Chapter 2: The Funeral Scam

“My son, how you want make I live if you leave me like this?”

Her voice na knife—cut sharp, enter soul. Her wrapper tie for waist, she dey press the edge of the coffin, eyes like red coal. One small fan dey blow for corner, but room still hot. People dey whisper. Some dey bite lips, some dey shake head. Na heavy cloud of sorrow, but somehow, na me she dey look with fire.

This na Nnamdi’s funeral hall.

The wall dey smell candle wax, sweat, and small ogogoro from the men outside. Coffin shine like new car, but everywhere carry shadow. I dey lost for my own mind, the noise dey like far thunder, but na my own family dey inside storm.

Her loud cries just dey tear my ear.

The kind cry wey come from belly, the one wey make you feel say rain go start inside house. Her wailing pass anything. Aunties dey huddle round her, passing tissue, but she push them away, “Na only me know my pain!” The sound dey enter bone.

I come back to myself—no stomach pain from all the stress, no suffocating hopelessness before death.

Na as if dem pour cold water for my body. I stretch my fingers, no bandage, no drip. My mind clear. The heavy burden wey hold me before don shift, like say I dey fresh again. I dey alive, truly alive.

I really don come back to life.

The miracle sweet me, but small fear dey my heart. Wetin God want make I do? I promise myself—this time, I no go play Mumu.

In my last life, na for Nnamdi’s funeral dem break my hand here, make me cripple for life.

The memory sharp—how my wrist bend, pain wey reach marrow. I remember the shouting, the warning, the way my world just shrink to agony. If I no reason sharp now, history go repeat.

My mama dey hold her chest, acting like her heart wan cut, putting on a whole show.

She even fall for ground, roll small, scatter powder for her face, dey wail. Some neighbors dey look her, dem dey whisper, “See as this woman sabi act film.”

But as she see me, she quickly arrange herself and waka come meet me: “You bring the money?”

Her tear stop sharp-sharp, voice don change. E no even reach two seconds, she don dey count money with eye. Na real performance.

I hold my backpack strap tight, take one step back.

My palm dey sweat, my heart dey drum. I fit feel the tension for my neck. Na this same step last time land me for trouble. I dey ready now.

Trying to act like say e no pain me, I say, “The money too much, and the process plenty. I no fit withdraw everything once.”

I try form stubborn, keep face, but the fear dey my voice small. My eye no gree meet her own.

My mama face just fall. She give me one hard look: “You dey craze? If you no fit get am, wahala go burst! No let me swear for you this morning!” The way her mouth twist as she talk am, even my small cousin dey hide back. She spit the words like curse, no mercy.

As I no talk, my mama start to wipe her tears again.

She squeeze her face, dab her eye, make sure people dey look. Her cry high-pitched, make sure everybody hear am. Small pikin begin cry join.

“If you for help Nnamdi that time, he for no jump.”

She dey point finger, voice sharp. Even elders dey nod, dey whisper among themselves. She know how to press wound.

“You get money but you no gree give am. Na you kill your brother! Everything na your fault!”

I feel the eye of everybody burn for my body. Some dey hiss, some dey give me side-eye. The hall cold, but sweat dey my back.

She raise her voice well, make sure everybody dey hear am. Every word dey sharp, like say na blade dey swing for my head.

Even person wey dey eat groundnut for back stop, dey look. My shame dey public, like open book.

As I look the fake death drama wey dem act for my brother, my mind just cold.

I dey watch everybody. Some dey act cry, some dey wait to see if money go show. The drama loud, but inside me, na ice dey run.

My mama carry all the blame for Nnamdi death put for my head. All the family and friends dey look me like say I be devil.

My uncle shake head, my aunty dey mutter prayer, my cousin dey frown. Na only me be scapegoat. I see small pikin point me say, “Na him?”

She calm herself down: “If we no get money for interest, wetin if those people come our house?”

She dey fear creditors, but the fear no reach for her own pikin as e reach for money. Her voice low now, but still sharp. Everybody dey tense.

For my backpack, five million naira cash dey there, na bank loan I carry take am.

My back dey pain from carrying the bag. The money heavy, but the wahala heavier. Na risk I never suppose take. I dey sweat, dey pray make dem no find am.

For my last life.

I remember as I borrow am, sign away my peace. The manager warn me, “Guy, sure say you wan do this?” My hand shake as I collect cash. My whole destiny tie for that bag.

With her constant mind games, I willingly carry Nnamdi’s heavy debts for head.

She sabi manipulate pass Nollywood actress. Each time she talk, my resolve go scatter. For the end, I just gree, thinking say na the right thing for family.

When creditors show, my parents suddenly fall sick, land for hospital, leave everything for me.

As creditors dey knock, my mama begin shout, “Chest! Chest!” Dem rush her go hospital. My papa limp, say leg dey pain. Na so dem disappear, leave me for wahala.

My five million naira just disappear. I ask them for help.

When I finally see them, na different story. “Ah, my pikin, you strong. You go handle am.” My heart begin cut. I dey beg, but their mind no dey my side.

But my mama say, “We don old, we need this money for our old age. You still young, you fit hustle, you no fit reason something?”

Her face cold, voice steady. As if say na normal thing to leave me for fire.

And my papa dey ask me every time: “Your brother don die, you wan make we die join?”

Every day na this question. Like say na me cause all the wahala. I begin fear even go house.

“You want money or you want us? Choose one.”

Wetin I go choose? My mind dey scatter. Na lose-lose situation.

I no fit choose.

If I pick money, na bad son. If I pick family, I go die finish for debt. God, which kind wahala be this?

Creditors talk say if I try die like Nnamdi, dem go finish our whole family.

Their words still dey echo. Na heavy threat, one wey fit make man weak.

From day one, my parents just dey use me as ATM.

I dey reason—maybe I no be pikin, na machine. No rest, no peace. Only suffering dey my side.