Chapter 3: Old Friends, New Jealousies

When I followed the First Lady to the garden, the guests had already arrived; after all, who would dare keep Her Excellency waiting? The garden buzzed with soft laughter and the shuffle of expensive slippers on gravel.

After greeting the ladies, the First Lady sent me to join the others, where bottles of Maltina sweated on the table beside plates piled high with chin chin and puff-puff—clearly hoping I’d look around well. I could feel her eyes on me, her hopes weighing on my shoulders.

I didn’t like crowds, so I slipped away towards a pile of rocks under the old guava tree—my secret hiding place.

To my surprise, someone was already there.

'Ijeoma, so it’s really you.'

With the sun behind him, I couldn’t see his face clearly—just a young man in black, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, with hair cut close and a leather band on his wrist. He chewed a stalk of guinea grass, his stance familiar—stubborn, yet relaxed.

It took a moment, but I recognised him. Tunde, son of the Emir of Zamfara.

When my father was alive, he was General of Zamfara. Until I turned seven, I lived in the north. Those days were a blur of dust, long shadows, and goat meat suya at dusk.

Tunde was two years older than me. Since childhood, he’d drag me everywhere—chasing chickens, disturbing goats. The northern soldiers never spoiled us. If they caught us, they’d just drag us by the collar back to the Emir’s house. Sometimes we’d get a lecture, sometimes a soft knock on the head.

The Emir’s wife always beat Tunde with a broom, apologising to my mother. 'This boy no go kill me!' she’d shout, but her eyes always smiled.

Ten years passed in a flash. The northern harmattan can’t blow into Makurdi. But sometimes, when the wind carried red dust, I closed my eyes and pretended I was back in Zamfara.

Seeing Tunde again, happiness bubbled up inside me. For ten years, I’d learned how to be a noble lady in the capital, but deep down, I missed the wide grasslands and endless, faraway dry sky of the north. My tongue itched for Hausa, to shout and run without looking back.

'Tunde, long time no see.'

He smiled, searched in his sleeve, and brought out a carved agate. He pressed the stone into my hand, his thumb lingering. 'Na only people wey I trust I dey give this kind thing.'

I collected the agate, studied it, then brought out the sachet I’d meant for Obinna. 'As dem talk, person suppose return courtesy. I made this myself—e dey drive away mosquitoes and insects. My hand no too good, abeg manage am.'

Tunde collected the sachet. His eyes softened, almost grateful.

'Did Her Highness the Emir’s wife come today?'

When I said yes, I pulled Tunde along, eager to greet the Emir’s wife. My heart beat faster—happy and anxious at the same time.

As I turned, I saw Obinna standing alone at the end of the covered walkway. I couldn’t tell how long he’d been watching. The shadow in his eyes followed me back to the party.

I returned to the crowd with Tunde, and from far off, a woman’s hearty laughter rang out.

'First Lady, look at these two children—aren’t they just a perfect match?'

It was the Emir’s wife, but nobody echoed her. Even though my engagement to Obinna wasn’t public, after the wife of the Chief of Otukpo was scolded for proposing a match for her nephew, everyone in Makurdi got the message. Nobody spoke, all waiting for the First Lady’s reaction. Aunties shifted in their chairs, fans fluttering. In Makurdi, one wrong word could become tomorrow’s market gossip.

The anger people expected didn’t come. The First Lady smiled, sipped her zobo, and said, 'I think so too.' Her tone was cool, but her eyes glittered with something unreadable.

The women looked surprised, then quickly joined in with praise. 'Ah, see how they match! Like beans and plantain!'

Someone said, 'I remember General Nwosu brought his family to the north. So Young General Tunde and Miss Ijeoma must be old friends?'

Young General Tunde?

I looked at the young man beside me and lowered my head, trying hard not to laugh. Back then, he loved calling himself 'Young General'—who would have thought he’d actually become one? Even now, his chest puffed out with pride.

Seeing my face turn red from holding in laughter, Tunde gritted his teeth and muttered, 'Ijeoma, is it really that funny?'

His vexed look only made it harder to hold in my laugh, but I bit my tongue.

I didn’t even notice when Obinna came over, but now he stood by us, frowning.

'Mama, what are you all talking about that’s making you so happy? Why not let your son hear too?' Obinna’s voice tried to sound casual, but something sharp hid beneath his words.