Chapter 3: Market Wahala

Two days later, Makurdi street still full as usual.

Traders dey shout, peppers and tomatoes dey pile high for tray, flies dey buzz for ear, and small pikin dey drag their mama wrapper. Afternoon sun dey burn, people dey dodge am under shop shade. My wrapper cling for my back with sweat, but I waka proud.

I dey go market as I dey always do, but crown prince block me for road as he dey come out from palace.

Him entourage dey make noise, horses dey kick sand everywhere. Some people hail am, some just dey look with respect. But as he see me, he stop everything, him eye shine with wahala.

He pull him horse, jump down in one smooth move—still as fine and sharp as before.

His white agbada fresh, gold embroidery dey shine for sun, make everybody eye dey follow am waka. I remember how everybody dey rush talk about his handsomeness that year. But today, na different thing I see for his eye.

But his face dey squeeze, his voice cold:

"I hear say you go request for marriage blessing?"

The way he stand, you go think say na king self dey question me, not childhood friend. People for market dey peep, dey wait gist.

"Nnenna, you dey really rush like this?"

My mouth wan answer sharp, but I swallow am. Make I no give people more gist.

His words sting me. Na so he dey talk as if I be market woman wey dey run follow any man. I hold my breath, look ground.

His cold eyes dey pain me. I turn my face small, avoid his eye, talk quietly:

"Your Highness, no worry—the marriage no concern you at all."

My voice almost shake, but I hold am steady. No be today I dey learn how to swallow pride for public.

His face come cold pass before, he just hiss:

"No concern me? I don carry you for my arms before—who else get mind to marry you if no be me?"

He point finger, like say he dey remind me of something big. People for market dey whisper, I dey feel their eyes burn my back.

"If I know say you go dey do like glue, I for no even save you that time armed robbers attack."

He talk am loud, like say na badge of honour. My body dey shame me, but I no go let am see am.

I close my eyes, deep breath, try balance my voice:

"Your Highness, abeg no vex. E really no—"

My words dey come from deep inside, I wan make am understand say my mind don change.

"Enough!"

He cut me off, face show say e don tire. Suddenly, he jump back on his horse, look me from up:

His anger dey like fire. He no dey even look me as person wey him know again.

"I go marry you, make you queen, but any other thing—no just think am."

His tone hard, the final say. Like say na announcement for court. My heart cold, but I force myself no show am.

He look back at the blue keke behind am, shout, "Make we dey go," then ride off.

The keke driver just start engine, dust full everywhere. People clear road for am. Even the trader wey dey sell fufu for corner pause to look.

I stand for the busy market, dey cough from the dust wey his horse raise.

My wrapper gather dust, my throat dry. The noise of market return, but I still dey lost inside my head.

As the blue keke pass, one pale hand lift the curtain, and I see the face well—my half-sister.

Ifeoma. Her skin shine like palm kernel, her smile quick and sly. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, e be like old days when we dey share chewing gum behind Mama Nkechi back.

I just smile small, shake my head, then enter my own okada. As the engine start, my mind dey scatter—old love, new wahala, which one go win?