Chapter 3: Rivalry and Rejection

As I dey go, I jam Musa.

I nearly collided with him at the garden entrance, the shock on his face mirroring my own. He wore his favorite faded blue shirt, sweat beading on his forehead. For a moment, we just stood there, unsure what to say.

He looked a bit anxious, voice full of complaint.

Musa scratched the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot. "Ifunanya, why you take so long to change? I dey wait since."

I stepped back, raising my brows to look at him.

"What, you dey find me? Or you don catch the person wey shoot arrow?"

My voice was calm, but my heart thundered in my chest. I folded my arms, waiting for him to explain himself.

He frowned, not happy.

His brows knit together in that way that always meant trouble was coming. He glanced over his shoulder, as if worried someone might overhear.

"Why you dey talk like that? Na just accident, no be assassin."

He tried to brush it off, but his tone was too sharp to be casual. I could tell he was hiding something.

"Okay, so where the person wey ‘accidentally’ shoot me? You catch her?"

I pressed, not willing to let it go. My pride demanded answers, even if my heart was tired.

He hesitated, then nodded.

He shifted, lowering his voice. "Na Kamsi, our small church sister from Jos. She dey used to playing for bush. When she hear say we wan marry, she say make she see how you look. She no mean any harm. How about I tell her to apologize to you—will that be okay?"

His words were quick, as if he was afraid I might refuse. I saw the concern in his eyes, the silent plea for forgiveness—for both Kamsi and himself.

I thought for a bit, and for the Princess’s sake, I just let it go.

I sighed, letting my shoulders drop. The Princess had invited me, after all, and I didn’t want to cause more wahala. Sometimes, peace was better than pride.

Back at the low table, Kamsi dey sleep, wearing dark blue wrapper I quickly recognized as Musa’s own.

Her small frame was curled up like a child’s, the wrapper too big for her body. Even in sleep, she looked innocent, her mouth parted slightly. Musa’s wrapper smelled of menthol and engine oil, a familiar comfort from my childhood.

As we approached, she woke up, rubbing her eyes, her gaze passing me to settle on Musa behind. She yawned,

Kamsi’s yawn was wide, unbothered by the guests or the palace rules. Her first concern was always Musa, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Why you dey slow like this? Where my suya?"

She stretched her hand, as if collecting a bride price. The words hung in the air, both playful and possessive. Musa chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Musa smiled helplessly, bringing out a nylon-wrapped package from his pocket. The thing still dey hot, so he really try.

He held out the suya like an offering, his eyes soft. Even in the midst of confusion, he remembered her small pleasures. The scent of grilled meat filled the air, making my stomach rumble in spite of myself.

I just watched, face blank. Even while searching for me, he still get time to buy her suya. See effort.

The realization stung—he never bought me suya, not once in all the years. My face remained blank, but inside, I was counting all the times I’d come second to Kamsi.

He carefully tore open the suya and handed it to her. As she quickly tore off a piece, he finally smiled at her, doting.

He watched her eat, his eyes shining with pride, like a parent seeing their child do something clever. He wiped a stray bit of pepper from her lips, the gesture tender and familiar.

"Okay, stop eating small—"

He reached out, brushing her arm in a way that spoke of shared memories. His voice was gentle, but there was an edge—he wanted her attention.

He patted her shoulder gently, then pointed at me with his chin.

The gesture was deliberate, a signal to behave. He wanted Kamsi to acknowledge me, to play her part in the apology ritual expected in our community.

"This na Ifunanya. You just spoil her gele. No go offer her drink make you apologize?"

His tone was that of an older brother, but there was a warning underneath. He expected Kamsi to make amends, if only for show.

Kamsi finally noticed me. She collected Musa’s handkerchief, wiped her mouth, then looked at me with bright smile.

Her eyes danced with mischief, but her smile was wide and genuine. She extended the cup with both hands, just like they taught us in church during Holy Communion.

"Sorry, Sister Ifunanya..."

