Verdict On Greed

By Tina Adaugo Festus

Greed like a magnet draws the culprit and the victim toward the centre. 

The victim must sow what he will not reap and the culprit shall reap what he has not sown. 

In a society where the majority are dying in the midst of the plenty, I am a victim and not a culprit. But if you judge us, all of us pr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tina Adaugo Festus
• Release date: Jul 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781802270389

Book preview

Verdict_On_Greed2626.jpgVerdict-front

Copyright © 2021 Tina A. Festus.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed by Ingramspark.

First printing, 2021.

ISBN:978-1-80227-037-2 (Paperback)

978-1-80227-038-9 (eBook)

In memory of the best parents that ever lived, Reuben Ogbuagu Lemchi (ROLE) and Lydia Ogbuagu. If reincarnation is real, you will forever be my parents.

Acknowledgement

Writing a novel is a big task. And like most tasks, it would have been more challenging without the immeasurable help from these wonderful people:

My awesome husband, Chief Festus, whose incredible suggestions provided a new direction whenever the narrative hit a brick wall.

My children – Chiemezie, Adaezi, Kelechukwu and Chiamaka. You all understood the role of green tea lemon whenever I sat by the computer to write. You ensured my cup was always refilled until I need no more. I love you loads.

Dr Elijah Moyana, for all the time you spent going through the manuscript, advising and suggesting. Thank you so much.

Dr Oduwaiye, thank you for your incredible support and encouragement. They consistently fanned the flame. Highly appreciated.

Chief and Lolo Ogbueshi Oburota, great shoulders to lean on. I can’t thank you enough.

Taiwo and Latiefa Muhammed, you have been part of this journey from day one. Thank you so much.

The entire Ogbuagu’s family, you all sourced my strength in one way or the other.

To a special couple, Okenze and Lolo S.I Obinna, thank you for believing in me.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER ONE

Cruise ship

The best summer, ever, Harry thought. He swallowed a lump of smoke, exhaled the remaining, flung the cigarette butt into the roaring sea, and watched as the ship sailed along. It was the third day of their cruise holiday. The turquoise-blue sky curved into the sea from a distance, making the voyage seem like a spherical adventure. His face creased into a smile. The first holiday with his girlfriend, Candace, was a privilege he wished to be recurrent in their family’s annual holiday plans. 6.15 a.m. He closed the window of his cabin and lay down again, wishing that Candace would slow down her pillar-jerking snore. As he lay, Candace turned and opened her eyes. ‘Still awake?’ she asked, and he sighed.

‘We must do something about this snoring as soon as we get back home.’

‘Aya, we really have to.’ She got out of bed, went to use the toilet, and pulled down the window roller blind to prevent the early morning summer sun from penetrating their room. Then she lay down again. ‘I’ve been wondering,’ Harry began.

‘About what?’

‘The suddenness at which Dad booked this cruise, and without Mum too. For the first time in my life, we’ve gone on a family holiday without her.’

‘Did she want to come?’

‘She very much did, but Dad vehemently refused. I even heard them arguing about it.’

‘Maybe because your mum just came back from holiday.’

‘I doubt that. They were even meant to go on that break together, and Dad pulled out at the last minute.’

‘So what do you think?’ Candace asked.

‘I’m trying to figure it out, but nothing is clicking.’

‘That shouldn’t be your problem. They will sort it out.’ She threw her hand across him.

Harriett wriggled out of bed, yawning. The alarm had done its bit. The impact of the previous night’s outing was still evident. She pulled on a pair of jersey shorts with reluctance and headed to her dad’s cabin. Her mum had laboured her with ensuring her dad took his medication as prescribed, and she’d been up to the task. It was her second time on a cruise, and it had all been fun-packed so far. After a slight tap, she pushed the door open. On the double sofa sat her father, Morry, with his mobile phone to his left ear, face grimaced. Harriett stood fixed, hands akimbo. He didn’t seem to notice her.

‘Dad!’ She broke the cocoon of silence. ‘Who are you calling? Mum?’

‘No, a friend,’ he replied with a dismissive wave. The voice from the other end sounded foreign and recorded.

‘No response, Dad. No one is…’

‘Yes,’ he interrupted, his distress becoming more obvious. ‘The payment has gone alright,’ her dad said.

‘Which payment?’

