Chapter 2: Blood and Betrayal

The day wey dem capture the town, na for my papa hand I dey hide. He press one old bronze bangle give me for my small hand. That time, I no even know wetin e mean.

I remember how my small hand dey tremble, bangle cold for my skin. Papa dey shake too, but e try smile. Him eyes dey tell me, "No be your fault, my pikin."

Papa tell me, “Stay with your mama. Try live well.”

He rub my head, voice dey heavy. The way e look me, e be like person wey dey see tomorrow no dey sure. Tears dey hide for him eye but pride no gree am fall.

After that, he push me go one side, then use him own hand end him life.

Na quick move, sharp like hunter wey no wan make animal suffer. Blood just rush comot, paint ground red. I freeze, my body cold. My mouth open, but no sound. The world quiet, only my heartbeat dey shout. My heart break that minute—na sound I no go ever forget.

Hot blood splash for my face. When my mama see me, I dey try use my small hand cover papa neck, dey struggle make e no die.

I dey beg God, dey shake, "Abeg, make e no die." My cry no dey come out, voice block. For my mind, I think say, if I hold am tight, e go stay. But life don commot for papa body.

I no understand anything, I just no want make papa die.

That confusion, that fear—na only small pikin like me fit know am. As if world break finish, and I dey find small piece to hold.

But mama just look papa once, then drag me comot.

Her hand strong, grip no soft. She no cry, no shake. Her eyes just cold, dey look forward. E be like say she don prepare her mind for this thing since.

As we waka come out compound gate, I see all my brothers for ground, blood full everywhere.

Everywhere just red, like palm oil wey pour for market. The smell no go commot for my nose, even till today. My legs dey shake, heart dey beat for my chest like drum.

I count dem, one by one.

Their faces dey peaceful, some even still hold stick for hand, like say dem dey wait for papa order. I call their names for my mind, tears no gree drop.

All five of papa sons dey there.

Five boys, strong, stubborn, but gentle to me. I still dey see their faces for dream sometimes, dey call me "small sister."

Fear catch me sotey I no fit even cry. Mama drag me go front, bow for one tall man.

Her bow no be like slave; na bow of person wey dey offer big gift. Her back straight, her eyes dey bold. I dey hide for her wrapper, dey peep.

“Your Majesty, I greet you. The Chief of Palm Grove don die.”

Her voice clear, no dey shake. She no fear, she no smile. The man for front wear agbada, staff full hand, eye dey shine like person wey don win big bet.

I watch as my mama present the Palm Grove’s royal staff—the ivory staff of rule—give the man.

Na staff wey everybody dey respect. When my papa hold am, e be like say thunder no fit touch am. As mama hand over, I feel cold run my body.

“Halima, you try well well. Wetin you want, Halima? Anything you ask, I go do am for you.”

The man voice dey deep, e get that northern accent. Everybody for ground dey watch. E carry staff like say e fit use am plant new tree.

Mama wait long before she talk. E be like say she want everything, but no even know wetin to ask.

She dey think, her face dey far, eye dey find something wey no dey for that compound. She look me, her hand hold my shoulder.

At the end, she say make I live—make I still dey as princess.

Her voice small but stubborn. "Na only this one I want," she talk. For my mind, I wonder why she choose me over herself. But I never know say she dey plan another thing.