Chapter 1: Cast Out in Ibadan

For twelve years with Chief Femi, I born twelve children for am.

The whole of Ibadan no fit keep quiet—everybody dey talk say the way Chief Femi dey pamper me, e no get part two. Even market women, as dem dey slice ugwu for soup, go lower their voice talk, 'Ah, that woman for Chief Femi house? Na her God create last!'

I dey use the finest shea butter cream, and my dressing table dey full with palm kernel oil wey dem talk say one drop fit buy land for Bodija side.

My room dey always smell sweet, like fresh ogiri and ata ile, because I dey get new perfumes from Lagos, and my wrappers na only the kind wey big madam for Oba palace fit wear. The envy for compound fit cut stone.

Anything wey my eye just touch, the next day dem go deliver expensive Ankara and treasures give me.

If I just talk say I like one beaded necklace, before cock crow, my box go full with all colours. Sometimes sef, the other wives go dey peep, dey count my gifts, dey wonder which prayer I dey pray.

But when I reach twenty-six, na then his white moonlight—the woman wey he love pass everybody—leave her husband.

That time, even breeze for the house change. You go feel am as you waka near Chief Femi corridor; hush hush talk everywhere. Na the season harmattan come too early, and for the first time, I see my first white hair, and fine lines begin show for my belle, even though I rub plenty ointment.

He talk say:

"You suppose go. Woman pikin beauty no dey last. I don already find better house for you. The man no get plenty children, and you sabi born well. If you give am pikin, dem go surely make you senior wife."

His words cold like early morning dew. I just stand. My hand dey shake, but my eyes dry. For my mind, I dey beg God make this na dream. I no fit cry, my heart just dey squeeze like when pepper touch wound. But for chief matter, tears dey useless.