Chapter 6: Dinner and the Princess Room

That night, we chop big family dinner.

Table long, light bright, plates full of food wey I never see before. I dey sit for middle, everybody dey talk, dey laugh. Music dey play soft for background. My eye dey jump from one dish to another, but my mind still dey think about home.

After dem confirm say I no get any allergy, the family cook show himself.

He come out with chef hat, talk with British accent, “Madam, Amarachi no get allergy. I prepare some Nigerian food too.” Everybody clap for him, I just dey shy.

Table full with all kinds of food, everywhere just dey shine.

Jollof rice, fried rice, chicken, beef, salad, even small moin-moin. For the first time, I see snails big like shoe. Cutleries plenty—three fork, two knife, spoon. I dey confuse.

Other people dey chop their grilled chicken with style.

They use fork and knife, dey cut small small, dey laugh. I dey try, but my hand dey shake.

Me, I dey fumble with spoon and fork, no sabi this kind food at all. The chicken no get taste for my mouth—I just dey miss the goat intestine wey I wash but no fit chop.

I dey poke the chicken, try cut am. The smell different, the pepper no strong. My belly dey turn, I dey wish for that soft intestine soup wey Mama dey make. I dey look the food, but my mind far.

I dey reason whether I fit just use hand chop, but fear no let me.

After food, I look the store room for downstairs, dey waka go there, but Mama call me.

I waka slow, no sure of myself. I remember those stories—how the real daughter dey stay for store, attic, or servant’s room.

"Amarachi, why you dey go store room?"

She call me, voice soft but sure. The whole family dey watch, some dey wonder wetin I dey find.

I answer small small, "No be my room be that?"

My voice low, almost whisper. My heart dey beat fast. I no wan offend anybody.

I dey fear say dem go treat me like housegirl, make I dey sleep for corridor.

For all those stories, the real daughter no dey fit compete with fake daughter for room, so dem go just push am go attic or store.

I dey remember how TV real daughters dey sleep for mat for corridor. My mind dey prepare for worst.

Mama pause, come hold my hand.

She reach for me, her palm warm. She squeeze my hand, look me for eye, smile soft.

She carry me go upstairs, open one door.

We climb wide staircase, carpet soft. The door open, everywhere pink and white, with soft bed, big wardrobe. Light dey everywhere, pictures for wall. My mouth open.

Inside, na pink and white princess room, you go know say dem plan am well.

Teddy bear big like pillow, curtains with flowers, even name tag for door: ‘Amarachi’s Room.’ My eyes wide, I touch the wall, dey feel the newness.

"How Mama go let you stay for store room? Na your own room be this, I arrange am for you."

She smile, voice sweet, touch my head. She show me the small fridge, bookshelf, bathroom. I never see room like this before. My heart dey beat soft soft.

I confuse more.

I dey look around, mouth open, no fit talk. I dey try remember how to use shower. I dey fear to touch anything.

"Then... what of Sister?"

I ask the question, voice low. I dey fear make she no vex.

"Chiamaka room dey next door."

She nod, lead me to see. Chiamaka room also fine, but different colour. I feel relief.

Mama voice soft as she explain.

She sit for my bed, pat the duvet. Her face calm, eyes kind. She tell me story about how she and Papa want both of us to feel at home.

"Amarachi, your papa and I talk with your adoptive parents. You and your sister dey secondary school, and Aba school better, so Chiamaka go stay here for now, go school with you.

Even though Chiamaka no be our blood, she don live with us for years. We get feelings for her—just as your adoptive parents no fit leave you."

She look me, hold my hand. “Chiamaka na our daughter too. We go treat both of una as one. No fear, my dear.”

She pat my back, say, “No be only oyibo pikin deserve better room, you be my daughter too.”

This Mama no be like the ones for book at all.

She dey gentle, her words dey soft. No harshness, no favouritism. I fit see love for her face. My fear begin reduce small small.

She gentle, her mind open.

She dey talk as if she sabi wetin dey my mind. She no hide anything, just dey explain, dey answer any question.

She no want make I think too much, she explain everything to me.

She dey pat my back, say make I feel at home. She even show me her old photos, make me laugh small.

Before I know, my nose dey pepper me, tears wan fall again.

Tears begin gather, but this one na tears of relief, not just fear. I fit breathe small.

"Mama, I understand."

My voice low, but strong. I try smile, wipe my face. I fit see her smile back.

She smile, tell me make I rest, pat my head, comot for room.

She close the door softly, her footsteps light. I hear her talk for corridor, “Amarachi need rest o.”

She never reach far, person knock door.

The knock soft, but sure. I adjust myself, try compose face.

Na Okoye Chiamaka... no, na Nwosu Chiamaka now.

She stand for door, her hair tied with scarf, her eyes red like say she don cry.

She look me, I look her.

We just dey stare, nobody talk. The air heavy, but not hostile. My heart dey beat, I no know wetin to expect.

Everywhere quiet.

The AC hum, the house quiet. I fit hear my own heartbeat.

I just shrink, but Chiamaka talk:

Her voice steady, but her eyes show fear. “No let anybody treat you like stranger. This house get space for both of us.”

"You no suppose dey fear me." She talk straight. "No be my fault say dem swap us. I no plan to collect the life wey suppose be your own. E pain me when I hear, but I no go turn villain like for TV, I no go bully you."

Her words cut deep. My body relax small. I see say she mean am.

I shock.

I open mouth, but words no come. I just nod. I feel shame for suspecting her.

She come in, pull me sit for bed.

She sit close, no distance. She hold my hand, her palm soft. She dey look my face, her own soft.

"Amarachi, fit tell me... how your family be?"

Her voice gentle, like person wey dey beg for comfort too.