CHAPTER 13
Port Harcourt air always carried something thick in it—diesel fumes, secrets, and heat that clung to your bones like a warning. The second I stepped off the plane, it hit me like a slap. Not just the weather, but the weight of being back. The weight of expectations, of history, of being someone’s daughter instead of just myself.
Jaja.
Even the name sounded like power and punishment.
I rode back from the airport in the back of a black SUV my mother had sent. No driver chit-chat, just silence and the hum of the engine. I didn’t look out the window. I didn’t need to. I knew the streets. I knew the turns. I knew which buildings were fronts for more than what they claimed and which men in uniform were really just hired guns dressed up in respectability.
Odili Road gave way to GR
