— Oil and War
Dust and Silk
When Amaka poured the palm oil into the soup pot and heard water hissing inside it, she froze.
"Mummy?" she called.
"What is it?"
She turned the bottle upside down and sniffed it. The oil looked normal, but her village-trained senses knew better. She dipped her pinky in, rubbed it on her thumb, and hissed again.
"Jesu. They've mixed this oil with water."
Her mother turned around sharply. "From where?"
"Mama Uzo's shop."
Her mother dropped the spoon. "Go back there. Go back there and ask her if she thinks we're frogs that drink oil!"
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Five minutes later, Amaka and Ngozi were marching down the dusty road like two soldiers on holy assignment.
Ngozi was barefoot. She liked it that way during wahala.
"Mama Uzo did what?" she asked again.
"Poured water inside palm oil and thought I wouldn't notice."
Ngozi hissed. "She's been too quiet lately. I should've known she was planning something evil."
They arrived at Mama Uzo's shop. She was seated on a plastic chair, fanning herself and chewing chin chin like life was sweet.
Amaka didn't even greet.
"Mama Uzo," she said, holding the bottle out like a crime exhibit. "You sold me fraud."
Mama Uzo blinked. "What's that?"
"This oil," Amaka said, shaking it. "It's swimming, not cooking. You mixed it. Are you now the CEO of Dangote?!"
Mama Uzo stood slowly. "Mind yourself, Amaka. Don't bring madness to my shop."
"Oh it's not madness — it's investigation. This oil is not pure. You think I don't know what palm oil smells like?! I was practically bathed in it as a child!"
Ngozi stepped forward. "We want a refund. Or we're calling village elders."
By now, people had started gathering. The market loves violence more than discount.
"Your mouth is sharp for someone with torn slippers," Mama Uzo said.
Amaka gasped dramatically. "You're talking about slippers when your oil has backstroke? It's doing swimming competition in the bottle!"
"You this child of leftover fufu!"
"Ahhh! Mama Uzo! Say that again and I will put this bottle in your mouth!"
Two old women in wrappers tried to separate them.
Mama Uzo raised her voice, "You think you have the right to insult me?"
"I have the right, the receipt, and the evidence! Better return our money before I call my mummy, and she calls thunder!"
People laughed. One boy started clapping like it was a concert.
In the end, after ten minutes of back and forth, Mama Uzo threw the money at Amaka and muttered, "Ungrateful child."
"God bless you with a conscience," Amaka said sweetly, collecting it like a customer in Shoprite. "Let's go, Ngozi. Before I change my mind and break her plastic chair."
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ON THE WAY BACK...
Amaka and Ngozi walked back, still laughing.
"I swear, your mouth is not normal," Ngozi said. "You said the oil was doing swimming competition??"
"I wanted to say Olympics, but I didn't want to embarrass her too much," Amaka said proudly.
"You're mad," Ngozi laughed.
But as they reached the bend near the stream, four girls appeared, blocking their path like Nollywood extras. The one in front? The small girl Amaka caught with Daddy Emeka the other day.
Ngozi muttered, "Uh-oh. These ones don't look like they came to borrow salt."
The small girl, Adaeze, folded her arms. "Amaka, you've been running your mouth."
Amaka tilted her head. "And you've been running after people's husbands."
"Who are you to shout at Daddy Emeka like that? You think you're better than us?"
"Better? I'm BEST. I don't meet people's fathers in the bush for romance rehearsal."
One of the other girls stepped forward. "You'll say sorry today."
Ngozi whispered, "Are they okay? Four of them, two of us?"
Amaka smiled slowly. "Ngozi. Hold my wrapper."
She turned back to the girls. "Adaeze, you're lucky. Kanipe my mummy didn't warn me to behave today, your destiny would've been folded like moi-moi leaf."
Adaeze hissed. "Come and beat me."
"You've begged for it."
And like movie scene, Amaka lunged.
Ngozi flew forward too — wrapper flying, slippers forgotten. The road became wrestlemania Umuahia edition. Sand rose. Slaps flew. One girl lost her scarf. Another tripped over a stone. A small goat ran past, screaming for help.
Amaka dragged Adaeze by the edge of her skirt. "Say you're sorry!"
"Ahhh I didn't know you could fight like this!" Ngozi yelled while choking another girl gently.
Amaka replied, "My spirit is always ready. My fists just need motivation."
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LATER…
The girls ran away — defeated and dusty.
Amaka adjusted her wrapper like a queen after battle.
Ngozi sat on a stone, breathing hard. "What... what even happened?"
