Chapter 1: Prison for My Soul

Four years in university—Femi treat me like dog. Hot sun dey bake hostel wall, but inside, cold pass freezer. Sometimes, when I look back, e be like say those years na prison for my soul. Small thing, e go dey laugh with me, dey use me shine among him boys, dey show say na him get power. But when e vex, my own don finish—no single mercy, na beating or shame go follow. Even for hostel, e dey always dey show off, dey make sure say people sabi say na him dey control me.

When e dey happy, e go dey use me play; when e vex, na beating go follow.

And you know say for that campus, if person get small power, e fit do anyhow. Femi get mouth, get money, e dey carry crowd. If e just smile, girls go dey flock. But if e vex, na wahala for anybody wey cross am. I dey endure, dey swallow my pain like bitterleaf, no fit talk.

If I get cramps, e go just kick me enter sink, no even send.

That time wey my belly dey twist like snake, instead of to help me small, e go just push me go corner. I remember say I dey cry one time, e just waka pass, hiss loud—'Mtchew!'—then go buy suya for corner, no even look my side. For that place, nobody go ask you why you dey limp or why your face swell—dem go just mind their own, dey do like say nothing dey happen.

E go order him boys make dem bully me, dey record everything for corner.

Omo, sometimes, Femi go just snap finger—him clique go rush, dey corner me for corridor. Dem go dey call me names, dey drag my bag, sometimes dem go pour water for my head, dem dey record everything with that Nokia Torchlight phone—flash dey blind my eye. That humiliation no be here. Till today, I dey see those videos for my mind.

Even when I need morning-after pill, na my own money I dey use buy am.

E no send, na my problem be that. I fit beg, cry, but at the end na my own pocket I go empty. And if money no dey, na suffer head I go carry until I fit hustle small thing. Even when I get malaria, na me go still find way treat myself, e go just dey flex with him boys.

True cold-hearted devil—e torment me for ten years.

E choke, honestly. Sometimes, I go dey ask God why me. Ten whole years, e dey do me anyhow—sometimes sweet, many times bitter. I go dey smile for people face, but inside my chest, na wound full everywhere.

But later, e kneel down inside blood, dey sob, dey beg me make I forgive am.

That day still clear for my eye. Big boy like Femi, kneel down for ground, blood just dey drip from him head, e dey beg like small pikin. Tears mix with blood, e no even send who dey look. People shock, some dey whisper. I dey shake, no know wetin to do.

E even swear say anybody wey ever hurt me go disappear from this world.

E raise hand, for front of crowd, dey swear with him life—say anybody wey touch me, including himself, no go see tomorrow. As e talk am, e voice dey break. Na that day, I begin see small crack for him stone heart.

Including himself…

I still remember as breeze blow that evening, dust just dey swirl for my face. E look me, eyes red. For the first time, I feel say maybe e get small remorse. But pain wey e cause me, e still dey my bone.