Tonye! Ini! If you break that window again, I swear I will use both of you to sew wrapper!
That was the first sound every tenant in No.12 Nwuke Street heard that morning. Ebiere's voice, sharp and rising like a gospel chorus on a Sunday morning, sliced through the neighborhood like hot knife through agege bread. She stood barefoot outside their one bedroom flat, wearing her faded wrapper and holding a frying pan like a weapon. Her two younger siblings, Tonye and Ini, were already halfway down the corridor, laughing as they escaped her wrath.
The neighbors didn't even flinch. Mr. Tamuno, who sold electrical parts in Mile 3, just turned the page of his newspaper. Mama Chika adjusted the wrapper on her chest and shouted back, "Ebiere leave dem small pikin alone! Na so dem go learn!"
Ebiere hissed. Learn? Before they learn, dem go use all my peace of mind do project first!
She walked back inside, the aroma of frying plantain now threatening to burn her last pair of nerves. As she flipped the plantains in the pan, Ini peeked through the window.
"Sister Ebi, you know say you look like Genevieve when you dey vex?"
She paused, raised an eyebrow. "Ini, if you no carry yourself go baff now-now, I go reset your brain."
He giggled and disappeared.