Amaka dusted her elbow. "They came to fight me because I shouted at Daddy Emeka for holding small girls. Can you imagine?"
Ngozi blinked. "Wait... it was that girl? The one from the bush?!"
"Yes o. She gathered backup. But their backup had no battery."
Ngozi started laughing. "You this girl. I swear, I can't take you anywhere."
Amaka grinned. "And that's why you love me."
Ngozi stood up, still chuckling. "Let's go home before your mummy sees sand on your leg and asks why you joined neighborhood Olympics."
Amaka looked back at the scene of the fight and shook her head.
"Next time they'll know. I might live in the village — but I carry city violence in my spirit."
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When Amaka entered the compound, her legs were still covered in dust. Her wrapper was loose, her earrings had shifted, and one of her slippers was holding on by pure willpower.
Mama Amaka was sitting outside with a bowl of ugu, slicing it for soup. She took one look at her daughter and froze.
"Amaka."
"Mummy good afternoon."
"Amaka, I said Amaka. What happened to your face? Why is your leg white? Why is your neck bending like broken hanger?"
Amaka sighed deeply, like a soldier who had survivied a war.
"Mummy… let me sit first."
"Don't sit yet. Talk before I beat you to correct your memory. What happened?!"
Amaka dropped into the chair beside her mum and exhaled.
"Okay. So I went to return the watery palm oil with Ngozi —"
"Oh, you returned it?"
"Yes, I told her that her oil was doing swimming lesson. You know me naw."
Her mum side-eyed her. "That mouth of yours will one day drag thunder."
"Anyway, we got the money back, no problem. But mummy… on our way back…"
She leaned closer like she was about to reveal government secrets.
"Mummy, Daddy Emeka's side girl came to fight me."
Mama Amaka's knife froze mid-slice.
"Which side girl?"
"The small one I caught him with near the stream the other day. Adaeze. She came with three of her friends. They blocked road like armed robbers. They said I should mind my business."
Mama Amaka gasped. "Ewooo! What did you do?"
"I told her: Kanipe my mama didn't warn me, Mummy Emeka would have known the truth by now. And next thing, she said I should say sorry."
"Sorry for what?!"
"For catching her doing nonsense with somebody's husband!"
Amaka spread her arms dramatically. "So… we fought."
Mama Amaka dropped the ugu and stood up slowly. "Fought?"
"Yes mummy. Serious one. Sand was flying. Ngozi dragged one girl by her braid. I nearly removed Adaeze's wrapper."
Mama Amaka clutched her chest like she had heard thunder. "Jehovah! You this girl! You'll disgrace me!"
"But we won na. I beat them."
"And you're proud? You're smiling?!"
"Yes mummy. Because… justice."
Her mum tried not to smile. Tried so hard. But a small laugh escaped her lips.
"You beat four girls?"
"Technically, two. Ngozi handled the others."
"So now you and Ngozi are fighters kwa?"
Amaka burst into laughter. "Mummy they came with boldness but left with bruises!"
Her mother shook her head. "Amaka, you need deliverance. In fact, if I hear that your name reaches Mummy Emeka's ears — if anybody in this village says you're causing marriage problems — I will shave your head and register you in seminary school."
"But mummy, I was protecting women's rights!"
"Protect it inside your heart, not inside bush fight! What if one of them used bottle on you?!"
"I would've used stone."
"Amaka!!!"
"I'm just saying!"
Her mother picked up the ugu again and shook her head. "Your mouth is bigger than your future. I don't know if I should thank God you're bold, or beg Him to reduce your stubbornness."
Amaka leaned back with a proud smile.
"I'm just like you, mummy."
"God forbid. I was soft like okra in my time."
"Soft where? You told Mama Chidinma she's shaped like thunder last week."
"Ehn, she insulted my jollof."
"Mummy."
They both laughed.
After a pause, her mum looked at her properly. "So that Adaeze... she's really chasing Daddy Emeka?"
"I saw it with my two eyes. Mummy Emeka is at home pounding yam, and her husband is pressing small girls in the bush."
"Men are mad."
"They don't even wear uniform to show us the level of their madness."
"Amaka!"
"Sorry, ma."
They laughed again. Amaka rested her head on her mum's shoulder.
Her mother clicked her tongue. "Next time you see something like that, come and tell me — not the whole village."
"Why? So you can fight too?"
"So I can decide if I'll slap the husband or his girlfriend. One must collect."
They both howled with laughter again, deep, belly-clutching laughter that echoed through the compound like music.
Amaka whispered, "You're the best mummy ever."
"Of course. But next time, just use eyes to look. Not fists to rearrange people's faces."
"No promises."
"AMAKA!"
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