Chapter 1: The Marriage Petition

On my way to the chief's palace to request the community decree, I blocked Musa Garba’s keke napep.

The sun was just beginning to cast its golden light over the rusted zinc roofs, sending long shadows along the sandy path. The morning air still carried last night’s coolness, but sweat already beading on my forehead. I stood in the middle of the road, wrapper tied firm at my waist, chin up like person wey no dey gree nonsense. The keke's faded yellow paint, covered in old campaign stickers and dust, made it easy to spot Musa’s scowling face through the cracked windscreen even before he braked.

He pulled his keke to a stop on the sandy road, his face full of impatience.

Musa’s brow was furrowed, his lips twisted like say the sun insult am this morning. He balanced in the keke, already preparing to argue, while I dusted my palm against my wrapper, determined not to back down.

"You mean say I must follow you go beg elders for this marriage matter? Na wah!"

His voice carried the frustration of somebody wey dem don drag to two family meetings before breakfast. "Ah-ah, Ifunanya, na wah for you o. Wetin dey worry you self?" He eyed me, waiting for my answer, but I kept my gaze steady, letting him stew.

He revved the engine, clearly eager to leave. "I hear say the Crown Prince wan marry one big man pikin. Kamsi don dey cry since morning. I need go console am. You fit go by yourself."

The keke engine coughed like stubborn goat, and I could smell the faint aroma of fried akara from a roadside stall mixing with the dust. For a split second, my mind flashed to Kamsi’s tear-stained face, and I wondered what gist she hear again to make her cry. Musa’s concern for her was written all over his face, his eyes darting past me like say he dey expect her to appear.

For a moment, my hand refused to move. What if he threw it back at me in front of everybody? But I bit my lip and handed him the marriage petition.

My hands trembled a little, but I pressed the envelope into his palm, making sure our fingers touched for a brief moment. Old memories of childhood promises floated through my mind like the scent of rain on dry earth.

"Oga Musa, you no even wan look am?"

His nostrils flared. He took one look at the folded paper, then gave me that look—half pity, half annoyance—reserved for people wey overstay their welcome. Around us, the road was growing busy with traders setting up their wares, the cry of a hawker selling pure water echoing between the buildings.

With one loud smack, the marriage petition landed on the ground. He swung himself back into his keke, eyes full of vexation.

The petition fluttered like leaf for Harmattan breeze—light, forgotten—onto the earth, dust settling on the official seal. Musa mounted his keke with careless grace, the back of his shirt already stained with oil from the seat. Even the agbero at the corner paused his shouting to watch.

"Abeg, Ifunanya. I never talk say I no go marry you. You never tire?"

His voice, loud enough for passersby to hear, left no room for reply. I felt the sting of humiliation warming my cheeks as a few old women nearby hissed, one even muttering, "Na so e dey do, always forming big man." They would surely carry this gist to evening prayer.

His keke tyre pressed the marriage petition as he rode off, not even glancing at it. The old women hissed, one even muttering, "Na so e dey do, always forming big man."

As he zoomed off, dust flew up and the crisp white paper was smudged with a black tyre mark, the seal crushed beneath rubber. A goat tethered nearby bleated in protest, as if echoing my wounded pride.

He didn’t see whose name was written on it—

I watched his back, shoulders hunched, and realized with a pang that he did not even care enough to check. The city noise swallowed his silhouette, leaving me alone in the heat.

It wasn’t his own.

My heart hammered as I picked up the paper, brushing it off. Musa’s name was never there.

It was the Crown Prince’s.

I folded the petition again, this time with trembling fingers, and pressed it tight to my chest. As I walked away, the wind scattered sand across my feet—reminding me that secrets no dey stay hidden for this town.