Chapter 2: Ring Wey No Get Owner

Tolu Ajayi’s twenty-eighth birthday party.

Ibadan sun stubborn that day, but inside compound, ceiling fan dey blow, waiters dey move like clock. I wear my best lace, hold Tolu hand, we enter together.

The lace shine, starched well—sky blue, with matching gele wey stand like crown. Aunties dey nod, small girls dey eye my gold shoe. For small moment, I feel weight of all the women wey don wear lace before me, enter hall wey no be their own.

As we reach down the stairs, Tolu release my hand, leave me stand alone.

His grip loose like say my touch dey burn am. I stand like agbalumo seed wey dem don suck finish—leftover, forgotten. Chest hollow, but I straighten. People dey look. Make dem see strong face.

Everybody eye dey follow Tolu.

He dey waka inside crowd like lion among goat. Uncles dey pat am, women dey shine eye, old men dey hail, “Omo baba e!”

Me, dem forget for one corner.

I blend into wallpaper. Even small children no greet me again, their mama dey whisper, “No disturb her.”

People begin come one by one to give Tolu gift.

Gift bags, envelopes with cash, hampers tall pass me. Dem present am with bow, all eye dey shine—maybe na their daughter Tolu go notice.

He just nod for Uncle Musa to collect, face like say e no concern am.

Uncle Musa dey waka sharp, dey hide gift like ballot box. Tolu no even look, face dey dull like stone.

Until person bring one fine woman, everywhere eye turn to me again.

Air change. I feel am—the silence before wahala. All the air for hall move towards me. Even band stop, drummer hold stick for air.

Sympathy, wait for drama, dey mock me.

I catch shine for some women eye. One aunty whisper, “Yawa go gas.” Another press mouth, pretend say e no sweet her.

I don see this kind look since I dey this compound as teenager—pity, wait for disgrace, or secret wish say I go fall.

Tolu wey dey hide emotion, him face just shake small.

Muscle for jaw jump. He force smile, e tight, almost pain am, like say pepper dey for mouth.

That woman resemble him dead first love too much.

She get Bisi’s eye—big, soft, with gentle confidence. I swallow, neck dey hot. The thing shock me, as if Bisi spirit come back come mock me.

“To present woman for me in front of Madam Ajayi—una get mind oh!”

Tolu just laugh, the laugh no reach him eyes.

E laughter sharp, fake, the kind wey dey hide shame. Him friends join, too loud, dey cover their own shame.

The person wey bring the woman talk, “Madam Ajayi na generous woman, I believe say she no go mind.”

He smile fake, the woman dey look everywhere except me, hand dey worry her clutch bag.

No be say I no go mind—dem just dey count say I no get liver to talk.

I feel am—everybody expect me to swallow pride, play role. Anger dey boil, hot, bitter, like ogbono wey don burn.

Orphan wey Ajayi family raise—how I go challenge new oga of Ajayi?

I remember every time dem remind me, with word or silence, say I be guest for their house. Who I be to complain?

Tolu begin turn wedding ring for finger, eye dey shine with small play-play. “Since Madam Ajayi no talk, abeg, carry her go—”

He spin ring like bored schoolboy dey turn biro. Him eye dey shine, dey wait make I vex. Everybody hold breath.

Before e finish, I waka go meet am.

My heel dey knock floor, people clear road. Hand dey shake, but head dey up.

I look the babe well.

She smell foreign, nail gold. I look her eye, see small fear. For one second, I almost pity her.

The person wey bring her try—e know wetin Tolu dey like.

Her hair, dress, even the way she tilt head—na Bisi pattern. My chest pain me, but I no shake.

I just tire.

The tiredness heavy like wet wrapper. How long I go dey pretend?

I fit no fit follow Mama Ajayi advice again to keep Madam Ajayi dignity.

Her words ring for my head: "No matter what, Funmi, keep your dignity. You are Madam Ajayi." But dignity dey useless when everybody dey wait make you break.

I gently push champagne tower behind me.

My finger touch lowest glass, just small push.

All the glass cups scatter for ground.

The sound sweet me small—sharp, scatter-scatter, but I no regret. Red wine rush out like blood.

Broken glass and wine everywhere, party just scatter.

People scream. MC mic dey whine and off. My heart dey drum, but I no move.

Somebody shout, “Madam Ajayi don craze!”

Voice dey overlap: “Jesu o!” “Yeeeh!” Phone dey record. For crowd, person clap—no know if na mock or support. My blood dey rush. For once, I feel alive.