Chapter 4: Love and Lament

That night, sleep no catch me.

I toss and turn, heart dey pound. The distant sound of generator outside no gree calm me.

I open Ngozi chat, type long message, delete am again.

I wan pour out vex, ask why she stand there dey silent, but the words no dey come out well.

Her attitude today just dey vex me.

I remember the way she look away from me. My finger dey shake as I type and delete my message again.

But I reason am—after all, na her parents. If na me, I for no sabi wetin to do.

I force myself think from her side. Maybe she dey fear them pass me.

Suddenly, Ngozi video call.

Her face show for screen, eyes swollen, voice low pass whisper.

Her side dark—she hide for one corner.

I hear small murmur for background, like say she sneak to call me.

“You reach hotel well?” she ask.

Her voice dey shake. She try smile, e no gree.

“Today no sweet at all,” I say. “We agree everything before. Why dem come increase the money?”

My chest tight as I dey talk.

“Na so e dey here,” she say. “We go get dowry too.”

She look down, dey twist wrapper edge.

“Which dowry?”

I try sound calm, but my voice crack.

“Quilt, pillow, that kind thing.”

She sniff, use back of hand clean nose.

I just tire. “You feel say e balance?”

Silence full everywhere. Her eyes dey shine with tears for that small light.

She start to cry. “My parents suffer raise me. If I marry, I go join your Chijioke family. I dey give myself to you—wetin else you want?”

Her words touch me, cut through my anger. I remember how she stand by me when things hard.

Her tears touch me.

My own eye dey pepper. I remember our days when all I get na hope and garri.

I remember when COVID first start, my office close. After I pay workers, I still dey owe more than ₦2 million.

Those months, I see true love—she no let me hungry, no mock me, no make me feel less than man.

That time hard. I dey play game, watch TV, chop anyhow, get stomach wahala join. I fear chemist, dey manage for house.

She find way make me laugh, boil hot water, force me drink ginger and honey. Even when my belle dey cry, she rub am, pray for me.

Na Ngozi care for me, cook, comfort, even press my stomach night, dey sing make I sleep.

Her lullaby still dey my head—soft, like pikin own, make my wahala small inside her arm.

One night, I wake go toilet, see her sleep for my body, but even inside sleep, she still hold me, dey murmur, “E go better, no worry.”

Na that night I understand wetin partner mean.

I hold her hand, just think only one thing:

“I must marry this girl.”

My vow start that night. Even if na Kilimanjaro, I go climb am for her.

I say, “Abeg, no cry. We go talk am well.”

I try make my voice steady, to give her hope as she always give me.

She sob, “You still go marry me?”

Her question hang for air like incense smoke.

I say, “Yes.”

No shaking—just truth full my chest.