‘An instruction to my secretary,’ he sighed.

‘Gosh! You’re on holiday, Dad. Work while you work and play while you play. You taught me that as a kid. A week off won’t crumble your business empire, ever. Besides, Judy is the smartest secretary I’ve ever known. Chillax, Dad. Now, I’ll make you a cuppa.’

As she did, everything she touched seemed to tumble. The cup almost slipped. This isn’t my hard as nails father. This is definitely not Morry Jackson.

She handed the steaming coffee to him and watched while he stirred and stared at it. Then he sipped from his coffee. ‘It feels like a handyman is drilling through my skull,’ he said.

‘It’s stress, dad, stress. You need to rest, and that’s why we’re here.’ She massaged his shoulders, straightening the collar of his pyjamas. ‘Sandwich?’

‘No, love. My appetite is on vacation too.’ He took another sip. ‘I need to sleep.’

‘Your bed is free. What is troubling you? Have you spoken to Mum today?’

‘Not yet. I’m all right.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ She dialled her mum.

‘Mum, your man here is acting strange. Speak to him, please.’

Her mother did most of the talking while he responded yes and no with difficulty. It lasted a few minutes, and then he returned the phone to Harriett. Their eyes flitted from each other to different things in the room.

He gulped the last of the coffee that has lost much heat.

‘Your medication, now.’ She handed him the morning dose with water.

The glass dropped from his hand, splashing water all over the floor.

‘Dad, you need your medication to get better.’

‘You don’t understand, girl.’ His lips pushed backwards. ‘Some situations render medications ineffective, and such are more issues of the mind than bodily discomfort.’

‘Sounds like a parable.’

‘Tough times defy all medications, times when thick darkness envelopes the only hope to life,’ he continued.

‘I don’t get it.’

‘I mean, times when a lion’s source of strength is bankrupt. At such times, life itself will be worthless, and its feared opposite will be most desirable.’ He turned the tablets in his hands as if contemplating whether to swallow them. Finally, he poured them all into his mouth and gulped.

‘It still doesn’t click,’ her eyes straightened onto his.

‘You may not understand, sweetheart.’ He got up from the sofa and went to the bed.

The statements were not ordinary. They were definitely beyond his usual philosophical jargon.

He lay facing up, his left hand tucked under his head. His unsteadiness registered as she massaged his right fingers. Those fat fingers that had once been disciplinary instruments when they were younger. If caught in one of their little mischiefs, their dad would give them a few strokes with his index finger before deciding on the main punishment: banning them from their favourite television programme, forcing them to bed earlier than normal, or depriving them of their playtime, depending on the seriousness of their offence. The fingers were now shrivelled and wrinkled, shaking like leaves in the wind.

‘Where is your brother?’

‘In his room, I suppose.’

‘How would you define life?’

She couldn’t hide her shock at such a question and the suddenness. ‘What a question, Dad! Simple and difficult in one.’

‘Yes. A genius finds an answer to difficult questions. In your understanding and experience, how would you define life?’

‘Life is… life is... is… is living and loving, access to the best things that give you peace, joy and happiness. Life is staying with those you love and who love you. Love and life are a heavenly pair.’

‘Fair enough. What do you consider a good, bad, fulfilled or wasted life?’

‘Sounds like coursework; I need time to research and a deadline to submit it. Time for everything, now we’re on holiday. Shall we…’

He got up from the bed, sat down and held her hands. ‘You’re right, sweetheart. But time is what we haven’t got at the moment.’

‘What are you talking about? You’re scaring me now.’ She couldn’t contain the rapidity of her rib movement.

‘Sorry, love, I don’t mean to. I really need someone to X-ray life, particularly issues in the heart of man.’

‘Only God can scan human hearts. Seers may try, though.’

‘Scientists and technology still have more to do; create a means to discern a heart embroiled in evil and deception.’

‘And whose evil heart would you want scanned?’ she asked, freeing her sweaty hand from his grip. Her head leaned closer to his. ‘Let me into your world of worries, Dad, please.’

Laced with betrayal, he shaded his face with his two hands. She sensed it, whatever it was, had eaten deep into his soul, spirit and body. ‘My ears are all yours now, Dad, whatever you need.’

‘Some water, please.’

She refilled his glass.

