Chapter 8: New School, New Labels

Just one night, I and Chiamaka don close.

We dey gist like old friends. She tell me about her own wahala—how she dey fear mosquito, how she never fetch water before. I laugh, say I go teach her.

Papa send driver carry us go school.

The car big, driver quiet. He greet us, “Good morning, madam. Good morning, miss.” For my mind, I dey miss the keke napep, the way we dey squeeze three for back. But I manage smile.

Na private rich people school—everybody here na big man pikin.

Gate man open gate sharp sharp, children dey come down from SUV, some dey speak phoné. I dey look everybody. My school bag dey different. My shoe still dey bite my leg.

I dey fear.

My heart dey beat as we reach class. I dey wonder how I go survive. Will they laugh at my accent? Will they call me village girl?

For stories, poor pikin dey always suffer for here.

I remember all the tales—how rich pikin dey gossip, dey laugh poor one, dey plan wahala for her. I dey fear.

And na the fake daughter friends dey always bully the real one.

I dey look Chiamaka. Her friends dey gather, dey form clique. My heart dey beat.

No, I no go think am again—the more I think, the more fear go catch me.

I force smile, tell myself, ‘No let story spoil your mind. Try blend in.’

But as I enter class, people gather round Chiamaka:

Her friends run meet her, dey hug her, dey check if she dey okay. Their voice soft, they dey show real concern. Nobody dey shout.

"Chiamaka, we hear say you get accident. You dey okay?"

One girl with big glasses hold her hand. The rest gather round, dey pat her back. Their eyes dey soft.

"I dey fine, na small wound. I don well."

She smile, even as her hand dey bandaged. Everybody nod, dey wish her quick recovery.

"And we hear say... you no be Okoye family real daughter? Dem swap you for hospital?"

One boy talk am, voice low. Class pause. Eyes dey on us.

Class quiet.

Nobody laugh, nobody talk bad. I dey hide behind Chiamaka, dey hope make ground swallow me.

Then dem see me, I dey hide behind Chiamaka.

One girl point, “Na she be the new girl?”

"Na she be...?"

The question hang for air. Chiamaka turn, her face sure.

Chiamaka quick pull me come front.

She grab my hand, draw me forward. Her grip firm, sure. My body shake small, but I try smile.

"Na Okoye Amarachi—my adoptive parents real daughter. She just come home yesterday."

Her voice clear, proud. She no let anybody look me down. I dey shock.

Then she smile.

Her smile big, genuine. “She go school with us now. I go show her round.”

"Na true say dem swap us, but my parents get soft mind. Dem no push me out, dem allow me stay here go school, so I still dey with una."

She talk am for everybody to hear. The class begin nod, people dey smile. Some girls dey whisper, but no bad belle.

I shock.

I dey look Chiamaka, dey wonder how she fit talk with boldness. She dey protect me, dey act like sister.

I no expect Chiamaka to open up like that.

I dey grateful. My chest dey warm. My fear dey reduce.

What surprise me pass be say, all the classmates just accept am, dey happy, dey talk with us.

Somebody for back shout, “Correct village geh!” but e sound like praise, not insult.

One boy even say, “You two resemble small. Na God hand dey inside.” Another girl hug Chiamaka, greet me, “Welcome, Amarachi!”

"I think say na only for book and film this kind thing dey happen!"

Another boy talk, voice full of wonder. Everybody dey gist. The atmosphere soft, no wahala.

"So dem dey really swap pikin for hospital."

I hear somebody whisper, “Make dem check my blood type!” The class dey laugh.

Everybody just dey talk till teacher enter, class start.

The class settle, form teacher enter, his presence calm. He dey gentle, face soft. Everybody respect am.

The form teacher na gentle middle-aged man.

He wear native, cap tilt small. His smile dey kind. He call register, ask me to stand.

He call me, give me some test paper to check my level.

He explain, “No vex, Amarachi, na small test. We wan know your class level.” I nod, take the paper.

He hear about my background, think say my small town school go make me dull, but when he see my result, he shock.

I finish fast, hand over the paper. He dey check, eyebrow raise. He shake head, smile wide. “Amarachi, you sharp o!”

Our teachers back home dey serious, I dey read, and I sharp—so I no be dullard, I even dey top.

He check my answer, nod, “You sabi maths well! English dey okay. You go fit catch up.” I dey proud.

Form teacher happy.

He call principal, whisper for ear. Principal come check my paper, smile, pat my back. Everybody dey look me with respect.

He carry my test enter class, praise me in front of everybody, tell the rich children make dem learn from me.

He say, “See, money no dey teach book—Amarachi sabi book, na hard work.” He use me as example. I dey shy, but small pride dey my heart.

He shake head, talk, “You be original brainbox, no be small!”

I dey fear say dem go target me for bullying.

I dey remember all those tori where top student dey become target. I dey look ground, dey pray make wahala no start.

But instead, everybody dey look me with respect and small envy.

One girl even say, “Abeg, teach me maths after class.” I smile. My heart dey settle.

Maybe this place no bad as story dey talk.

I dey begin relax, dey hope say all those TV wahala no go reach me. Maybe real life sweet pass story.

I relax small, try calm my fear.

I breathe in, breathe out. I dey smile, dey gist with Chiamaka and her friends.

Suddenly, I hear person ask Chiamaka:

One of her friends lean close, voice low but sharp, “Chiamaka, how about your fiancé?”

"Chiamaka, wetin go happen to your fiancé—the one wey talk say na only Okoye family daughter he go marry... how you wan do now?"

The question hang for air, everybody silent.

Even the air-con stop cold for a second. My heart dey beat kpim kpim.

Everywhere quiet.

All eyes dey on us. My heart beat quick. I dey wonder if story wahala wan start again.