Chapter 3: Market Heat and Old Ties

Tunde still dey stand outside the curtain, dey wait make I lower my head as usual. When I no answer, his voice come dey impatient.

He tap foot, curtain shake small. In old days, na me dey quick run out, greet am, serve chilled malt. Now, I just let him wait. Even my younger brother wey dey play ayo for corridor peep, see say tension full air. Tunde voice raise small—not anger, but like person wey dey tire for waiting.

“Morayo.”

He call my name soft, but I no shift. That name, when he talk am, dey sweet and bitter at the same time. For my mind, I dey count days wey he never call am with meaning. I let silence stretch like old wrapper.

I no get strength to talk much with am. I lower my eyes, reply with cold voice, “I no overthink anything. Today I just dey tired. Oga, abeg go back. My leg no good, I no fit see you off.”

I talk am with voice like cold harmattan breeze. Even my breath dey short. I look ground, pick at my wrapper, refuse to meet his eyes. My spirit just dey far. If he no understand this one, nothing else fit reach am.

Na that time Tunde remember say na him injure my leg. He quiet small.

The room go quiet, you fit hear mosquito fly. He clear throat, voice drop low. I fit imagine the guilt wey dey crawl for his chest, but he no fit let am show. Only his shadow move small behind the curtain.

“Your leg… e don better?”

His voice shake, but I no pity am. He dey act like say na small accident, like say e no matter. I roll my ankle, pain still dey, but I no go let am know.

“E dey okay. No worry yourself, Oga.”

I answer like I dey talk to stranger for bus stop. I adjust scarf, refuse to show pain. For Garba, woman no dey use wound find sympathy, especially not from man wey break your trust.

He still wan talk, but just then maid open door, hold big booklet.

The door creak, Aisha, our maid, enter, breathless. She hold fat book with red cover, the traditional bride price list. The room fill with the smell of polish from Mama’s new shelf. Even Tunde step back small, as if the paper get power.

“Madam, Mama say make I bring you the bride price list to check.”

Aisha voice loud, and she smile, teeth white against her dark skin. She no even look Tunde side, just carry her message waka. The weight of tradition enter the room, push out any fake talk.

My marriage to Okoli family dey set for three months’ time. E rush small, but na the best date for the last two years.

We pick the date after consulting both family elders and church calendar. Mama say, "Rainy season fit spoil things, but July dey perfect." The market women dey gossip, say na quick marriage, but I no send. Better make am sharp sharp than to stay here dey drag old wound.

Before I fit talk, Tunde talk first, voice cold and get small blame inside. “Morayo, before Zainab marry, I no go marry.”

His eyes dey sharp, lips pressed tight. The sentence hang for air, heavy like thundercloud. He act like say my own happiness no fit come first, as if Zainab matter dey bigger than my own life. Even the birds outside quiet, as if them dey wait for my answer.

If na before, I for cry for inside, feel say even my own marriage must wait for Zainab, but fear to complain because of Tunde’s ‘gentleman’ attitude.

Before, I for run go room, squeeze pillow, cry until nose block. But now, I just raise eyebrow, heart dey calm. All those “gentleman” wahala don tire me. Wetin I gain from all my patience? Nothing but heartache.

But now, I just follow Abuja style, smile and hail am: “Oga too noble o.”

I even clap hand small, put one fake smile. "Ah, Garba Heir, na you noble pass all of us. E good to dey carry people problem for head." My voice dey sweet, but the meaning dey bitter. Tunde shift foot, face confuse, but me, I no shake again.

After I rest for house another half month, Mama finally happy say scar no go show. She tell me make I follow cousin go choose wedding cloth. Before I comot, she arrange my collar, come dey reason.

Mama adjust my collar with slow fingers, eyes scanning my face as if she dey search for hidden tear. The old clock for parlour tick loud. She brush invisible dirt from my wrapper, then sigh long, as if she dey prepare herself for hard talk. "My pikin, today na big day. Your face fine, no let anybody talk say you dey unlucky."

“Morayo, you sure say you don forget that Chief’s boy? If you still like am, as for that Zainab girl—leave am for me, I go handle.”

She lower her voice, eyes sharp. "You know say Bolaji blood no dey lose for small girl matter. If na fight dem want, dem go see." Mama voice fit calm storm, but today, she dey fierce. She squeeze my hand, give me look wey dey say, "Just talk, I go move mountain for you."

My eyes just dey hot. When I dey stranded for church, when Tunde ignore me for public, when he injure me for polo, I no cry. But now, just with this one talk from Mama, I nearly burst cry.

I bite my lip, blink fast. My chest swell, hot tears gather for corner of my eyes. Of all the things wey don happen, na Mama soft voice almost break me. I turn face, rub eyes quick, pretend say I dey fix my hairpin. Sometimes, na small kindness dey open floodgate pass big insult.