She bent her knees slightly, as custom demanded, but her eyes never left mine—half apology, half challenge. "I forget say big girls no sabi bush play. Even arrow for your gele scare you like that. My fault."

She grinned, her apology laced with teasing. The other girls giggled behind their hands. I swallowed my pride, forcing a polite smile.

"But you no need fear. My archery dey very sharp. I no fit harm you."

She puffed out her chest, clearly proud of her skill, as if her words alone could erase the scare she gave me.

She poured a cup of palm wine and handed it to me.

The drink was poured with both hands, the way elders do during new yam festivals. The palm wine frothed over the rim, white and sweet, a peace offering between rivals.

Musa watched, waiting for my reaction.

His eyes flicked between us, hope and anxiety mingling. He shifted his weight, as if ready to intervene if things went wrong.

"Abeg, Ifunanya. For my sake, let’s just forget this matter."

His voice was softer now, almost pleading. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my answer.

I frowned, took a small sip.

The wine burned my throat, strong and fresh from the tapper’s calabash. I coughed, my eyes watering. Everyone at the table leaned closer, eager for drama.

Hot fire ran down my throat, I coughed hard.

The taste of the palm wine was like lightning—sharp, hot, unforgiving. I tried to compose myself, covering my mouth as the coughs rattled out of me.

Kamsi started laughing.

Her laughter was loud, careless, drawing attention from nearby guests. Some people shook their heads, amused by my discomfort.

"Oh, I forget again. You big girls no fit drink strong wine. Na my fault—I just bring the one wey I dey used to."

Her words were meant to be playful, but I heard the mockery underneath. She was enjoying my embarrassment, sure of her place in Musa’s world.

After some time, I stopped coughing. Na just surprise, nothing more. The wine no kill person.

I wiped my mouth with the edge of my wrapper, determined not to let them see weakness. My pride held me upright, even as my insides burned.

But the one opposite me, e fit shock her.

I met Kamsi’s eyes, letting my own amusement show. She did not expect me to recover so quickly.

I smiled, lifted my head, and drank the whole cup in one go. The burning no leave quick, but I smiled at her.

The crowd gasped, someone even clapping quietly. I lowered the cup with a flourish, letting Kamsi see that I could play her game and win.

"Okay, Kamsi, your turn now."

I slid the cup toward her, eyebrow raised in challenge. The game was on.

She looked at me, face turn red then pale. In the end, maybe out of stubbornness, she picked up the cup and finished it at once.

Her hands shook, but pride would not let her refuse. She drained the cup, eyes watering. For a moment, she tried to smile, but her lips quivered.

As soon as the wine hit her, she started coughing, tears and catarrh everywhere, looking totally miserable.

The table erupted in laughter. Even Musa tried to hide a smile. Kamsi wiped her eyes, nose running, trying to hold back more tears.

I just dey watch her, small mocking smile on my lips.

My smile was measured, more pity than scorn. I wanted her to know that every action has a consequence in this world.

Why you go use something you no fit handle to test another person?

The lesson hung between us, as clear as the midday sun. Even Musa seemed to understand, his eyes finally meeting mine.

She kept hiccupping and crying, then started beating Musa’s arm with both hands.

Kamsi’s tantrum was dramatic, full of little girl energy. Musa’s face turned worried, but he let her vent, rubbing her back the way mothers soothe their children after a fall.

"See—I talk am, your fiancée no like me at all. She do am on purpose to disgrace me!"

She sniffled, turning her face into his shoulder, hoping for comfort. Some of the other girls looked at me with thinly veiled judgment.

Musa gently wiped her tears and patted her back, then glared at me.

His eyes flashed with anger, his jaw set. "Ifunanya, wetin be this? Kamsi apologize, and you do her like this? I no know say your heart fit hard like this."

I sneered. When love blind person, e go blind for everything.

I shrugged, letting the world see that I was not ashamed. Musa’s words rolled off me like water off a duck’s back. Some people are just too blind to see what is in front of them.

---

For days, Musa no come see me. Even the things I send, the house help just return them, untouched.