He sipped and handed it back to her, grinding his teeth and avoiding her eyes. ‘Forgive me, sweetheart; I love you all and will always do.’

‘I love you too; we all love you, Dad. Please, stop this now.’ Her voice was croaky.

‘Your attention, please.’

She faced him. His eyes had sunk deeper into their sockets.

‘In the journey of life,’ he began, ‘mistakes are unavoidable. Everything in life is a gamble, including life itself. Food for thought: he who doesn’t work, doesn’t deserve to eat; and he who desired to eat when he didn’t work? Greedy!’

‘Parables again? I still don’t get it.’ She raised her voice, this time losing her patience.

He squeezed her hand and continued. ‘Sweetie, in issues of life, always, always listen to the voice of wisdom, the voice of the angels, the voice of life. That breezy inner voice, sweet and saintly, is of God. It’s consistently persistent. Obeying it is life, disobeying it is a chain of calamities.’

‘Please, make it a bit clearer, Dad.’

‘The journey is far spent, which is great, but the end is soured. However, the end is the end.’ He coughed slightly.

‘Some water?’

‘No, thanks, a nap perhaps, and when I’m up, I’ll speak to you and your brother, later if possible.’ He lay down again.

She stood watching over him like a guardian angel until he dozed off.

CHAPTER TWO

Cruise ship

A few more hours of sleep and a nice shower later, and Harry was set for another day. His bushy afro took most of his dressing time, creaming and combing it to the desired pattern. Candace had been waiting for him at a restaurant on the third floor for breakfast. On his way to join her, he stopped to check on his dad; perhaps he would like to join them. He tapped on the door and waited for a response that failed to come. ‘Dad,’ he shouted to no avail. Then he tried his mobile phone, which rang but wasn’t answered. Probably gone out or in his sister’s room, he assumed. Harriett was sleeping, her door slightly open. He bounced into her room with startling force, purposely waking her up.

‘Hey!’ Harriett shrieked.

‘When are you going to fuckin’ wake up?’

‘What’s your business with that? While you were still in the land of the nod, I had to attend to Dad early this morning.’

‘What time?’

‘Sixish.’

‘I’ve just come from there; he’s not in. I called his number but no answer.’

‘I left him sleeping; he should be in.’ She got up, put on her housecoat and a pair of slippers and rushed back with her brother to their dad. ‘He didn’t seem great when I left him...’

‘Fever, cough or the usual?’

‘Erm, none of the above. I guess he’s just troubled.’ Her hands folded across her chest.

‘Why? How?’

‘He made some statements and asked out-of-context questions. I was uncomfortable, to be honest.’

Harry tried to subdue the fear underlying his thoughts. ‘Statements and out-of-context questions?’ he repeated, staring at her, mouth agape.

They’d been knocking for a while and trying his phone without success.

‘Perhaps he’s gone out for breakfast,’ she added, as if to defuse the building tension.

‘I don’t think so, but let’s hunt for him.’

They visited all the most likely places he might go. She headed to the gym and golf court while he checked at the bars and restaurants. He could see the back of a man with a black hat sitting in a bar and sipping from a glass.

Could that be Dad? Harry thought, baring his teeth slightly, which tightened when he approached the stranger.

Harriett was talking to the receptionist. ‘Any luck?’ Harry asked as he joined them.

‘Nope, I just told the receptionist to announce it.’

‘Are you sure he’s not inside?’ the receptionist asked.

‘His room is locked, and he’s not answering his phone,’ Harriett said as Candace joined her, and they both headed toward Morry’s room.

The receptionist contacted security a few minutes after making the announcement, which was repeated at brief intervals.

Harry sat down, his thoughts in turmoil. The situation was gradually ceasing to be a joke. Security personnel hurried into the reception area. The receptionist beckoned to Harry, and they all headed to Morry’s room. Harriett and Candace were waiting near the door when Harry and the group arrived. As the receptionist fiddled with the bunch of keys, all eyes were fixed on the keyhole. Scraping his hands through his hair, Harry’s breathing heaved noisily while Harriett paced aimlessly. As the key turned in the lock and the door opened, they all stumbled in to be met with an empty room. Morry’s phone was on the bed.

‘No one?’ the receptionist asked, jingling the bunch of keys and facing Harry.

‘Strange, where could he be?’ Harry asked. Harriett opened the bathroom door and screamed.

