Chapter 6: Bedroom Confessions and Family Fire

“Daughter, hear your mama—go collect this Dr. Ebuka!” For road go house, my mama hold my wrist like say she wan catch church prophet. “Him papa na professor, him mama na my women’s fellowship leader.”

She dey list all Ebuka family achievement like say she dey read CV for job interview. I just dey drag hand, dey look sky.

“Mama, we no match...” I hold car door, dey struggle.

She grip my hand strong. Na so all these mamas dey—no dey give up. I dey pray make traffic jam rescue me.

“How you go know if you never try?” My mama dey craze for Dr. Ebuka, like say she wan carry am herself put for my bed.

If she fit, she go write my wedding invitation by herself. For Naija, na so dem dey hustle husband for pikin.

Next day, I dey chop chin-chin dey watch drama, she burst enter: “Go change, Aunty Ngozi dey come.”

She no give warning. Just burst in like police. I still dey wear old singlet, dey scatter chin-chin for mouth.

I hold my snack, ready run. “I go hide for my room.”

I dey calculate if window fit pass my size. Survival mode don activate.

She press me down. “How you go hide when person dey visit?”

She dey do like say na me be hostess of the year. My own case weak me.

I dey munch chips. “Na your friend, no be my own.”

I dey form hard girl, but my heart dey pound. I know say trouble dey cook.

She pull me. “But you sabi her son—”

She dey drag am, like say e be surprise party. I dey fear wetin go happen next.

As she dey talk, bell ring. My mama rush open door. Two of them just dey yarn.

If I fit hide for cupboard, I for enter. But pride dey hold me.

“Oh, you no suppose bring many things!”

Na so mama dey do—dey humble herself, but dey expect make guest bring all market join.

“I hear say Ifunanya dey house, so I bring food.”

My stomach wan betray me, but my brain still dey on alert.

“Oh, all na Ifunanya favorite.”

Na so dem dey use food bribe child for Naija. My mama dey smile anyhow.

“Yes, Ebuka pick am. E be like fate!”

I for faint. So na plan-work dem do.

I hear familiar voice: “Aunty, we meet again.”

My heart skip. I nearly swallow chin-chin whole. Na so old memory dey catch person.

My hand shake, half chin-chin still for my mouth, I look up.

Dr. Ebuka stand for entrance, fresh senator wear, tie straight, dey behind him mama, hand full of gift bag. He look like person wey wan do introduction.

The way he package, you go think say na pre-wedding photo dem come snap.

“Oh, this na Ifunanya? Fine girl!”

My head dey swell small, but I dey package shyness. For my mind, I dey wonder if make-up still dey my face.

“Aunty, good afternoon,” I greet, shy.

I dey bend knee small, just to show respect. For Igbo house, na so dem dey.

My mama nudge me. “Go bring malt for guests.”

She wan make I dey busy, so I no go run. I carry tray, arrange malt, dey try hide from Ebuka eye.

The two mamas take sofa, leave me and Dr. Ebuka for one side, dey smile like mumu.

Dem dey gist, dey watch us, dey form matchmaker. If to say camera dey, dem for snap us for family album.

“Oh, my Ifunanya just dey play, no be like Ebuka—so young, don be associate chief, tall, fine. Ngozi, you lucky.”

Na competition for mouth. Dem dey use us measure pride. I just dey look ground.

“You too lucky, your daughter sweet. My own na like him papa—work no dey finish.”

The compliment dey fly left and right. I dey wonder if dem go soon measure my bride price for parlour, right there.

Two of them start to dey praise each other. Me and Dr. Ebuka just quiet.

Dem dey act like say na new episode of African Magic dem dey audition for.

As dem see say we quiet, dem say, “Una young people get plenty talk. My Ebuka too serious, no sabi chase girl. No shy—una go blend soon.”

E be like say dem dey forget say we don blend before. I dey reason if dem go soon arrange wedding date.

We don blend reach. We don kiss sotay lips swell...

My mind dey play flashback, but I just dey bone, dey chew orange slice like say nothing dey happen.

I just bone like quail. Dr. Ebuka dey peel orange. I dey watch him long finger dey slice orange like art.

Orange juice dey drip for him finger, I dey fight urge to lick am. Na so temptation dey taste sweet.

I dey count seed for orange, but na my own shakara dey distract me. His hand dey make me remember bedroom matter.