Chapter 9: Waiting and Letting Go

From that time, I dey attend every party, but I never see Auwalu again.

I wore my best clothes, smiled at every elder, danced till my feet ached—still, no sign of him. Disappointment became my daily companion.

Maybe work dey keep am busy.

People gossiped—"King dey busy with council matter, no get time for parties." I tried to believe them.

I console myself, still dey tell papa to support Auwalu.

"Papa, abeg, if dem call for donation for palace, make we help." It was my small way of staying connected.

That harmattan, Auwalu finally become king.

The whole city celebrated—drumming, feasting, even the street hawkers sang his praises. My heart swelled with pride and sorrow.

Next rainy season, I waited, happy, for the selection list.

Every night, I counted days, praying under my breath. The sound of rain on the roof gave me hope.

But dem say no selection go happen that year.

Rumours spread—some said the king wanted to focus on reforms, others blamed bad omens. I was left in limbo.

Few days after, king send decree: Lady Halima, gentle and good, go become queen, go dey in charge for central palace.

The town crier’s voice echoed through the streets. Women wept, some celebrated. For me, it felt like the closing of a door.

His Majesty even shoot wild ducks himself—na symbol for marriage—and send am to Halima family.

I remembered the old tradition—wild ducks signified a union blessed by the ancestors. It was official: the queen had been chosen.

Just like last life, Halima Jinadu become queen.

It was as if the gods themselves had written this story in stone. My hopes slipped through my fingers like grains of rice.

Even though I know say Auwalu no come back to life like me, and no fit keep the promise of our past life…

Loneliness settled over me, heavy as harmattan fog.

When I look the sachet I sew for him, tears no gree stop.

The little pouch still smelled of sandalwood and cloves. I pressed it to my chest, sobbing quietly.

Anger catch me, I tear the sachet, the scent just scatter everywhere, then I start to regret.

Frustration boiled over—then guilt. I gathered the pieces, hands shaking.

Last life, I enter palace the next year—maybe I still fit wait.

Hope flickered again, stubborn as always. Maybe next year, things would change.

I gather the pieces, wipe my tears, and sew am back.

Each stitch was a prayer, a silent wish for another chance.

Needle prick me, blood drop for my finger.

I sucked my finger, remembering old superstitions—blood brings luck, or maybe just more pain.

Papa knock enter. I quickly bend my head.

He entered quietly, always respectful of my privacy. I hid the sachet behind my wrapper.

“Ronke, you fit begin see suitors now.”

His voice was gentle, but the words felt final, like the closing of a chapter.

Tears choke me. “Make I wait small. Maybe next year I go enter palace, become consort.”

I looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. My voice sounded small, even to me.

Papa open eye, like say I dey craze.

He stared, mouth open, shaking his head. "My daughter, this palace matter don dey turn your brain."

“Wetin dey sweet for palace?”

His question was genuine, baffled. Palace life to him was full of danger and loneliness.

I answer soft, “But I just like king.”

My heart whispered the truth, even if it hurt.

Auwalu treat me too well.

Memories of his kindness flickered through my mind—his laughter, his steady hands, his unwavering support.

He quiet, think long, then talk slowly.

He sat beside me, eyes far away. "Sometimes, love dey make person foolish, but no be every foolishness bad."

“Ronke, I dey selfish. I no want make you enter palace. I just want you near me, even if you marry, you fit always come house.”

He spoke softly, his hand warm on my shoulder. I saw the loneliness in his eyes—a father’s love that never fades.

I look inside his eyes.

I saw pain, hope, and pride mixed together. My heart softened.

My heart move.

I reached for his hand, holding it tight. For the first time in a long while, I let myself lean on him.

Mama die early, na papa raise me and my sister alone. Even my mama people beg am to marry again, but he fear make dem no treat us well, so he no do am.

He sacrificed so much, carrying our burdens without complaint. I understood now, more than ever, how much he had given up.

“Papa…”

My voice broke, gratitude and sorrow mingling. "Thank you."

He wave hand. “As long as you dey happy, I go support you.”

He smiled, wiping his eyes quickly. "You go always be my pikin, palace or no palace."