Chapter 4: Sisters’ Promises

When the Makurdi doctor finally came, my younger sister, Ronke Zainab, looked at me with worry.

Zainab’s big eyes searched my face, her hands busy plaiting her hair. "Aunty, you dey okay so?"

“You dey sick?”

She whispered the words like they were a secret. I could hear concern underneath.

Shame catch me, so I kept quiet.

I didn’t want her to know how desperate I was, how fear sometimes turned my tongue sour.

She just acted like she was used to my attitude towards her.

She adjusted her wrapper, pretending to focus on her embroidery. We both learned to hide things from each other, growing up with only papa.

After taking my pulse, the doctor looked at me well.

He pressed my wrist, his brows furrowed. The silence stretched, my heart pounding like bata drum.

“This young lady’s pulse dey strong, even better than most people.”

He smiled, showing a gap tooth. "Aunty, if na fight, you go win am. Nothing dey wrong with you."

My sister just laughed small.

She covered her mouth, eyes dancing. "Na so, Aunty, I dey tell you since. You no dey hear word."

I understood—the doctor dey praise my good health, nothing dey wrong with me at all.

But it felt strange, almost too good to be true. My whole life, sickness had been my story—now, suddenly, I was just... healthy?

But why the palace doctors in my last life talk say my body spoil, that I no fit get belle?

I remembered their cold fingers, their murmured consultations outside my door. Had I been cursed? Or had palace politics played a part?

I refused to believe the doctor, so I begged papa to find miracle doctors, even sent the nanny to look for doctors from other places to check me.

Papa just tire for my wahala.

He rubbed his bald head and muttered, "Na only stubborn goat no dey hear shepherd voice. This my pikin no go kill me."

“Doctor talk say you dey healthy. Why you no believe?”

His tone was half-annoyed, half-concerned. I saw his worry hiding beneath the gruffness.

I was holding one herbal medicine the nanny just brought, meant to make my body stronger.

It smelled of bitter leaf and dried ginger, dark as night. I stared at it, hands trembling.

“Papa, this thing mean plenty to me.”

My voice cracked, the words almost sticking in my throat. My chest felt heavy, like a calabash full of water ready to spill.

As I talk am, my voice start to shake with tears.

Even the walls seemed to echo with my sorrow. I blinked fast, trying to hold myself together.

Papa was shocked, then sighed and snatched the medicine from my hand.

He moved quickly, the way only fathers who love too deeply can. "No let this thing scatter your belle more."

“No drink this one. I go palace, collect correct prescription from the royal clinic for you.”

He sounded firm, leaving no room for argument. My stubbornness met its match.

I happy immediately.

My smile returned, small but bright. Hope returned with it, dancing in my chest like masquerades in the rain.

“Papa, you too much.”

He looked at me with love. “Okay, I dey go now now.”

He winked and pinched my cheek, muttering something about stubborn daughters and God’s favour.