Chapter 9: Ife Mansion

As I dey for jeep, the rope dey bite me, my body just dey cold.

E be like say my whole body fall enter cold river, chill dey catch me back to back.

Maybe, just maybe, dem fit don mistake.

The Ifedayo wey dem dey talk no be my husband.

My own Ifedayo na poor scholar.

Na me e love, no go marry any other woman.

E no be one of those big men wey no get work.

E dey help me feed chicken and duck, dey copy book for extra money.

E even dey cook, make me sweet pear soup.

E talk say once e pass exam, e go carry me meet him family.

Pass exam?

Pass exam!

Na so—Ifedayo don pass.

My breath hang for throat. For Yoruba land, once man pass big exam, family fit call am home, arrange marriage as dem like.

"Splash—"

One cup of tea land for my face. I open eye sharp, see one old, wicked eye dey look me.

"Now wey you don enter Ife mansion, you better behave."

"If you talk anyhow or do rubbish, I go skin you alive!"

After jeep stop, Mama Titi call for one small blue tricycle.

Ife mansion big pass wetin I ever imagine.

I sit for tricycle, no know how long, pass gate after gate, body dey shake, finally reach one compound full of frangipani flower.

The air for Ife mansion sweet with frangipani and soap, nothing like the dust for my village. Plenty maids and old women dey wait. As I reach, dem rush me enter house.

Dem change my cloth, rub powder, paint my face.

I look the woman for glass mirror, dress like flower—no even sabi myself again.

As dem finish, maids waka comot.

Soon, the big wooden door open, one voice wey I sabi enter.

Ifedayo wear fine agbada, coral bead for head, body full of big man swag—side of am wey I never see before.

He stand tall, agbada sweep ground, beads heavy for neck—no be the man wey dey patch shoe with me.

"Ngozi, e don tey. You miss me?"

My spirit nearly comot from body. See as love turn stranger for my front. For mansion, na story wey you hear for old women mouth.