Chapter 2: What Once Was

For my last life, me and Halima na the couple wey everybody dey talk about—love no get wahala for our side.

Our story dey everywhere—dem dey sing am for wedding, gist am for evening fire. Every morning, Halima go help me shape my brows, him fingers gentle, patient, as if na my beauty him dey carve out with each stroke. He go hum Fela tune or old Hausa song, and I go dey feel like queen for his hands. The smell of shea butter dey rise between us.

Anytime he come back house, he go bring palm frond or small bouquet from garden—sometimes just ogede flower or yellow allamanda wey grow for roadside. Na so I go dey smile, knowing say even inside wahala, he still dey think of me. The other women dey jealous, dem go hail me, "Ah, Sade, na you dey chop better love for this town!"

When harmattan dey bite, Halima go put my cold feet inside his lap, while he dey roast groundnut for fire, gist dey flow like palm wine. We go wrap ankara cloth, his laughter go rumble as he dey tell me story of north, camels, and wide sky. His love dey warm pass any wrapper.

By the time Halima become big oga for government at forty, na only me dey his house.

Dem dey call am Mai-Gida, but he always tell me, "Na you be my real home, Sade." Even as money and power full his hand, na my side he dey come every night—no stranger, no secret gist for corridor.

Even when local chief wan dash am fine girls and smart housemaids, he bone them.

I still dey remember that day chief messengers bring kegs of palm wine and two Ijebu girls wey dey laugh like dem win awoof. Halima just smile, bow, tell them, "Your daughters be like my sisters. Abeg, make dem go back, make their mama no worry." Temptation no fit break our trust.

Our love no shake—ten years waka like one day.

No matter how life show, we hold each other, even when world dey turn upside down. People for village dey use us talk say true love still dey exist.

So, for this new life…

As people dey come propose—no matter how their pocket full or their name long—I no gree any of them.

Suitors bring yam, gold, fat goat reach our gate. My aunties dey gossip for backyard, dey ask if na juju I use tie my heart to one boy. Dem go nudge me, "See this one—him papa get cocoa farm! No let opportunity pass you by, Sade." But my heart don already get owner.

I choose to wait for Halima.

Every night, I dey use my mama old rosary pray, dey beg God make Halima heart remember my own. Even as neighbours dey gossip say I stubborn, I hold my faith tight like lantern for dark.

I tell my papa say na only one person dey my heart. By next year, after he pass exam, Halima go come propose.

Papa just shake head, grey beard dey shake as he sigh. “Na so you go dey wait? Sade, biko, open your eyes. Book no dey cook soup.”

He vex say I dey reject rich and noble people because of poor scholar.

“See all these boys wey dey come, their papa get land, their mama get shop for Onitsha. But you? You dey wait for pesin wey never even finish NYSC!” The thing pain me, but my mind strong pass him talk.

I say, “One day he go rise, his future dey shine.”

I talk am like person wey don see tomorrow before. Even as my voice dey shake, I no gree bend.

But even if Halima sabi book, can he fight family foundation wey don dey for hundred years?

Na question wey dey bounce for parlour, dey look all those ancestor portrait for wall. Can love fight tradition?

Before my mama die, she make my papa swear say make he treat me well or else dem no go meet for afterlife.

For her sick bed, with incense smell heavy for air, Mama press my papa hand, voice low. “No let anybody touch our Sade. If you try am, you go answer to me for heaven.”

So even as he dey vex, Papa no fit force me.

Sometimes I go catch am dey look me through window, worry full him face. He go grumble, but his hand always gentle when he pat my head.

Na so I dey reject all suitors.

Friends stop to come, aunties stop to gist. Parlour quiet, but my heart no shake.

Rainy season pass, harmattan reach. Moon never change. Year after year, I dey wait.

Every season dey paint courtyard with different colour—mango flower scent, dry dust, moon dey shine for my loneliness.