Igba Nkwu

One eyebrow looked slightly higher than the other. You really had to peek closely to notice it, but no one was going  to do that. Not if I could help it anyway. Nneka had been on my makeup for nearly two hours  and our guests were slowly trickling in. Anyone else would have gotten a memorable scolding from me, but not Nneka. She was doing the job for free.

"You know I am your friend. Remember me when you go to obodo oyibo o!" she had said just before she picked the brush. To show how serious she was, she did not touch my face until I said I would never forget her after leaving the country. It seemed like a fair deal, whether I kept my end of the bargain or not.

"Nne, are you not done?" my mother asked her impatiently. Nneka was part of the family too and my mother took her like a daughter. "Ola's husband's people are here already and you know that ndi obodo oyibo adighi egbu oge." White people do not waste time.

"Mummy, I just need to apply powder and she will shine," Nneka replied her as she layered my lips a third time.

My mother turned to me. "Ola, you look so gorgeous. Asa mpete!"

I blushed. "Thank you mummy." Finally, Nneka was done and it was time to dance for the love of my life.

My mother helped me into my clothes, while reminding me repeatedly of how beautiful I looked. Once the MC was signaled that I was ready, he announced my entrance and I proudly and gracefully walked through the door of my father's house. Then I bent over and began to roll my hips as my sister had taught me.

Make sure the waist beads are shaking o! It is the only way to prove that you are dancing well.

The corals around my midriff were definitely adding some melody to the performance of the life band. I felt like a peacock prancing around in a few clothes and way too many beads, but I danced on. Anything for Ikem.

I reached my father's side and he handed me a cup filled with palmwine.

"Ngwa chota di gi," he instructed. Find your husband.

 For a while, I concentrated so hard on the dance that I forgot my goal. Find your husband.  It was difficult to combine the dancing with the search, but the labelled tents helped a great deal. Once I spotted the 'Okere family' sign, I danced with every fiber of my being and inched towards it like one in a trance.

I found him in seconds. It was impossible to miss that frame. His jaw seemed to project from the flat surface and his eyes were slightly closed. The winter jacket he wore was not as white as I would have liked, but it was proof that I would soon leave those jealous village girls behind. His brother sat beside him and struggled to hold the picture while I danced towards it. His brother looked a lot like him- handsome, tall and maybe even rich. Too bad he lived in Lagos and not London like my husband.

"How can she marry a picture?" I heard someone say and I looked up reflexively.   Of course, I found the owner of the voice looking away guiltily. The amebo.

I knelt in front of the picture and sipped the wine. Ike's brother took the cup in my hand and emptied its content in his belly. Then, he walked with me to his father and we knelt before him to receive the marital blessings. Although tradition allowed Ike's brother to take his place in the ceremony, it still felt strange. Instead of dwelling on that, I tried to think of the snow and that winter jacket Ike wore in the picture. It helped to imagine that I was already in Singapore on our honeymoon as he had promised me. I could not wait.


*****


They needed another pair of hands in the restaurant and I had no job anyway. I stood beside my 'oyibo' husband and dipped my hands in the sink, washing the myriad of plates while he rinsed and stacked them in piles. Singapore was long forgotten, but at least I had my own winter jacket. It was hanging in our locker room; the one for the kitchen crew.


* Igba Nkwu- traditional marriage (Igbo)
* obodo oyibo- abroad (Igbo)
* amebo- one who cannot mind his business

#TheRitaSide