PLEASE DON'T HIT ME

mummy let leave

Mama didn’t say another word after that. She just lay down on her side, facing the wall, wrapper pulled up to her chin like it could hide her from the world. I sat there for a while, the groundnuts forgotten in my hand, listening to the soft hum of mosquitoes and the ticking of the old clock above the door.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Every small sound made me sit up. Footsteps in the corridor. The creak of the front door. Even the way the wind rattled the louvers sounded like trouble. I was waiting… waiting for that sharp shout or the sound of something breaking.

By morning, Mama was already in the kitchen. She moved slowly, like her body was paining her. I stood by the doorway, watching her stir a pot of watery pap.

“Mama, you sure you fit go market today?” I asked.

She didn’t look up. “If I no go, who go buy food? Your papa fit come vex say nothing for house.”

The way she said it calm, but with that quiet fear underneath made my stomach twist.

We ate in silence. Daddy didn’t say anything either; he just slurped his pap, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and left for work. His absence felt like fresh air filling the room.

Not long after, Mama tied her headscarf and picked her basket. “I go come quick,” she said. “No open gate for anybody wey you no know.”

I nodded. But as soon as she left, I felt that strange loneliness again. The house was too big when it was just me.

A knock came at the gate about thirty minutes later. I peeked from the window Aunty Rose. I opened for her.

She walked in and dropped a small bag on the table. “Christy, na bread and groundnut for you. I dey go collect change from my customer, but I wan check how you dey.”

“Thank you, ma,” I said, smiling small.

She studied me for a moment, then lowered her voice. “Your mama go survive only if she get help. You no fit just dey here dey watch.”

Her words stayed in my head long after she left.

When Mama came back from the market, I tried to talk to her again. “Mama, you hear wetin Aunty Rose talk yesterday? E no good say you dey live like this.”

She sighed. “Christiana, I don hear. But you no understand… If I leave now, wetin I go take feed you? Wetin I go take start life again? Marriage no be say you waka commot when wahala start.”

I wanted to tell her marriage also no mean say you go stay till it kill you, but I held my tongue.

That evening, while we were washing plates, Daddy came in. The way he dropped his bag and stood in the doorway made the air in the room go cold. “Where my food?”

Mama wiped her hands on her wrapper. “I dey warm am.”

“Hurry up,” he barked, sitting heavily on the chair. Then his eyes shifted to me. “You go bring water make I wash hand.”

I stood quickly, got the bowl and soap, and placed it in front of him. As he washed, his eyes narrowed at my shoulder. “Na the mark wey I give you still dey? Next time you hear noise and come out, e go worse.”

I kept my head down, not answering. Mama’s hands shook as she brought his food.

Later that night, when Daddy had gone to bed, Mama whispered, “Christy, maybe one day soon… we go find way leave. But we gats plan am well.”

Her words gave me a small light of hope.

The “small light of hope” Mama gave me that night didn’t burn for long. By morning, it was back to the same old routine—walking on eggshells, counting the hours till Daddy would step through that door.

But something was different about Mama that day. She moved slower, but her eyes… they looked like she was thinking far, far away.

In the afternoon, we sat outside under the mango tree, shelling melon seeds for soup. Mama’s hands were busy, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Mama,” I said softly. “That thing you talk yesterday… about us leaving… you serious?”

She didn’t answer straight away. She just kept breaking the seeds, dropping them in the tray. Then she said, “Christy, you no go understand the kind risk we dey talk about. If your papa catch us, e no go forgive. But…” She paused and glanced at me. “…we no fit dey live like prisoners forever.”

The wind carried the faint smell of burning firewood from a neighbour’s kitchen. Somewhere down the street, children were playing ten-ten and singing. Life outside our compound seemed so simple.

Before I could say anything else, we heard the familiar slam of the gate. Daddy was back earlier than usual. Mama’s whole body stiffened. She dropped the melon seeds and stood up quickly, brushing her wrapper like she was preparing for inspection.

“Una just sit down dey gossip, abi?” Daddy’s voice carried from the gate. He came closer, eyes scanning both of us like he was looking for trouble to grab.

“No, we just dey prepare soup,” Mama replied quickly.

He grunted, then looked at me. “Go fetch my phone from the car.”

I hurried to obey, my heart thudding. His phone was lying on the passenger seat. But when I picked it up, the screen lit up there was a message. I didn’t mean to read it, but the words were too bold to miss.

“I miss you. Same time tomorrow?”

I froze, the phone in my hand. My chest went hot, then cold. Whoever sent that wasn’t Mama.

I slipped the phone under my arm and walked back to the house, careful to keep my face blank. Daddy took it without looking at me, already unlocking it.

The rest of that evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about the message. And for the first time, I wondered if the truth about Daddy the truth that might set us free wasn’t just about his fists.