Chapter 7: Scarred and Standing—The Mirror No Lie

I just lower my eyes, ignore their mockery, just dey look my wound wey dey bleed.

I dey use wrapper tie the place small, dey pray make e no become infection.

But as everybody dey talk anyhow, na so the next time I jam Chief Olumide, na him son find me come.

I nor expect am, na surprise from God.

I no even know how the boy take find me.

All I know be say, one morning, as I open the door of my cheap guesthouse room, na so I see am, stand alone, schoolbag for hand.

The boy nor even fear area boys, e just dey there like him papa get the street.

Him face, just like him papa own—cold, no emotion—make me pause.

If person see am for road, you go think say na old man small.

He tilt him head small, eyes dey my face. “Abeg, who you be?” he ask with low voice.

Him Yoruba accent just dey soft under the words, but e clear say e no dey smile.

Strange. Na him come find me, but na who I be he first ask.

The irony nor escape me. I wan laugh but e no reach my mouth.

“My name na Ifunanya.” I answer truthfully.

As I finish talk, him eyebrow just squeeze tight.

I fit see as the boy dey vex small—maybe the name dey ring bell for him head.