Chapter 4: Harmattan Marriage, Hidden Longing

After we married, Tunde remained distant and serious.

What I got from him was a body made of ice and harmattan dust. Sometimes his coldness could freeze palm oil on the stove. I would wake at night and feel only the chill of empty space beside me.

His attitude towards me was always cold, distant, calm, and controlled.

But it didn’t matter. If the mountain wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to the mountain myself.

With my stubborn efforts,

We started to look like a fairy couple.

Like, when I played the bata drum, he’d play the sekere with me; or, when I played ayo with him, he’d let me, allowing me to regret my moves over and over.

We’d sit on the back veranda, our games carrying into the night, neighbours whispering their envy to each other in hushed tones.

Tunde never took another wife, never accepted any beautiful house helps.

Everyone envied my luck.

They said I married the best man in the world, one who only loved his wife.

When I heard that, I just smiled quietly.

I learned to hide my longing behind the face of a contented wife, laughter on my lips but ache in my chest.

Looking back at my life,

Not only did I marry Tunde as I wanted and raise two outstanding children, I was even given the title of First-Rank Lady by the Oba, enjoying endless glory and honour.

Life seemed perfect already.