GOD, I NEED TO PEE! That day, my mum told me to go to the market to stock up on groceries for the house. Who am I to say no? Lol. I got myself ready, wore a beautiful T-shirt and a pair of jeans that sat well on me. I was going to the market, but that didn't mean I shouldn't look good. Shortly before I left, I drank two sachets of water. I had also eaten ogi and akara for breakfast, but for some reason, I was particularly thirsty that day. The weather had been consistently hot for more than three hours, like the sun had an urgent appointment to bake bread. Anyway, I stepped out in style, in obedience to my mum. As soon as I arrived at the market, some market women and young boys started calling me from different directions. "Fine girl, what do you want?" "Fine lady, come and buy what I'm selling." I walked past them because I already had the line of stalls I usually patronised. Suddenly, I felt something move around my stomach and downwards. Before I ...
My Mother called me 10 times that morning. It was Thursday, 10:00 a.m. My younger brother, Michael, had sent me a message at 7:39 that morning. He told me I was the main subject of Mum's devotions and prayers that day. Everyone in the house knew what that meant. Whenever you featured prominently in Mum's prayers, you were likely to be jam-called, jam-texted or jam-prayed for, especially if you were physically around her. So, I made up my mind not to answer her calls or read her WhatsApp messages and voice notes. If it was an emergency, Michael would call me. At least, that was what I thought. Just as I settled into my decision, a thought came into my heart: "What if the emergency wasn't your mum? What if it was your brother, Michael?" Cold shivers ran down my spine. I immediately dialled Mum's number. "Hello, Aanu. Why haven't you been picking up my calls?" Whenever Mum called me by my indigenous name, something was either wrong or about to go...