Chapter 1: Celebration or Punishment

Halfway through the New Year's Eve meal—the food we dey chop together to welcome the New Year—my mama just carry my final exam paper come, begin show all the relatives one by one.

Genny Power generator dey hum for backyard, and radio dey play Ayefele faint for parlour. The aroma of fried plantain, steaming jollof rice, and spicy pepper soup still dey hang for air, but na my exam result dey cast shadow over the table. My younger cousins dey chase each other with sachet drinks, but for where I dey, my body just dey cold.

"English, 139.5. See as e high."

She raise the paper high, her voice loud sotay people for next compound fit hear am, like person wey win awoof giveaway. Some relatives lean forward, their eyes shining, some even squeeze face, dey wonder if na good or bad news be this one.

The relatives, wey no too sabi wetin dey happen, begin hail me.

"Amara! Well done o! See as you sharp." My uncle with big stomach give me thumbs up. "You go soon write story for Guardian newspaper, Amara!" Even small Titi, my cousin, clap her oily hands together, make garri sprinkle for table.

But me, I just bend my head. I sabi say na public disgrace mama dey prepare for me. I remember last year, when she shout my math score for family group chat. This one pain pass.

My heart dey beat kpim-kpim, sweat dey catch my palm. I fit already sense the wahala wey dey come—no be my first time.

"Impressive? Wetin dey impressive there? Three people for her class pass 140. Amara own too low."

Mama hiss, toss her wrapper, then point the biro on the paper as if na sword. Some aunties shift for chair, look me with that pity wey dey pain pass slap.

"That Musa wey dey live for next compound, before e dey do worse pass her, but this time na 143 e get."

She twist mouth, her voice loud enough so Musa mama wey dey chop meat for corner go hear. I peep Musa mama for corner, she just dey bone, dey pick teeth. E pain me. I no fit look anybody eye.

"For that WAEC, just one mark fit change your ranking well-well. If Amara no fit reach 140 for English, na suffer she go suffer."

If na Musa get my score, dem for dey fry chicken for am. My uncle cough, the room quiet small. Even the ceiling fan slow, like e dey pity me. I press my hand under table make dem no see as I dey shake.

So because I get 139.5 for English, na so my life don spoil?

I repeat the mark for my mind, as if na charm. Wetin I go do again? Small mistake, dem go use am dey judge me forever?

After mama finish, I just freeze for chair, dey look my jollof rice, tears full my eye.

I dey try push the rice enter mouth, but e heavy. The pepper for the stew no even dey burn me again—na my chest dey burn.

That 139.5 just dey hang for my chest like bad dream. Just half mark remain to reach mama target of 140, but e be like say I do something wey no get name. No be say she just scold me for house, she still carry me come New Year's Eve meal come use me shame.

I feel like say I dey wear sackcloth for inside this celebration, while others dey shine.

Thank God o! The relatives no join mama mouth. Dem try calm her down: "139.5 na big score already. Amara dey try—she go enter better university."

One aunty rub my back, whisper for my ear: "No cry, you sabi book well. No let anybody pressure you."

Mama just look me with side eye. "If she dey really try, she for don finish her English homework this night, instead of dey tell me say she go do am tomorrow morning."

She draw the last syllable long, her eyebrow high like Lagos bridge. Everybody pause, look her, then look me, as if na court case.

"But today na New Year's Eve now..."

I vex sotay my chest tight, I no fit breathe well. I just talk back, my neck don stiff.

I squeeze my napkin, voice small but stubborn. "Mama, abeg, make I rest small today." The silence long, only spoon and plate dey jangle.

Since all year I dey read, dey go lesson every weekend. I just wan rest this one night for New Year's Eve with my family—e too much?

I dey wonder if na only me dey do this kind hard work for house. I look my younger ones; dem dey laugh dey snap selfie. My own life na book and pen.

Me sef na human being. I no fit celebrate New Year?

I want shout, but the voice choke for throat. My eyes dey red. I just wish make ground swallow me.

Mama hear as I talk, she pick one piece of goat meat give me, her voice soft but stubborn: "Amara, if you don pass 140 for English, I for say make you rest tonight. But you dey behind already. After food, we go house, do your homework."

She drop the goat meat for my plate with style, like say e go sweet me. Na so pressure dey sweet for her mouth.

I hold my spoon sotay my hand dey shake, one tear drop enter my food.

My aunt see am, quick use tissue pass me under table. For my mind, I just dey beg God—abeg, make this year better. I swallow the tears with my Fanta, but the taste no sweet again. For this house, even celebration dey taste like punishment.