Chapter 2: Harmattan Disgrace

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1

22 November, 2017.

As the whole country dey talk about that needle-pricking wahala for one nursery school in Ibadan, my own heart just dey leak like sieve.

People for street dey argue about the news, mama put woman dey complain say government no dey protect children again. But for me, every shout for radio na just background noise. My mind dey echo one name—Halima.

My fiancée didn’t show up for our wedding.

In our culture, na big disgrace—families dey gather, elders dey expect to bless union, and suddenly bride just vanish. Some aunties dey whisper say maybe na spiritual attack. My uncle dey curse quietly for corner, eyes red with disappointment.

She vanished.

No fight, no quarrel, nothing.

I tried to replay every memory, searching for any sign. The day before, we dey dance to old Styl-Plus song, she dey mimic the steps, I dey laugh, never suspecting na last time I go see am.

The last time we saw each other, we pressed our butterfly tattoos together on our ankles, kicking our feet in the air like small children, laughing anyhow.

We even record voice note, promise to play it for our children one day. The small room was filled with the smell of fried plantain and dust from the open window.

I be typical man from the Middle Belt—tattoo no be my thing at all.

Where I come from, elders dey frown if you carry mark for body wey no be tribal one. My father even threaten say if he see tattoo, he go pour holy water for my leg. But Halima dey stubborn, and her smile fit melt stone.

But when I see her curl up inside my arms, dey giggle, my mind weak.

For her, I fit do anything—even break tradition. I remember her teasing me, say, "Na you go explain this one for village meeting o!"

For her sake, I gree make I be her half wing for life.

We go fly together, see the world.

She dey always dream big, talk about Paris and Dubai like person wey don go before. Me, I just want peace and small farm, but I dey gree anything for her.

When we don tire for waka, we go come back settle, start family.

She dey talk say Jos cold dey sweet when you get who to hold. I dey imagine us, four for house, laughter full compound.

She talk say she want born Lion baby, then Eagle baby.

Say first pikin go get courage, second one go get vision. I dey laugh, say na animal kingdom we dey plan.

Family of four—boy and girl.

That na the future we promise each other.

But all those sweet memories just turn dream wey disappear as day break.

Na so Nigeria dey—one moment sweet, next one, breeze carry am go. Every promise just scatter for my mind.

The night before wedding, the makeup artist call me with panic:

“Mr. Musa—the bride don miss…”

Her voice dey tremble, as if spirit grip am. I remember standing there, phone in hand, heart sinking, cold sweat full my back. In that moment, my whole world shift.