Chapter 2: The Daughter’s Palm

“Brother, I go first.”

His voice loud for the corridor, like person wey dey claim property. Dem no even hide their plan. My ear stand. This time, nothing go catch me unaware.

My innocent sister no even sense danger. After she say bye-bye to me, she wan follow her best friend go. Her face dey bright, makeup still fresh, her eyes dey shine, she dey happy to support her friend. For her mind, na good thing she dey do.

I call am, “Wait, sis! For this happy day, you never even toast Ruwa. Why you dey rush sleep?”

I fake smile, try hide my fear, but I dey watch Halima eye. My sister pause, look back, her shoes make small sound for the cement floor.

My sister just laugh. “But I no sabi drink.”

She shake her head, hold her wrapper, small shyness for her face. Even as she dey laugh, her voice small, "Brother, abeg, you know me. I go just embarrass myself."

“No wahala, you no go drink. Ruwa travel all this way come be my bridesmaid—I dey thank her well.”

I try make her relax, but my mind dey plan. Na this same step dem take last time before everything scatter.

“Let’s go, Ruwa,” Halima talk, her smile sharp like knife, as she drag my sister’s hand, wan go.

Halima dey do as if she too happy. Her teeth dey shine, but her eyes cold. She grip my sister hand tight, like say she dey hurry her go. She even wink at one of the groomsmen across the hall.

I smile, bring out one bottle of palm wine from my bag, wave am.

I raise am up, the wine dey catch candle light. The bottle old, label don peel, na real village stuff. For our side, palm wine dey mean trust and celebration, especially for daughters.

My sister shout, “Ah!” quick collect am.

She collect the bottle sharp-sharp, laugh scatter everywhere. She hug am to her chest, eyes bright. "Brother, you too dey surprise person!"

I turn to Halima. “Halima, see my head. This na ‘daughter’s palm’—special wine my papa bury for me over twenty years ago. I bring am for you. I suppose open am during the wedding so you go taste, but I forget.”

I rub my head like say I dey forgetful. Everybody for village sabi say 'daughter's palm' na big thing—na wine wey elders dey bless for their pikin. I use my papa name call witness, make the matter serious.

My sister na simple and kind person. But this her friend? No single sign of guilt for her face.

Halima just dey act. She nod, open hand, pretend like say she dey touched. But her eye no get any light of real friendship. She dey plan something, and I dey watch.

“Wow, Ruwa, you too good to me,” Halima talk, hug my sister with fake surprise and excitement. “But wedding don finish. Make we keep am till I born, then we celebrate the baby.”

Halima dey form soft voice, hug Ruwa small, then quickly release her. She dey act the script, but me I dey see am—her hand dey shake, her voice dey too sweet. Village women for corner dey look, dey gossip for low voice.

My sister wan gree, but I quick cut in, “That one no pure. This ‘daughter’s palm’ don old well—na now we suppose drink am. I go bring cup.”

I act like elder for family—no room for delay. "This wine no dey wait for pikin o! Tradition talk say if you miss today, e no go sweet again." I talk am loud so the two of them no go dodge.

I no even give her chance to talk, I run go. Tonight, if I no make her drunk, make I write my name upside down.

I waka pass crowd, go kitchen side, mind dey hot. I dey pray make this plan work, because for this village, na only sharp mind fit survive.