Mama na Bolaji family pikin. Great families get plenty way. To deal with Zainab no hard. In fact, no even need Mama to do anything—I fit handle am myself. Before, na because of Tunde, I no wan hurt innocent person. And truth be told, Zainab no really do me wrong. The one wey make me give up na Tunde himself.

I dey remember stories of how Bolaji women dey win case for court, dey use tongue scatter market, dey block rivals for festival. But my own wahala no be Zainab. Even if I vex, I no fit pour am on am. For my heart, na Tunde I blame; na him I love, na him break me. Zainab just enter wahala wey no concern am.

I wipe my tears, hold Mama hand back. “Mama, if we no quick comot now, all the fine cloth go finish.”

I squeeze her hand, smile small, try lighten the mood. "Mama, you know say Abuja women dey rush market—if we slack, na only white lace go remain." Mama laugh, tension break. She shake head, carry bag, and we waka out, arm in arm, like two generals going to battle.

I just talk am to make her laugh, but e come true.

As we reach market, women don already pack for shop front, everybody dey eye the latest fabric. The air thick with smell of new cloth and roasted corn. Even the sun dey shine like say e no wan gree make person rest.

For Ezinne’s Workshop, as I reach door, I see two familiar people. Zainab dey point one box for shop center, dey yarn. Shopkeeper look worried, but since Tunde dey with her, he no fit offend. He dey explain, “Madam Zainab, this cloth person order am since half month ago—I no fit sell am to you.”

Ezinne, the tailor, dey fidget. Her hands dey shake as she hold the edge of the fabric. Tunde stand beside Zainab, silent but commanding. Other women for shop dey whisper, side-eye me as I waka enter. Even Ifunanya, my cousin, dey squeeze my arm, eyes wide with gist.

When he see me, shopkeeper face light up. “Madam Morayo, you don come.”

The whole shop suddenly quiet. Some girls for corner greet me quick, "Aunty Morayo, welcome o." Ezinne rush come meet me, her face shine with relief, like person wey find lost money. She point the box Zainab dey drag, hope say I go settle the matter.

I answer, pick the floating cloud brocade, smile turn to my cousin. “Ifunanya, see this color—perfect for wedding veil.”

I lift the fabric high, sunlight catch the silver thread, sparkle like star. Ifunanya grin, nodding fast. "Sister, na true! This one go show for photos, no worry." I turn, let my hand brush the soft cloth. All eyes dey on me, even Tunde mouth tight, eyes watching my every move.

Sweat dey roll for my back, but I no let am show.

Zainab for corner dey look Tunde, eyes dey beg, small hand dey pull him sleeve. Tunde frown, as if dey wait make I greet am like before. But even after shopkeeper finish wrap cloth and send me and Ifunanya out, I no even look Tunde side.

Zainab eye dey shine with wetness, her lips pressed, fingers digging into Tunde sleeve. She dey whisper, "Brother, please." Tunde look me, expecting maybe soft voice or old greeting, but I just face front, walk out with my cousin. The rest of the shop people watch, dey whisper behind hand. Na today dem go get gist for market square.

He vex, reach out block me. “Morayo, Zainab like this cloth well. You fit let her take am?”

He stretch arm, block the doorway. His eyes plead, but his voice still carry that air of command. The world freeze for that second. Even Ezinne hold her breath, waiting for my answer. I see Zainab behind am, face sharp with pride, as if she fit win anything now.

Behind am, Zainab dey do like say she don win, even look me one kind. Before, I for gree. But now, I just waka small, give space between us.

I take small step back, chin up. My cousin squeeze my hand, give me strength. I sidestep, no let my eyes meet Zainab own, because if I do, the old feeling go rush back. My spirit strong, like mama teach me.

“Dem dey call the Heir gentleman. Gentleman no dey find wetin no be him own—I believe say Oga understand pass me.”

My voice calm, slow. The other women for shop begin whisper again, nodding. I see Ezinne lips curve, even the tailor apprentice dey hide smile. I fit feel my backbone straight, pride return small. The words land like slap, but I no care.

Tunde shock, no expect me to refuse straight. E face change sharp. Zainab see say wahala dey, rush talk: “Brother Tunde, as long as I fit marry you, any cloth I wear no matter. Since Sister like am, abeg make we no drag.”

Zainab voice shake, but she force smile. Her eyes wet, but her mouth dey firm. The shop return to normal noise, but the tension dey hang like harmattan haze. Tunde mouth open, words lost. Me, I just take my cloth, head outside, sun warm my skin, as if the day dey bless my new beginning.

As I waka comot, the sun slap my face—remind me say I fit still shine, even if e pain.