The compound felt emptier than usual, the laughter and noise replaced by silence. My heart weighed heavy in my chest as I watched my gifts come back, one after another, like rejected peace offerings at a stubborn shrine.

I asked the maid, tired, "He even look am?"

My voice was barely above a whisper. I tried to sound casual, but the hope in my words was obvious. The maid shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to the floor.

"No, Aunty. Once the Garba family hear say na from you, dem no even open am. Dem just tell me to return it."

His words were soft, but they landed like stones. I nodded, pretending it did not matter, even as my hands began to shake.

He paused, then whispered, "Aunty, maybe you for stop to dey send things. The gatekeeper for there talk some bad things. He say you vex the Heir, now you dey try please am, but e dey tire for you..."

He spoke quickly, his eyes full of pity. It was clear the whole village would soon know of my shame, if they didn’t already.

I sighed, quietly told my maid to take the box away.

My words were quiet, tired. I watched as she lifted the box, careful not to let the contents spill. My heart ached, but I kept my face blank.

The box full of things Musa once give me. I just wan return am.

Each item felt heavier than the last, as if my heart was packed inside. Every trinket, every old letter, even the faded beaded necklace he brought from his mother’s burial. I wanted to send them back, to free myself from the memories that now felt like curses.

Feeling hurt, I arranged outing with some friends.

I called Amaka and Bola, telling them we needed to go out. We laughed too loudly at nothing, pretending our hearts were not heavy.

That afternoon, we waka for Old Market Road for hours, only came home when night dey fall.

We bought roasted corn, licked oily fingers, and gossiped about market women who sold fake Ankara. We moved from stall to stall, buying roasted plantain, trying on cheap jewellery, letting the city’s noise drown out our pain. By the time we returned, the sky was purple and the streetlights flickered to life.

But as soon as I enter parlour, I jam uninvited guest.

I stopped short, the laughter dying in my throat. Kamsi’s voice carried from the parlour, as bright and cheerful as if she owned the house.

Kamsi, wearing light green lace, dey sit beside my mother, talking and laughing as if na her house.

Her feet were tucked neatly under her, the lace catching the evening light. My mother laughed along, her face open and trusting, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface.

As she saw me, she helped my mother stand up, smiling bright.

She rose gracefully, hands supporting my mother’s arm, her face glowing with self-satisfaction. The confidence in her step was the kind that only comes from feeling completely at home.

"Sister Ifunanya, you don come! We just dey talk about you."

Her greeting rang out, cheerful and shameless. My friends exchanged worried glances behind me, unsure if they should leave or stay.

The way she dey behave, e be like say na she be the real eldest daughter for our family.

She moved around the room as if it belonged to her, picking up photos, rearranging cushions. Even my mother seemed to have forgotten who the real daughter was.

As she moved, the gold eagle brooch for her dress flashed.

The sight of it—glinting in the lamplight—sent a jolt through me. It was unmistakable: the brooch I’d given Musa, now pinned proudly to her chest.

My eyes darkened. Na the same brooch I give Musa before.

My fists clenched at my side, anger simmering just beneath the surface. I remembered pinning that brooch on Musa’s shirt, his smile shy, promising me forever. Memories of the day I gave him that brooch flooded back, bitter and sharp.

I walked forward, sharply pulled the brooch from her dress and slammed it on the table, holding my anger.

The sound echoed in the room, silencing the laughter. My mother looked startled, Kamsi frozen mid-step, her hand hovering near her chest.

"Who give you right to come here?"

My voice was hard, unyielding. The old house seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in as the tension thickened.

She screamed, running behind my mother for cover.

Her fear was dramatic, her voice rising in pitch as she clung to my mother’s wrapper. My friends hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to intervene or escape.

"Sister, why you dey do like this? Mama, help me!"

She wailed, her eyes wide with fake innocence. My mother wrapped an arm around her, glaring at me as if I was the intruder.

Cold just run through my body. I shouted,

The anger I had kept bottled up for so long spilled over. My voice echoed through the house, sharp as broken glass.

