Chapter 1: The Weight of News

I just found out that my husband is the fifth son of the present Oba’s household. His name has been cleared, and soon he’ll be going back to the royal palace in Ibadan.

As I stood in the corner of our small parlour, the news press my chest like grinding stone—heavy, no space to breathe. Ibadan, the great city of warriors and drums, where the air dey smell of burnt firewood and old incense, and you fit hear bata drum from far. The palace stands tall and proud above red roofs and ancient shrines. Femi, the man I called my own, was returning home, not as an ordinary man but as a prince—his head held high, his shoulders squared with that old, inherited pride. My heart beat fast, like ogene in festival season, but fear sat quietly beside hope.

The person that came to carry him home is his fiancée—the true daughter of the Chief’s compound.

When she entered, her footsteps did not make a sound, but her presence strong pass perfume—everybody quiet as she enter. I recognised her from her delicate coral beads, the intricate weaving of her aso-oke, and the gentle way she greeted the elders outside before coming in. There was something about the air around her—soft, perfumed with camwood and royal confidence. She didn’t look at me, but her smile was kind, almost apologetic, as if she already knew what was about to happen to me.

For Umuola, na only woman wey wear the royal ivory pendant fit stand by prince. All these small wedding for village, e no count for palace.

Yemisi don wait for me for two years. She’s even ready to let you become an honoured wife—abeg, that one na big concession for her.

He told me to arrange my things and follow him to Ibadan in a few days’ time.

But me, I no wan go palace.

My mind dey turn like ogbono soup, thick and full of things I no fit swallow. My hand shake small, akara nearly fall from my tray, but I hold am tight—no let anybody see my weakness. Go palace? Follow am as spare wife? My chest dey hot, my eye dey search ground, but I know say my leg no fit waka that journey.

He come dey vex: “If you leave me now, where you go see better life? Who go carry you again?”

His voice sharp, full of command like person wey don forget how e beg for life not too long ago. He no look my face well; maybe he think say I go shiver, go kneel down dey beg am.

He no sabi.

He never fit know how stubborn my spirit dey. My Papa used to say, “E get place for everybody for this world, no let anybody tie your wrapper where you no go fit dance.”

Apart from Ibadan, I still get where I fit go.

Papa send me border pass. I fit waka pass the frontier go do business. From that time, the sky go open, and road go dey. We go go our separate ways, everybody go find their own happiness.

I squeeze the letter from Papa inside my palm, feel the promise of another life. That border pass na like wings, my own secret. One day, my sky go clear, and nobody go fit block my road again. E pain me, but e also sweet me small. Tomorrow, I go choose my own path—even if na alone.