Nwanyieze:
"Nne, how was your work?"
Mama Uju is a big woman, light skinned and spotless. She has even white teeth and a head full of thick, dark braids.
"Fine, Mama," I reply.
I'm so exhausted, my body feels like it's about to collapse. Opening my handbag, I dig out thirty thousand Naira and hand it over to her before curling up on the bed I share with Adanna, Mama Uju's only child. The month has ended, and so it's payday for me- or for Mama.
She is called Mama Uju by me alone because only I in this Lagos, know her past. Back then in Owerri, Mama Uju lived in the same public yard with my parents and I. She took me in when my so called parents threw me out because I was accused of seducing my father, when in truth, he had raped me countless times.
It came as a huge shock to discover that they were not my actual parents, and that I had been adopted at three years old.
Mama Uju is a widow, and she lost her only daughter then, Ujunwa. Out of habit we still called her Mama Uju and she never seemed to mind. When she relocated to Lagos, I was just concluding my West African Senior Secondary Certificate Examinations (WASSCE), which she had payed for.
By then, I was an orphan again, and the government couldn't care less about me. Watching Mama Uju leave was heartbreaking, and I remember crying so hard I fell ill. She then promised to make arrangements for me and encouraged me to write the Joint Admissions Matriculation Board (JAMB) examinations.
While managing with my adoptive parents, she helped to process my admission from Lagos. Next thing I knew, I was on a bus to Lagos and my fake parents were all to happy to get rid of me. University admissions are competitive by nature because of the pursuit for academic excellence, and I had scaled through and gained a spot in one of the leading universities in Lagos.
We live in a three-bedroom apartment in Shipeolu, Gbagada. Adanna, an illegitimate child, was born a year after I moved to Lagos, and her father wants nothing to do with her as he is 'happily' married. Seeing that Mama Uju had more on her plate, I went to her and seriously told her that I wanted to support her.
A new baby didn't come cheap and and with her new duties as an unemployed mother struggling to start a business, I also had to take care of the house while teaching myself to sew. It had looked to me like Mama Uju wouldn't want to leave her child with anyone at that point.
"Be a sales girl, nne," she had suggested.
"No, Mama. It won't bring in enough income. And what about time for studies?"
"A nanny?"
I had shaken my head. How would I have time for my studies while taking care of children?
"I'll think of something, Mama. Don't worry. "
She had nodded. "Please don't do anything illegal, Nwa."
"I know."
I wasn't a virgin thanks to my fake father, so what was the point of suffering when I could use my body to advance myself? My zeal for education was so intense I was willing to sell myself.
And so a few weeks after our discussion, I told her that I got a part time job as a waitress at a hotel's night club on Lagos Island.
Of course, this is a lie.
Normally, I turn up on the streets every few weeks, especially when I need the money. Some other times, I show up at parties with Temi, especially when expatriates are in attendance. I prefer the expatriates because most times, I'm sure I won't meet them ever again and they are quick to dole out Naira, with the thought that their foreign currencies have a higher value than the Naira. My meetings are usually discreet, both parties are satisfied, and the deal ends.
At the end of every month, I give her a part of the earnings to support her and our little home while I use the rest for my education and personal upkeep. I don't give her a lot to make her suspect or ask questions, and so there is peace in the house about it.
And as a student I still keep a low profile. Currently I'm in my third year studying Mass Communication and all I do at school is attend lectures, submit assignments and write exams. No flashy car or jewellery. My runs is solely for my education and to help Mama Uju cater for our little family. Plus future savings.
There are rumors going on about me in school, of how I'm a lowkey runs girl, but I ignore them. No friends, despite all attempts from my fellow students and lecturers. I go out of my way to avoid lecturers and students anywhere I see them outside the school walls.
"Don't you dare sleep," Mama Uju warns me. "Go and take a hot bath right now!"
I actually feel dirty and used, but my muscles are just too heavy to move.
"I hope you didn't get into trouble?"
"'No, Mama."
For me, getting into trouble would be to catch a sexually transmitted disease or to get pregnant. There are loads of diseases out there up for grabs and I don't want any. Condoms are vital for my work, and I refuse to bed a man without them, no matter how enticing the pay may sound.
I watch Mama Uju count the money.
"You worked so hard this month, nne," she says softly. "Why don't you take a break?"
"I won't take any shifts next week," I promise.
"I'm frying akara now. Hurry up." Bean cakes.
