Chapter 6: Blessings and Shadows

Chief talk, nobody fit say no. Room quiet, only sound na small drum for distance. My leg dey light, but I must go.

Shaoshan look me from below, face dey worry. E squeeze my hand before I go—small sign of love, like say e fit transfer courage.

Strangely, I no too fear, only feel like say the man before me don turn stranger. Chief na man wey fit change face like weather. Today e soft, tomorrow e fit bite. I just dey walk steady, no show fear.

I don walk road to Shao Daoji many times. From Umuola to Okpoko Hills, from wedding keke to bedroom. All these journeys dey flash for my mind. Every stone for palace ground dey remember my leg.

Plenty roads away from am too. From Okpoko Hills to capital, from keke enter palace wall. I dey remember my escape, my pain, my hope—all blend together. Na so life be for woman wey survive palace wahala.

But never like today: just small steps for white stone stairs, two people wey no know each other again, life and death don separate us, like star and morning sun.

This moment heavy—no be just meeting. Na two fate wey no fit cross again. Star and sun fit shine, but no fit hug.

Because na family feast, he no wear chief crown, only lion design black agbada, him power dey hide. Agbada big, embroidery thick, but na eye dey show power. I dey bow small, dey respect tradition.

I lower my eyes, let am look me. I feel am dey study me, but my mind dey strong. If I look up, I fit break.

He just glance me like say I be stray animal, then remove agate bead bracelet for him wrist, dash me. Bracelet cold for my palm. Na sign of blessing, but also reminder of old wound. He say na congratulation gift. Voice flat—no joy, no pain. I just bow, thank am well.

I collect am with two hands, hide am for sleeve, no look again till after feast. My hand dey tight, as if the bracelet fit burn me. Na so gift from enemy dey feel sometimes.

Night reach, music stop, guests go. Queen Mother keep me for palace, Shaoshan escort me. Outside, crickets dey sing, moon dey full. Palace corridor cold, but Shaoshan hand warm.

Palace corridor deep, moon dey shine, Shaoshan face dey happy. E dey talk plenty, dey smile big. Na so person wey never see joy dey behave. He talk say he happy.

E voice soft, like music for my ear. For once, peace dey inside my chest.

"Amina, you be my good luck. Papa never value me like today—he personally bless our marriage, give us plenty gift. Even Queen Mother wey dey always cold, like you."

E dey talk with pride. I dey smile small, but my mind dey wander—wetin be the price of this happiness?

He dey call Shao Daoji papa only for private. No blood join dem, he no even get level like him other brothers. Most times, na just chief and subject.

But for me, Shaoshan dey show true heart. No politics, no lie—just hope.

For side hall door, Shaoshan face still red from drink and joy, eyes dey shine like pearl for night. For Naija, when man happy, e dey show for body. Shaoshan just dey glow—no fit hide am.

Genuine, no fake. I dey thank God say at least one person for this palace still dey true.

"You say you get brother wey lost for Umuola. When we reach there, we go find am. I go treat you well, so your brother go trust me with you."

Shaoshan dey try, even when he no fit understand my pain. For heart, I dey wish say my brother fit see this peace.

He say, then he go get family. E dey plan future with me. For Naija, na big thing if man dey talk family with you.

I remember my brother, wey abandon council work, turn river pirate, raise banner, dey dream to finish all Shao family, then carry my body go house. Na only God fit judge am. My brother get reason, but war no dey sweet for anybody.

I just touch my nose, no know wetin to talk. I dey dodge question, dey pray make this happiness last small.

Luckily, Shaoshan don high, no force me for any promise. He wave, turn dey go. Na so better man dey do—no dey rush, no dey pressure woman.

He stumble, as he turn, tree branch hit am for face. I look surprise, he just smile, red mark for him cheek. I wan laugh but I hold am—joy dey precious for this kind night.

He dey walk back, still dey smile at me. No matter the pain, e still wan show me say tomorrow go better.

"No wahala, e no pain. Sleep well, I go Ministry of Ceremonies early tomorrow to choose your wedding dress. You like flowers, I go tell them to sew all the spring flowers for you."

Na so Shaoshan dey—always dey think of my happiness. For Naija, man wey fit remember woman small wish na real treasure.

Palace wedding dress get its own law; dem no dey sew anyhow. Chief go approve, elders go check, even seamstress go fast before e cut cloth.

I just smile small, watch as he waka go, no bother correct am. My heart soft, but I no go allow myself hope too much. For palace, joy dey last like early morning dew.

After all, everything na dream. Why disturb myself for small happiness? I dey tell myself make I enjoy am while e last.

I turn, tell maids to go, tired, push open door, remove hairpin, throw agate bracelet one side, pull off my wrapper. All those fine things just heavy for body. My back dey ache, my head dey spin. I just wan bath, sleep, forget everything for one night.

As I wan untie skirt, step towards bath, I pause, stare at the wall wey candle shadow dey shake. The shadow long, dey dance for wall, like say e get life of im own. My skin dey cold.

For the white wall, one shadow dey front, another dey back. Quiet, I no know how long e don dey there. Fear catch me. My heart dey drum for chest. I no move—just dey look.

I turn quick. Curtain shift. Window open small. Cold air enter. I see person—thin, face pale.

One haggard man lean for flower window, moonlight cast half of him face in patches. Him eye red, hair wild, body weak but stubborn. Na Musa Garba—ghost of old palace.

Him voice hoarse, rough. Voice like sandpaper, but inside, still the same Musa I know. Before, this voice dey shock me, but now e calm, like snake wey dey crawl comot from dark.

Chills run for my back. For Naija, midnight visitor no dey come for play.

"Sister Jin, how that face I give you? E dey work well?"

E talk am soft, but the pain for voice dey deep—mixture of love and suffering.