A quick glance to the clock shot ripples of fear through my veins.

Oh my God! How did I get so carried away?

It felt so wrong that nature also had a part to play in a plot to get me whipped today. It was already past six but the sun still shone brightly as if it were noon.

I went to my room and got the money I needed. I ran back to the kitchen and emptied the trash can into a sac. Without further hesitation, I hurried out of the house, heading for the dumpster that was only few blocks away. Once there, I ditched the sack, and knew that the next place to go was the fishmonger's.

Mr Garba's store was quite far from our apartment, but I was confident that running all the way there would be helpful. At least, I would avoid a spanking. At once, I began running.

I stopped at intervals to regain some energy until my feet got me in front of Mr Garba's shop. He stared at me for a while before asking, "Did you run to this place from your house?"

"G-good evening, sir," I saluted, breathlessly, as I plumped down on a bench outside Mr. Garba's shop.

"You should stop running around. You are a full grown woman. You could trip and fall." Mr Garba said. Gasping for breath, I ignored him.

"A woman should walk elegantly," he added.

"Well, I'm seventeen. Not a woman!" I protested.

"Yeye teenager," he snapped. I glared at him and he smirked, exposing his yellowed dentition.

"What does your mother want today?" He asked, but I wasn't happy with his teasing. Hence, I resolved not to answer.

Since I turned sixteen, Mr Garba gave me the sobriquet 'babba' which meant 'grandma' in Hausa language. I have begged him to quit calling me that, but he wouldn't budge.

"Come on, tell me what you want," he urged, but I kept mum and stared at him, angrily.

"All right, I'm sorry," he pleaded, but I wouldn't stop glaring.

"That was what you said the last time, but you are never truly sorry because you keep repeating it."

"If I ever call you that again, don't ever come to buy things from me," he said, a smile forming on his lips.

"Do we have a deal?" I asked sticking out my pinkie. He dipped his head in agreement and connected his little finger to mine.

"Happy now?" He asked and I nodded, cheerfully.

Mr, Garba was always this kind of fun when I visit his store, and that's why other fishmongers never seemed inviting to me.

"May I take your order now, cool teen."

"I just need a croaker. A kilogram heavy."

"I will get just that!"

He went to his fridge and bent over to take the fish out. I stuffed my hand into my pockets for the money I was to pay him, but I couldn't find it. At this instant, fear gripped my heart and didn't seem to be letting go anytime soon. I groped where I sat, but I couldn't find the note. While I was yet overwhelmed by the conundrum of how I had misplaced the money I had, Mr Garba had already taken out a large croaker and placed it on a weighing scale.

"See? It's more than a kilo," he beamed. I couldn't smile back. Not when I hadn't found the money.

"What is the problem?" Mr. Garba asked, worry spreading across his face.

"I was..." I wanted to tell him, but I knew I couldn't. I shouldn't. He probably had more troubles than I could ever imagine. "I will be back," I finally said.

I got off the bench and walked away. The dumpster was the only place I wanted to go. However, as I walked, I turned my head every which way, searching and finding nothing. I tried thinking, but mind was so consumed by fear that it just couldn't perform the function for which it was created.

My heart raced even faster when I saw the garbagemen emptying the dumpsters in their truck. I walked up to them as fast as my feet could permit.

"Good afternoon, sir," I said without taking notice of how unsteady my voice was. I couldn't wait for a response from the garbagemen, I began, "I think I dropped my money when I was dumping trash. Could you let me look for it?" I asked the man who seemed to be in charge, as politely as I could manage.

"I am sorry, we don't have such time. We still have a lot of dumpsters to visit," the middle-aged man explained as he walked to the truck and the other men followed without hesitation. Within a couple of seconds, the truck moved away.

Tears came bulging in my eyes, pleading permission to flow. I couldn't wage a war against them; I just couldn't. Seeping out of their glands, tears rolled down my cheeks—warm, stinging tears.

Thoughts of what Mum would do to me for loosing the money took away my peace. And, even though I had lost every strength to cry, when I remembered how she would take nothing as excuse, I cried even more. Returning home without the fish or the money would be a call for death, and that, in any case, was not an option. I wasn't going to return home. I would rather roam about the estate and seek alms than go home.

Soon, eventide came upon me, throwing its dangers at me. A young lady like myself shouldn't be out here in the dark, but I discovered I had no choice. There was a possibility that I could be grabbed by a thug, but there was still that rare chance that I would see a good Samaritan who would help me with money just as Jesus described in the Bible.

Only at this moment did I remember that I hadn't prayed about this. I have just been wandering like a fugitive around the estate and have been completely ignored by passersby. None seemed worried about this tired-looking, weeping teenage girl who they passed by. Maybe, just maybe, that was because I hadn't prayed about it.

At once, I went under a tree. Even though it was dark, I could surmise it to be a mango tree. My feet were heavy and aching, as a matter of fact, my entire body was aching, but I knew I had to ignore what ever bodily pain I experienced. There was a much more pressing matter—prayer. I couldn't shut my eyes. I needed my vision at the moment more than ever, so that in any case of threat from a dangerous animal, I would run for dear life.

Except for the chirping of crickets, the surrounding seemed quite peaceful, but I still ruled against shutting my eyes. Wide-eyed, I began muttering some prayers.

I flinched when a ray of light was shot towards me. With the force the beam came, my eyes were forced shut as I turned tensed again. None would be disturbing my privacy except the watchmen.

"Mary, what are you doing here?" someone asked, and upon recognition of the voice, I opened my eyes. There Mr. Garba stood, holding a bag in a hand and a torch in another, with a sad frown on his face.

He turned off his torch and helped me to my feet. I knew he was going to begin scolding me, so I opted to explain all that had happened first.

