Chapter 2: Demands and Deadlock

I siddon among her aunties, no sabi their dialect at all. The way dem dey laugh from time to time just dey make me more uncomfortable.

Their laughter go up, come down, then up again like ogene drum. I try join laugh once, but dem look me like I be mumu.

Ngozi stand far from me, no even look my side, just dey press her phone.

She lean against wall, dey thumb her screen, face blank. Her thumb dey shake on top phone screen, as if she dey type message wey she no fit send. For one second, I wan reach out, but pride hold me.

Just yesterday I joke with her: “Dem say father-in-law no dey like their son-in-law. What if your papa beat me today?”

I send her meme, we both laugh for chat. I remember how shy she dey look away when I call her my ‘future Iyawo’.

She laugh, “Abeg, my papa no fit chop you.”

The memory make me smile small, but today everything don turn upside down.

Who go believe say e almost happen today.

The whole matter come dey look like Nollywood.

Her papa clear throat, face strong. “Since you don come, make I talk straight. I no gree for this marriage.”

Him tone get finality, everywhere cold. Even ceiling fan begin sound louder.

I ask, “Why now, Sir? No be say our families don already discuss everything?”

I try keep voice calm, but my chest dey tight.

He hiss, “You still get mouth dey talk? Your family don use sense do me.”

I nearly choke. His words burn me like fresh ata for tongue.

My heart drop. “Abeg, maybe na misunderstanding. How we take do you?”

I try calm am. My palms dey wet; I wipe am for jeans.

“I don check your family well. You dey earn ₦200,000 every month, your parents dey run provision store, dey make ₦150,000 every month, and una get three houses, abi?”

He dey look me like market price inspector. I swallow and nod, no need argue.

I nod.

I feel everybody for the room dey judge me, like say I dey court.

“And una only bring ₦2.8 million as bride price? Na so e suppose be?”

Aunties dey exchange knowing look. One mutter, “Chei! Na wa o.”

Some relatives begin laugh anyhow.

The laughter cut deep, like dem rehearse am for months.

I say, “If you feel say the bride price too small, we fit talk. Just tell us how much.”

I try talk humble, but my voice dey shake small.

Her papa raise hand: “₦6.6 million, no kobo less. Plus, ₦880,000 for name change, ₦1 million for the party, and every relative must get ₦88,000 chop money. Your brother-in-law dey marry soon too—you suppose buy house for am for city. No need big, two-bedroom dey okay, and help arrange work for am.”

He dey list am like chief for meeting. Aunties and uncles dey nod like law don drop.

I look the younger brother-in-law wey dey play game for corner. “Na me go run all his matter too?”

The boy no even look up, just dey press phone. I felt invisible.

Her papa dey eye me. “Wetin you dey talk? Family no dey help family? Na your brother he go be now, abi?”

Somebody chime in, “You dey talk too much! No be now we dey do this thing. Dey show yourself!”

I feel like say I dey dream. I just dey look am, dey wait make e burst laugh say na joke.

Auntie Ifeoma shake her head, lips tight. I realize nobody dey joke here.

But no, he start dey count with finger.

He lick him thumb as he dey count, slow and steady.

“Bride price and party, na over ₦9 million. House for city na about ₦15 million. Everything together, ₦24 million—na half of una property. You use half your money marry wife, e no good like that?”

E be like say he rehearse the calculation. Everybody dey watch my face, dey wait make I faint.

I say, “Sir, e no too pure. Out of those three houses, one na village house, e no get value. One na the old house wey my parents dey live for—e don increase small, but na their only house, we no fit sell am.”

My voice low, and my chest dey heavy. E pain me to talk the truth like this.

“The last one, as you sabi, na for me and Ngozi. We buy am for city centre, as you suggest, and e chop all our savings…”

I remember the struggle—months of eating beans, using danfo, saving every kobo just to buy that house. My heart dey burn.

Her papa cut in, “So you no wan pay the money?”

Eyes narrow. Room freeze again.

I say, “The money too much. Abeg, make you reduce am small.”

I hold breath, dey hope for sense.

“You say e too much?” Her papa suddenly slap table. “Ngozi na university graduate. Last year, person wey finish polytechnic for this our village collect ₦5 million as bride price, you come dey bring ₦2.8 million? Where you wan make I put my face?”

Voice echo for parlour, even ceiling dust dey shake. One uncle nod hard.

“I know una condition. Your parents only get you—who else dem go spend for? Sell their house. Dem fit return go village—dem no go sleep for road.”

Auntie Ifeoma eyes flash, like say she don see vision. “Abi na now una wan use money?”

Anger dey catch me. “You don think about village health centre? My parents no dey young again. If anything happen, how we go carry dem reach city on time?”

My chest dey rise and fall. For the first time, my voice go up. I no even care who dey judge me.

“So you dey talk say my Ngozi no reach that money?”

Heavy silence. I swallow my reply, feeling everybody dey measure me.

I just reason say this man no get sense, but I no wan argue.

Inside me, I dey pray make God intervene.

Ngozi still dey press phone, as if nothing concern her.

She lean harder for wall, finger still dey shake for phone screen.

I call her two times, she no answer.

I try catch her eye, but she just dey dodge everywhere else.

I off her phone screen, she finally look me.

Her eyes, wet and shining, just catch my own for one second before e jump another place.

“You no get anything to talk?” I ask.

She look another side. “I… I no know.”

Her voice small, almost lost inside the room noise. My heart sink.

All the relatives begin yarn:

“Young man, who no go broke to marry wife?”

One uncle clap hand. “Na so we do our own. You go enter debt, you go thank God later!”

“Dem dey talk for news say men don too plenty pass women. Young man, to even marry at all, you suppose thank your God.”

Another aunty wag finger, lips tight.

“You dey say ₦6.6 million too much? With Ngozi’s level, people dey wey go pay ₦8.8 million.”

Somebody from back shout, “Abi! Even Lagos boys dey line up.”

One aunty add, “Dem dey say, to pluck ripe fruit, you go climb tree wey get thorn.”

Her papa just dey happy with himself.

Face stretch into slow smile, like say he win bet.

Now I understand—na real trap I enter.

My spirit don leave body. I remember Kelechi warning: “Some people go use their pikin sell family. Shine your eye!”

I say, “I go tell my parents wetin you talk. I dey go discuss with them now.”

I stand up, brush trouser, try gather small dignity.

Her papa say, “Do as you like. Nobody dey follow you go.”

He wave me away, eye already dey TV football.

As I dey go, I wait make Ngozi follow me, but she no even look my side.

She press her phone harder, like say she wan enter inside wall.