Wearily, I get to my feet and proceed to undress. Day break has arrived already, and because I have no classes today, I plan on sleeping indefinitely. But first, food in my stomach is crucial.
Adanna is seated in the sitting room, her little face oily from eating akara like the toddler she is. She is painstakingly beautiful, with light skin, almond-shaped eyes, and curly dark hair. Her father is a white man, was one of Mama Uju's regular 'customers' who dropped her the moment she revealed she was pregnant.
"Sisi," she greets me, jumping off the couch and launching her chubby body towards me. She unknowingly smears oil onto my fresh white shirt, but I don't mind. I let her feed me a bite of her meal.
"Ada, kedu?" I ask in Igbo. Ada, how are you?
"A di m mma," she replies in her baby voice. I am good.
Mama Uju has instructed me to speak strictly Igbo to Adanna, because she learns English at school and will learn Yourba from her peers while growing up.
My phone rings and I fish it out of my pocket. It's Temi calling. I barely say hello before she blasts me with a squeal.
"Girl, where you dey?" Girl, where are you?
"My house na."
"Omo ehn, e get this beta party wey I just hear about oh." I just heard about this great party.
"I don tire. Body dey pain me bad." I'm tired. My body hurts badly.
Last night's client hadn't let me rest.
She switches to English. "They just need party girls. It's this big politician's son oh. They asked for ten girls and each girl is going home with one hundred thousand Naira hands down! I was told to come with a hot babe and I thought of you."
One hundred-k? As in, ten thousand times ten? Jesus is Lord!
"Talk true," I gasp. Parties like this are very popular and strictly by invitation. There, dollars are sprayed, vintage wines are spilled, connections are made.
"I swear down na legit talk I dey tell you so oo!" I swear I'm telling the truth.
"I'm in. When?"
I can imagine Temi grinning from ear to ear, revealing her gapped upper incisors.
"Tonight, sis. Tonight."
A/N-- Greetings! So what do you think of Nwanyieze and her little family? I hope you enjoyed this chapter? Btw, Nwanyieze means 'The King's wife' or 'Wife of a King' in Igbo Language.
Glossary:
Ada-- Means 'First Daughter' in Igbo Language. The Ada is seen as the next in line concerning all family affairs after her mother and therefore bears a lot of responsibility, especially if she is also the first child. While every child is or should be close to the parents, they mainly consult the Ada on certain maters. She represents her younger siblings in front of her parents and often pleads on their behalf in cases of errors on the parts of her siblings. The Igbos believe that if everything goes well for the first fruit of the womb, be it the Ada or Opara (First Son), then all will also go well for the following siblings and in turn, the rest of the family. I'm speaking from experience.
Akara-- Fried bean cakes made from ground beans (flour or freshly ground), spiced to taste and deep-fried. It is mainly enjoyed with Akamu/ogi/pap (corn flour starch, boiled to a gelatinous paste) or white bread. if you ever come to Nigeria, look for these and thank me later.
Dey-- Used to refer to (1) the location of a person, place or thing. Asking "Where you dey?" is a Pidgin way of asking, "Where you at?" in popular speech today. (2) Something that is happening or has happened, eg "She dey wash plate" means "She is washing plates/ she was washing plates", depending on the time frame the speaker is referring to.
Na-- Used to emphasize speech. When speaking English, we usually place emphasis on words by making them sound deeper, lighter or different from the flow of other words. In writing, we italicize or capitalize. When speaking Nigerian Pidgin, we Nigerians use "Na" or "Oh" or "Ehn" depending on our personal taste.
Nne-- Means 'Mother' in Igbo Language, but is popularly used as an endearment to not only mothers but daughters, friends, girlfriends (trust me, when an Igbo man calls a woman-especially one he likes/loves- Nne, she is most likely to go all cuddly and bashful if she feels the same way about him).
Omo-- Means 'Child' in Yoruba but is also used when people speak to their friends or want to show excitement. Same way we use "Man" in pop culture.
Patoranking-- Nigerian dancehall/reggae musician. He is the real deal! I put up the link to his video 'Another Level' just in case you want to watch and listen.
If you notice I failed to translate something, please do let me know. I'm not perfect and so I don't expect my story to be perfect, either. I appreciate feedback of all sorts!
So can anyone guess what's going to happen next? Thanks for reading, and if you don't mind, push the star-shaped button. Xx, Adaeze.