush dey different—no shame, no form.

Her face happy and shy—different from the cold way she dey do for daytime.

She dey shine teeth, eyes dey bright. I dey wonder which version be real Ngozi.

I just lie down for sleeping bag, no talk, like fowl wey lose fight.

My chest just dey heavy. For this life, you no fit sabi anybody finish.

“No dey judge person by face,” my cousin talk for my side.

E dey teach me life lesson—bush no get mirror, na only action people dey use know themselves.

“So how you take know say na Ngozi?” I ask.

I dey really wonder—maybe my cousin get juju eye.

“Me? I just dey look where everybody go sleep, na small thing.”

E dey humble me—sometimes, the answer dey your front, na eye wey sharp fit see am.

I close my eye, wonder how many secret dey hide for this bush, even inside my own chest.