Chapter 8: Night Calls and Death News

One night, Iyawo Sade wake me, dress me well. As she finish, I wake. I asked wetin happen.

She wrapped me soft, fingers quick, face serious. The palace colder than usual, silence thick.

She said, "No wahala, Oba just miss you, call you come talk."

She tried to sound cheerful, but her eyes darted. I swallowed fear, nodding.

I vex small, but since na Uncle Oba, I calm.

Deep down, I felt special—Oba wanted to see me. I straightened back, like mama said.

Because mama say, he be good Oba, just sick, and we suppose care for am.

I remembered her stories—how Oba once gave yam to villagers, how he always blessed twins. I told myself to be brave.

Since he wan talk, I go care for am small.

I squared shoulders, determined to bring light to his room.

As I reach main hall, I see papa.

My heart jumped. He stood near door, face lined with worry, eyes fixed on Oba. I wanted to run to him, but something stopped me.

I wan run go hug papa, but Baba Musa blocked me.

He gently placed arm in front, shaking head. His eyes told me to wait, to be patient.

He said, "Miss Ifeanyi, follow me, Oba dey wait you."

Respectful, soft, but no room for argument. I nodded, walked beside him.

Since Oba dey wait, I go talk to am first, then find papa, still say bye-bye to Uncle Oba.

I rehearsed my greeting, hoping to make Oba smile.

Uncle Oba looked better than before, face shining.

He wore new wrapper, face cleaned, eyes bright. The air heavy with incense, queen behind him, hands folded.

He saw me, called me.

Voice weak, but love strong.

He talked long. Said I be good pikin, make I stay with Tola Shun, make I no suffer myself.

He spoke of kindness, loyalty, being brave when small. The words rolled over me like cool water.

He yarn many things, but only small for Tola Shun, tell am say he must be best Oba for Tangola Kingdom.

He squeezed Tola Shun’s hand, "No forget your people, my son. Carry them like gold." Queen wiped her eyes, elders bowed.

Everybody for hall sad, me sef sad.

The mood heavy. I wished I could clap hands and chase sadness away, but it sat on everyone’s shoulders.

Later, Oba told us to leave, so he fit stay with queen. Tola Shun held my hand, led me out.

His grip tight, palm sweaty. We walked quiet, hall echoing.

Tola Shun held my hand, we waited outside hall taya.

He sat on cold marble, head bowed. I wanted to talk, but words no come.

As day break, queen staggered out.

Her wrapper askew, eyes wild. Her voice shook.

She said, "Oba don die."

Her words hit like thunder. I gasped, world spinning. Tola Shun went stiff beside me.

Everybody outside cry, me sef cry.

The cries rose like storm, raw and loud. I buried face in hands, tears hot and bitter.

Tola Shun no cry, but he held my hand tight.

His fingers dug in, holding on like I was his only anchor.

Later, bell rang, queen faint, everywhere scatter.

Drummers beat death rhythm, chiefs wailed. Queen collapsed, servants rushed. Palace dissolved into chaos.

I no remember how Iyawo Sade carried me go house.

I only remember soft arms, lullabies in my ear, world turning dark.