"Wetin you just call her?"

The words hung in the air, a challenge and a warning. My mother’s eyes widened, confusion etched deep in her features.

My mother calmed her down, then looked at me, confused.

She stroked Kamsi’s back, murmuring soothing words, then turned to me, her own confusion plain. "Ifunanya, what is this?" she whispered, pleading for peace.

"Musa talk say na your wish to make Kamsi your sworn sister, so her status go rise. You always cherish Musa, and she dey wear your gold eagle brooch—how I no go believe?"

My mind reeled. The betrayal was complete. My mother’s words cut deeper than any knife—Musa’s deception was now my own cross to bear.

I shook, like thunder strike me.

My legs wobbled, the room spinning. I gripped the back of a chair, fighting for balance as the world tilted.

Because the chief said the marriage approval go wait for Lolo return, I never tell my family.

I had tried to do the right thing, to wait for tradition, and now my silence had been turned against me.

After a long time, I heard my own voice, full of disbelief.

"Who? When I talk that one?"

My voice was barely a whisper, the words barely forming as I tried to make sense of the betrayal.

My mother grew anxious, pulling me aside.

She glanced at Kamsi, then back at me, lowering her voice so only I could hear. Her eyes searched mine for truth.

"Na Musa now. He bring her come, say na your wish, hint say make we treat Kamsi well, say she get great future. You always cherish Musa, and Kamsi dey wear your gold eagle brooch—how I no go believe?"

Her words were gentle, but laced with disappointment. She truly believed she was honouring my wishes, not realizing she had been used as a pawn.

Anger just dey burn inside me, like fire wan swallow me.

Every muscle in my body tensed, the rage hot and fierce. I clenched my teeth, determined not to cry.

Na Musa.

His name echoed in my mind, bitter as bitterleaf. For the first time, I wished I never met him. But this pain, I go turn am to strength. The person I trusted most had betrayed me, weaving a web of lies that now trapped us all.

That gold eagle brooch na the one he begged for when he return from Jos, say seeing the brooch be like seeing me.

I remembered how his eyes lit up when I pinned the brooch on his shirt, the promise he made to never forget me. Now, it was nothing but another tool in his game.

So from the day he come down from Jos, he don dey arrange things for his beloved small church sister.

It all made sense now—the secret meetings, the whispered conversations, the sudden change in Musa’s behaviour. He had been plotting this from the start.

Kamsi born as orphan. With her position, she no even fit be Crown Prince’s second wife, talk less of Queen. But she get mind. Musa dey do everything to give her big lady status, even use me, use my family.

In our land, status was everything. Kamsi had none, but Musa was determined to create it for her—even if it meant trampling me in the process.

He no dey see whether she deserve am?

I wondered if he ever paused to think about fairness, or if his love had blinded him to everything else. My heart ached for the girl I used to be—the one who believed in promises.

I took deep breath, explained everything to my mother.

I told her the truth, every detail, my voice steady despite the pain. My mother listened, her expression darkening as the truth sank in.

My mother looked worried.

She shook her head, her hands twisting the edge of her wrapper. "Na my fault. I for ask you, but I fear say you go vex if Musa no happy."

Her regret was genuine, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had only wanted peace, but now saw the damage it had caused.

My heart pained me. I always insisted on marrying Musa, now my parents dey suffer because of me.

I knelt by my mother’s chair, resting my head on her lap. The old pain returned, sharper than before. I had tried to hold everything together, but now it was all falling apart.

"But now she don dey here, to send her away go need reason..."

Her words hung in the air, a warning and a plea. The village would talk, no matter what we did.

I narrowed my eyes, small smile wey nobody fit read for my face.

A plan began to form in my mind—a way to reclaim my dignity, to turn the tables at last.

"Mama, no worry. Who say we must chase her?"

I straightened, my voice calm and assured. I was done being the victim in this story.

"I get idea..."

My mother watched me, hope and fear mingling in her eyes. Whatever happened next, I was ready.