CHAPTER ONE
Morning came slowly, dragging the weight of heat behind it. The fan above Lilian's head hadn't moved all night, another casualty of NEPA's betrayal. Sweat pooled behind her neck as she turned restlessly on the worn-out mattress. The faint smell of damp wood and rust filled the room.
A soft cracking sound made her glance upward. The ceiling patched over and over had given way again. A small plank fell, scattering termite dust across the floor like sand from a broken hourglass.
She sighed. "Maybe this roof will fall before my life ever changes," she muttered.
Her mother who was an okpa seller moved quietly in the next room, preparing for another day neither of them had the energy for. The house had once been lively, full of noise when her father was alive. Now, silence had settled like dust. The legacy of patriarchy their father left still reeks the house and everything felt very uneven with her siblings especially with the fact that they were male offspring who were much older than her
Lilian rose and sat before the cracked mirror. Her reflection looked back pale eyes dulled with fatigue, lips pressed into resignation. As she adjusted her blouse, she noticed a faint line near her collarbone. A scar.
She frowned. When did that happen? Then it came back to her the scuffle with her brother the night before she whispered who is he to tell me to "shut up "patrilineal fools She hissed, voice low but sharp:
And That his jezebel of a wife—follows the wolf sheepishly. Two fools."
Outside, the sound of hawkers filled the air. "Hot okpa ! Pure water! E sweet welll welll, the swooshing and warming up of cars The city had woken up before her, as usual.
Lilian slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped into the morning. The road to the school was uneven, a patchwork of dust and potholes. As she approached the market, a commotion drew her attention.
A woman was shouting, dragging a man by his torn shirt. The man reeked of cheap gin.
"You thief! Ole buruku !! Ko ni da fun e You don use my contribution money again play bet again baaa"
E gbam miii ohhhh
He stumbled, laughing, waving his hand dismissively.
If to say I win no bi still we go use to money abeg leave me joor
He angrily hit her hands off his clothes
Lilian paused, watching. The scene was half-tragic, half-comic—like most things in Nigeria.
She shook her head. "And she'll still open her legs for him tonight," she muttered. "Nigeria's finest comedy."
By the time she reached the school gate, the sun was already fierce. Ngozi, her colleague, stood by the entrance, filing her nails.
"Madam writer!" Ngozi called. "Have you sold that your poem to BBC yet?"
Lilian chuckled dryly. "Books don't feed you, my sister."
Ngozi rolled her eyes. "At least dem give you something to hold onto. Me, I just hold my prince charming go call me. Because omo no hope for people like us fahhhhhh"
They both laughed, though there was no real joy in it.
In the classroom, the fan creaked weakly above the students' heads. Lilian picked up the chalk and wrote on the board:
TOPIC: MARRIAGE — DEFINITION AND IMPORTANCE.
"Marriage," she began, "is a formal agreement between a man and a woman to live together as husband and wife."
A hand shot up. "Aunty, my parents no do any marriage ceremony o, but dem dey live together. What's that one called?"
Lilian smiled. please let speak using good language and maintaining good diction it's necessary " Anyways That's cohabitation."
Another girl, bold and bright-eyed, raised her hand. "Aunty, is marriage necessary?"
Lilian froze. The question sat heavy in the air. She straightened, buying herself time. "It's about partnership," she finally said. "Reciprocity. Building something together."
The girl wasn't satisfied. "But some people marry and they're not happy. Some are single mothers and still doing well. Why?"
Lilian took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep the teacher's composure. "Because all fingers are not equal."
The girl leaned forward. "Then maybe marriage is just luck. But why are you not married yet if it as sweet and important as you guys quote
Silence. Lilian turned to face the chalkboard again, her voice quieter.
"I'm still learning to love myself before I belong to anyone."
...................
Later, in the staffroom, Ngozi leaned close, gossip spilling like water from a broken tap.
"You know that principal? The man has been giving me looks. I swear. And did you hear? That woman in Basic Three just had an abortion last week."
Lilian looked up from her papers, unimpressed. "Ngozi, please."
Ngozi sighed dramatically. "I just wish one prince charming would fall from heaven and love me."
Lilian smirked. "Maybe he's stuck in traffic on Third Mainland Bridge."
They laughed again, but this time even weaker.
By evening, the sun had melted into exhaustion, so had Lilian. She sat on her bed, papers scattered, fingers stained with red ink. Her head throbbed.
She opened WhatsApp, her old classmates filled her screen, pictures in offices with air conditioning, manicured nails, glass towers, captions that read #Blessed #CorporateLife #Grace.
Her jaw tightened. "Sometimes, all it takes to fail is to be born in the wrong place."
She tossed her phone aside and opened the Notes app.
A half-written poem waited there:
They tell women to be quiet and then call them wise.
They tell them to endure and then call it love.
They raise their sons like gods and wonder why the world burns.
With this pen and this book,
I will bring worlds down.
I will bend silence until it screams truth.
Her eyes lingered on those lines. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of something fierce, something alive.
She whispered the words again, softer this time, as though casting a spell.
Maybe the world hadn't changed yet but maybe she was about to.
The roof above her creaked again. Another plank fell.
This time, she didn't flinch.