"I hope it's not men that are planning to to... to..... God frbid!" Mama Ifeoma screamed, twiddling her fingers.

Ifeoma froze. The phone slipped slightly in her grip. She turned slowly and looked at her mother.

Mama's eyes were already fixed on her. “But who was that and how did they get your number?”

Ifeoma tried to breathe. “Mommy I—I don’t know. The person didn’t say name.”

Mama took the phone, stared at the screen for a second, then gripped it tight.

“Repeat.. They said what?”

“They said I should stop hawking... or you will be harmed.”

Mama’s chest rose and fell heavily. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she stood, tied her wrapper tighter, and whispered amidst tears facing above like someone talking to herself, “They’ve started. God please don't allow these people ruin my life for me. God please don't allow them ruin my business for me. Please nothing should happen to my daughter”

After that call, nothing felt normal again.
Ifeoma no longer moved freely. Her steps were measured. She looked over her shoulder often, and her smile, once innocent and charming, became guarded.

Mama’s mood also changed. She still lit the fire, dried the fish, packed the trays… but her eyes were never far from the door.

"Then came the debts again."

That week, Ifeoma returned to Aunty Nneka’s beer parlour to collect part of the ₦800 she was owed. The woman didn’t even greet her properly.

“Ifeoma abeg! No stress me today. Market no move. I no get anything for you.”

“But Aunty, you promised.”

“Did I sign any agreement? Go biko!”

The rejection stung. The fish on Ifeoma’s tray suddenly felt heavier.. She quietly placed her tray on her head and left

Trouble came from another angle too.

That evening, she passed the mechanic junction where Desmond and his friends usually loitered. They whistled as usual.

“Ify baby, bring that your soft waist come here!” Desmond shouted, loud enough for the entire street.

“I'm not interested,” she said without slowing down.

“Na that small fish money dey make you form. You dey speak English for me?” he snapped. “Better humble yourself before you go humble by fõrce.” His voice was loud but his ego was louder.

Ifeoma didn’t respond. But the way Desmond’s eyes follõwers her, there was something different this time. Not just admiration—bitterness.

"Pastor Elijah wasn’t far behind."

He came again that Sunday afternoon, this time dressed in a fine white kaftan and shiny shoes. He smiled widely, placing his hand over Mama Ifeoma’s shoulder like they were old friends.

“My sister, God laid something in my heart about your daughter. Ifeoma is carrying something heavy spiritually. She needs special attention.”

Ifeoma, who was arranging fish nearby, looked up sharply.

Pastor turned to her. “I want you to come for private evening sessions in the prayer room. Just you. There are things I must break off your life.”

Mama, proud and desperate for any chance of breakthrough, nodded eagerly considering the fact that he was a man of God.

“You see? Even Pastor sees she’s special. she's my only daughter oh. I just pray God answer our prayers."

But Ifeoma felt sick inside. That offer didn’t feel holy. It felt like a trap. She later ran inside the house till they discussed and he left.

The next day Ifeoma sat at the edge of the wooden bench, legs pressed together, eyes lowered. She hadn’t said much since she woke up.

Mama Ifeoma noticed. “Wetin happen? You dey sick?”

Ifeoma shook her head. Then whispered, “Mommy… I saw bloõd this morning. I can't go and hawk today my body is pãining me.”

Mama turned sharply, eyes wide. Then softened. “You mean your periõd?”

She nodded slowly, her voice tiny. “Yes ma. It stained my wrãpper. I was scared.”

Mama breathed out slowly, then walked over and held her daughter’s hand. “You’re a woman now, Ifeoma. Don’t be afraid. I wish wash them. I saw my own too. I’ll go buy pad for you later. No be shame. I'll allow you rest today so we can sell only in shop."

And she did. That afternoon, she returned from the shop she bought the pad , handed it to Ifeoma, and gave her a wrapper to tie around her waist.

“It’s not every pain that comes from sickness. Some na nature,” she said gently.

On another fateful day, while Ifeoma was selling near the town’s open space under the hot sun, someone quietly slipped a folded note into her tray. She didn’t even notice who it was."

Stopping behind a nearby wall, as she arranged the fish she saw it. She opened it with trembling hands.

The mêssage read:
“We don’t warn twice. You were told. We’re watching. I said you should tell your mother to stop selling fish in this community and you people are still showing strong head! Be prepared to face the consequences."

Her hand trembled that the remaining tray of fishes mistakenly tipped over, directing everything on the bare sand. IFEOMA dropped to her knees, tears falling freely, her cries buried in the sound of early market noise. She tried to gather what she could, but the dirt had already swallowed the fish. Some got scattered, especially the soft ones. When she tried calling madam, her...

To Be Continued there.
👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼on this p@ge today...
Freshcart by Anny

Plêãse follõw the tágged pãge and anticipate

Part 3 is already there.
Just hit the f0ll0w butt0n

Nicholas Stephen
August 1st, 2025..
share     comments 0 claim rewards