"You should have told me earlier!" he blustered, his lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line, after I had narrated my ordeal. "What is one thousand naira? I can even let you go with the fish for free. It was a dangerous thing you did there, Mary. What if something bad happened to you? It would be a lot worse than your mother's wrath."

He was right. I should have asked for help, but I discovered that adults were very unpredictable beings. Mr. Garba was chiding me for not asking for his help, but I could still see the possibility of being disappointed if I asked him.

He could turn me down with responses like, "Ah, my child, I haven't made any sales today, so I am not sure I can give you the fish for free."

That would have been more hurting.

"I promise sir, I will seek help when I am trapped next time." I replied, weakly. I was fatigued and very close to shutting down. My body already gave a warning, so I knew standing a while longer with Mr. Garba meant trouble.

"Let me see your mum and talk to her about this. She won't whup you," Mr. Garba suggested.

That would be one of the stupidest things anyone would do for me in the name of help. It is completely suicidal. My mom wouldn't let it pass.

"No," I managed to say, politely. "Sir, you have tried a lot today, and I won't let you trouble yourself anymore. Please, go home. It's already late."

"You are rejecting help again. I see you prefer being beaten up, " he said, frowning.

"Please, just listen to me. You don't want to provoke my mother, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Then, let me go inside alone. Just pray for me, sir."

Reluctantly, he nodded in agreement, and I couldn't be more grateful. I turned around and hobbled towards the door, stress making its presence known with a wild spread of pangs all over me. Just as I was about to pull at the door knob, Mr Garba called from behind. I turned around and he walked closer to me, extending a bag to me.

"I forgot to give you something. In there is the fish. Please, don't reject it."

I looked at him and all I could feel is guilt and... love. I was so stupid to think that Mr. Garba was like other adults out there who didn't have any regard for keeping their promises. Mr. Garba was a friend, so he had to be different, but I couldn't see that.

I couldn't lift my hand and take the bag. I had sinned by thinking that of Mr. Garba, so I shouldn't take anything from him even if my life depended on it. The last saving grace I would have before Mom is to come in with the fish, but I shouldn't and couldn't take that bag. I opened my lips to explain to him that I couldn't take his gift, but he grabbed my arm and hung the bag around my wrist.

"Now, go in. Good night," he turned and walked away before words could be formed in my throat.

Tears were boiling in their glands. Not because of pain, but for love. There were still great adults out there, and Mr. Garba was one of them. Still able to make out his form through the dark, I whispered a 'thank you.'

Sighing, I turned to the door. Now, it was time to face my fears.

I knocked on the door and it opened. Terrified, I took a step into the dark room that seemed like an endless tunnel. The idea was to try not to make a sound, every other thing obeyed except the door that creaked all the way as I tried to close it. I walked slowly, hands in front of me as I tried to find my way through the thick darkness that covered the house. When I thought I could finally make it to the kitchen without waking Mum, the light was turned on and it kicked darkness out of its way.

I stood still, weighing my chances of survival, and I discovered, they were very minimal.

"Where are you coming from?" I heard Mom's fearful voice from somewhere up the stairs and I directed my gaze to her at once.

"Do you think you can walk in to my house anytime you want?" She asked as she walked down the stairs, a whip in her right, rage gleaming in her dark eyes. The closer she got, the more my heart sank in an depthless pool of unease.

"I-I can explain," I shuttered, but her countenance didn't get any friendlier as she approached me. As soon as she got close enough, she swayed the whip towards me just as I had anticipated. On their own accord, my legs seemed to toss me to the side, evading her deathly strike.

"You are really growing up," she grinned evilly, reminding me of monsters that were allegedly spoken of to be children eaters in fairy tales. "I know just the cure for that!"

She scurried off to the kitchen. My eyes travelled with her as I dropped the bag I was holding, mindlessly. Within a few seconds, she was back with a rope.

"Please Mum, no!" I yelled.

"You can scream all you want. Let's see who will be man enough to be your saviour today," she snapped as she walked towards me with the speed of light, ramming and slapping life out of me.

"Simple tasks, you won't complete," she said as she started tying me up with the rope. I could hear the rage of her emotions in every word that came out of her lips. "When I was your age, my parents made me hawk. I would go metres on foot just to make a sale. I would still come home and get a beating for no justifiable reason. I never lost a coin."

Every time I got a beating from Mom, we went through a long, boring phase of dialogue where she got to tell me how much she suffered as a kid. Well, it wasn't entirely a dialogue because she did all the talking.

"But," she said as she continued tying me up, aggressively. "All you know how to do is eat!"

Once she got me all tied up, she grabbed her whip and began swaying. I knew better than to scream; that would only make her angrier. The best I could do was groan silently.

With every strike, I felt as if I had lost a thousand lives. There was no way to soothe the places the whip struck because my arms were tied, and soon, I fell to the floor, giving her the opportunity to make mincemeat of me.

"No, this won't do!" She yelled in consternation as she went for the ropes and untied me. I was free, but my limbs were too calloused to move. I lay still on the floor, tears falling freely from the corner of my eyes, but that was the least of my worries. She went for my shoes first and took them off, and then, my pants and blouse were off too.

She wasn't done yet, but I was too weak to protest. Even if I had the strength, I wouldn't dare protest. She went for my underclothes, leaving me bare. I shut my eyes, knowing what was coming, and without thinking twice, she began whipping and ripping my skin apart.

*****

I have included a glossary section to help non-Nigerians understand some words used in this chapter.

Glossary:

Yeye - A Nigerian slang which could mean "shameless" or "stupid".

Babba - A word from the Hausa language which literally means "grandmother". Hausa is a tribe in Nigeria which dominates most of the Northern Region of the country.

Naira - Nigerian currency.

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