“Na My Reply “

Title: “Na My Reply”

Papa,

Dis no be court, dis no be book,

Na pikin wey don grow, dey beg make you look.

I no tok say you be wicked for play,

I tok bout wound dem, no be case wey go court today.

Trauma no dey ask permission for stay,

E dey grow for place wey pikin no get voice for say.

You ask how Bamenda wound me so,

Pain no dey measure by road or how far man go.

No be who trek pass, no be who cost less,

Na how love take come, and how fear take rest.

Yes, mummy treat we all equal—na true,

I no go bend dat word, I no go change am too.

But treat person different no mean say e better,

Money wey spend no fit clean wetin heart carry later.

I no blind for wetin you pay,

But food and school no heal word wey wound pikin for way.

Pikin no dey count love by fee or bill,

E dey count am by safety, voice, how e feel.

You tok say I miss how you praise mummy,

Papa, I hear am, no think say I deaf or dummy.

I just dey wonder why her soft heart

No ever cool how hard your hand start.

You tok say you no dey perform for outside,

I no tok say you dey brag or dey hide.

I tok say e pain when outside clap loud,

But for house, understanding no too sound.

About Junior—Papa hear dis well,

I no erase good wey you do, I no spell.

I talk bout stitches ‘cause blood no dey forget,

Violence dey teach fear pass lesson wey man get.

I no exaggerate, Papa—

I survive.

And survival fit sound loud

For person wey never reach edge of life.

You tok say I keep video make you go jail,

Papa, dat thought alone show how far we sail.

Protection no be wickedness, memory no be fight,

Pikin wey dey guard e mind no dey wish papa bad night.

You tok say no son don ever talk so,

But no papa suppose push pain make e small so.

I no malign you, Papa—I testify,

Difference dey between hate and truth wey no die.

My brothers coping different no cancel my scar,

Pain no need group vote for be how e be so far.

Silence no always mean peace inside,

Sometimes na how person survive for hide.

I no call you tyrant for money or demand,

I talk bout power wey fall too hard for small hand.

Yes, I dey close but I keep my space,

Distance sometimes na how healing dey take place.

You ask about mummy—Papa hear me clear,

Two people fit be loved and still cause pain here.

Dis reply no be trash, no be threat, no be mad,

Na grown man dey put truth where silence don stand.

I no want war, court, or shame,

I want accountability without blame game.

I still be your pikin.

No be your judge.

No be your enemy.

Na man wey just dey ask papa

Make e sit with truth

Without turn-am to fight.