Morry’s body had stiffened in a bath half-filled with water. A white powdered substance was stuck on his moustache, and brownish foam coated his mouth and nostrils. Shards of shattered glass covered with the white substance were all over the floor. The security team quickly secured the scene. Harry held his sister’s hand while trying to control his emotions. Candace joined them, cleaning her tears as well. They were instructed to leave the room while medical officers did their job, so they went to Harry’s room.

A security officer came to them some hours later for some information.

‘When did you last see your dad alive?’ the officer asked, alternating her glances between the two siblings.

Harriett summarised her experience during her last visit to her dad.

‘And your mother?’

‘She didn’t come with us,’ Harry answered.

‘Why not?’

‘She wanted to, but it seemed dad didn’t want her to come, I think,’ Harriett muttered.

‘She had just come back from holiday and resumed work,’ Harry added.

‘What was your dad talking about on the phone when you walked into his room?’

‘He wasn’t actually talking, but he did mention a payment going through.’

The officer nodded and kept jotting. ‘What payment was he referring to?’

‘No idea. He said it was an instruction to his secretary.’

‘What does he do for a living?’

‘He dealt with raw gold,’ Harry said.

‘Daddy, you can’t do this to us!’ Harriett screamed. She broke down again, disrupting the discussion.

The officer left them and made her way to Morry’s room; they followed her. The medical personnel had finished with the scene. They lifted Morry onto a stretcher and wheeled him out.

‘Where’re you going, Dad? Is this the holiday?’ Harry asked, his eyes misty.

‘Quite unfortunate. Please be strong, young man,’ the cabin manager said.

Candace brought a pack of tissues and cleaned Harry’s tears, wiping hers as well, while Harriett droned and paced around the room. For a while, the cabin manager’s advice and encouragement seemed to hang in the air.

‘Mr Jackson, please come to the office later to sort out the documentation.’

Harry nodded.

‘The next port is Spain,’ the manager informed him.

‘And?’ Harriett asked, staring at the manager.

‘You may have to disembark and arrange for it to be flown home,’ the manager replied.

Harry sighed heavily.

‘See you soon,’ he added, tapping Harry on the shoulder.

‘Strange world, my father is now being referred to as it.’

As the cabin manager left, Harry packed all his dad’s belongings into a suitcase and headed to his room. He avoided the balcony between his room and Morry’s, where both of them had smoked and chatted two nights previously. Morry had supported himself on the rail, drawing and puffing out from his pipe. Morry loved his cigarettes, but a puff from his pipe usually had extra implications: perhaps a problem and, if that was the case, a serious one. Either he was after something difficult, or something sinister was after him. He always explained whatever it was later, giving superficial reasons why he had kept the problem secret. The ability to keep a secret, he would stress, adds to one’s credibility. This situation was different; he was tight-lipped. Incredible, Harry thought. Only fools, failures and, perhaps, lunatics would consider suicide an option – no matter the problem. What could have suddenly robbed Morrison Joseph Jackson of all the wisdom, patience and tolerance he’d always preached with passion? Harry imagined his dad in the morgue and stiffened. Why suicide? Why? Why? he thought.

Candace and Harriett were coming towards his room; he rubbed his eyes and tried to brighten up. The three of them went into Harry’s room. Candace sat beside Harry. Her right hand over his shoulder, she stared at his face.

‘Something to drink?’ she asked Harry.

‘No, thanks,’ he replied. It was all quiet in the room.

Shortly after, they all returned to Morry’s room. Harry rummaged through his dad’s suitcase for anything with clues to such a drastic action. He couldn’t find anything. Then, Morry’s phone rang. It was Judy. Harriett picked up the phone.

‘Don’t answer it,’ Harry instructed.

‘What if there is an emergency in the office?’

‘What can you do if there is?’ He snatched the phone from her and scrolled down, checking all the calls his father had made or received in the last few days. There was a particular number with +234, an international code, saved as ‘A. Bako.’ Morry had been calling the number throughout the week, and it was the last number he called before his death. Harry tried the number several times, and it went straight to voicemail each time.

‘We need to tell mum now,’ Harriett suggested.

‘Not when she’s still in the office. I’m thinking of the best way to give her the news.

‘Better someone goes to her personally,’ Candace advised.

‘Uncle Matt then,’ Harriett responded.

