Chapter 2: Akara and Goodbye

I dey carry akara go house.

The tray balance for my head, the smell of hot oil and beans mixing with the last sun for evening. My hands dey sticky with sweat, but my spirit dey stubborn, no wan break. I fit hear the laughter from children wey dey chase each other for compound, and the distant clang of a metal gate as somebody return from evening market.

Femi just dey open door to comot.

That his old faded blue wrapper don disappear; now na agbada he wear, hair tied with coral bead, pride just dey his body.

I pause for corridor, my heart just beat kpam-kpam. That blue wrapper wey he always dey wear when things hard, e don vanish. Now, the man before me na prince, royal blood full am, agbada sweep ground, coral bead shine for him head like fresh palmwine wey dey bubble.

Na now I just hear say he be the fifth son, his name don clear, Oba don call am back to palace.

The person wey come carry am na his fiancée from palace.

I no know before.

Yemisi stand behind am, fine and gentle, tears dey shine for her eyes.

She wear lace so fine e resemble water, her face soft, her eyes like say she dey carry river inside. Her hand dey tremble as she hold her own wrapper. Her gold anklet dey jingle small for floor, like she dey fear to make noise. But when our eyes meet, she just give small nod—no pride, only small sadness. E shock me say even royalty dey fear loss.

Femi waka come front, voice cold like water wey dem use wash corpse:

“For Umuola, only person wey get royal family ivory pendant fit be prince wife. Our marriage na nothing.”

His words fall for ground heavy, like person wey dey carry bad news for burial ground. My mouth dey bitter, but I keep my face strong. Palace law, tradition, e no dey see person heart.

“Yemisi don wait for me for two years. She say make you become honoured wife—she don really try for you.”

The way he talk am, e dey like say he dey do me favour. My chest dey rise and fall, but I still hold akara tray, refuse make my hand shake.

“Arrange your things. In few days’ time, follow me go palace.”

I swallow spit, keep quiet. Even the way him voice dey shake, I know say na duty, no be love.

My eyes fall on top their hands wey dem join together. My throat tight, I swallow spit, pretend say I no see.

Their fingers fit like palm kernel and shell. Yemisi’s hand soft, small ring dey shine. Femi hold am tight, like person wey dey hold new yam for festival. I watch them, my stomach twist.

He no wan make Yemisi feel anyhow, e just dey rush to show her to everybody.

All that love wey he get for Yemisi, the way dem dey care for each other—na all the softness wey he never show me before.

The kind way Femi dey look Yemisi, e different. Small laugh, soft eyes. Wetin remain for me? I just dey look my akara, try hide the small shame wey dey prick my mind.

He turn look me, all that gentleness for his eyes just disappear. When he face me, e cold like water wey dem use wash corpse.

I see the wall e build, brick by brick, as e turn. E dey clear say e no dey see me again as wife, just shadow wey dey block his real happiness.

I quiet for long before I ask, “No be husband and wife we be?”

My voice low, nearly break, but I keep am strong. This question na for my own peace, for spirit to rest.

His eyes shake small, lips move. After small time, he talk two words: “E no count.”

That word enter my skin like needle. I nod, my heart dey slow. For palace, love no be law; only custom dey rule.

I just nod, mind blank, then ask, “I must go palace?”

He shock small, face squeeze as he dey vex.

His brow rise, like say he dey hear mad talk. For am, e be like say I suppose dey grateful.

“No start wahala. You be trader pikin. To even become prince honoured wife na big thing. If you leave me now, where you go see better life? Who go carry you again?”

The way he raise him voice, e dey like person wey dey command goat. I just hold my wrapper tighter, no let am see my hand dey shake.

I look up, answer am gently, “Okay.”

I turn go do my work.

This month na Ancestor Remembrance. People no dey come out, akara no dey sell, plenty remain. I need keep them well, maybe tomorrow I go sell.

The scent of palm oil and beans fill the air, but customers no dey. My mind dey run as I arrange akara, think of tomorrow, of another chance, even as my world dey scatter.

I bow my head begin arrange my carrying pole.

Nobody see the face wey I wan use cry.

Inside my heart, tears dey gather like rain before thunder. I press my face down, refuse let any sob escape.

Femi talk as if nothing dey: “No pack those akara again. All these your akara, you no need chop am again.”

His words dey harsh, like broom sweep my leg. I pretend say I no hear, keep my hands busy, because my heart don dey stone.

I no answer am, just dey pack my own.

Bottom of the box, I see letter wey I collect from post office today.

Na from Papa. He don open trade route between Makurdi and Western Borders, he dey invite me make I join am do business.

The moment my finger touch the brown paper, hope rise for my heart like morning sun. Papa’s handwriting strong—every line na promise.

Letter come with border pass.

I get where I fit go.

The paper cool for my palm, as if e dey whisper, "My daughter, you get leg to stand on your own."

I fit waka pass the border go trade. From that time, sky go clear, road go open, everybody go find their own happiness.

I fold the letter tight. For this life, even if na for another land, my happiness go meet me. I hold that word for my chest, ready to face any bush. Tomorrow, I go carry my own sun rise.