‘Hope he handles the situation well, given his drinking problem,’ Harry worried.

‘Why not? With this tragedy, his brain will surely sober up,’ Candace added.

Harry grabbed his phone and made a call. It was 1 p.m.

CHAPTER THREE

Lagos

Oby sat on the bed, still in her nightwear. She glanced at the list in her hand and nodded in affirmation. Every item on it had been sorted. In just a matter of days, she would be married to Uj in a traditional way. That would be a dream come true. The organising committee was coming to their house that evening to put the finishing touches on arrangements and planning.

‘Major Ndu has promised to supply fifty soldiers. The State Commissioner of Police will send a hundred of his boys: plain-clothed observers have been recruited who will mingle with guests and report any suspicion.’ Omekagu briefed them.

‘Any traffic control arrangement?’ Uj asked.

‘Yes, in fact, the Ekeneoba and Aba roads will be closed to all traffic throughout the weekend,’ Omekagu added.

‘Attendees’ safety is a major priority,’ Oby stressed.

‘Trust me; it’s all sorted,’ Omekagu replied.

‘Emeka, how are you progressing with your assignment?’ Uj asked.

Emeka was a member of the organising committee.

‘I’m very ready, Sir. The trailers with the goods will be heading east tomorrow,’ Emeka updated him.

‘Any damage?’ Oby asked.

‘Not much, just a few bottles of red wine that broke and soiled two VIP seats, but they’ve been taken care of. The OBUJU 2010 sticker is on every single item.’

‘Great. Gentlemen, I appreciate it. We’re now set to go,’ Uj said.

Oby and her best friend Gina left for her village the following day. Oby was pleased. Her family home could be mistaken for a mini-palace; a massive transformation had taken place within the last few weeks. Jumec Construction Company had put their stamp of excellence on the refurbishment and decoration of the whole compound to prepare for the grand occasion, which had to take place in the bride’s family home. There were additions to the main building; three new toilets and bathrooms within the compound. Uj had changed the old furniture and electronics in her family sitting room. Deliveries had begun to arrive a few days before the weekend of the occasion. Iroadina, in charge of internal organisation, had marked positions in the compound of Oby’s family house in her village for different clubs, entertainment groups, friends and relatives. The seats for the bride and groom were already at the centre of the compound, still wrapped. Canopies and gazebos were all erected in various positions in the compound. Direction signage carved from thick cardboard paper in the form of giant traffic wardens, with the left hand across the chest and the right hand pointing toward the venue, stood at specific positions on different routes that led to Oby’s family home. OBUJU 2010 was inscribed on their foreheads. With all these, even a blind man would find the way to the venue.

The town was thrown into a celebratory frenzy. The villagers visited Oby’s home to witness the transformation, Oby’s mum gained more friends and enemies in equal proportion. While her friends rejoiced and celebrated, expecting one favour or the other, her enemies dwelt in castigation and gossip, describing her born-againism as hypocrisy for allowing her daughter to marry a man with an unclear source of income. A clique of the villagers described Uj as a money ritualist, a member of a dangerous cult, who should bury his head in shame. The majority believed he was a fraudster, also known as 419, yet they were more interested in whatever they could grab from him than his source of wealth. They were drowning in utter excitement for all the expected goodies of the day: free food, booze, dancing, gifts and cash. Despite varying opinions about Uj’s source of income, his gifts and cash were fought for by all.

On the eve of her traditional wedding, Oby tried out all her traditional wedding regalia and ensured no amendment was needed. The best quality coral beads, hand-stitched onto a short top and a midi skirt, with matching hand and ankle beads. She plaited her hair into tiny bits with black native thread and packed them in the shape of a mini-basket. Her make-up would be natural black dye and white chalk, with black lipstick. All the maidens in the village and close friends received six yards of traditional wrapper cloth to make similar styles of midi skirts and tops and money to have the same hairstyle.

The day before the wedding, Bellyfirst caterers set up their cooking equipment in a corner of the compound. Twenty-two cows were grazing across the road with Malam sharpening their slaughtering knives. Before midday, they’d slaughtered four cows, and the aroma of sumptuous suya filled the air as guests made their way in, initially in trickles, and then in troupes. Four live bands were already entertaining the guests who would stay overnight to usher in the special day.

After dinner, Oby’s mum advised her. ‘Di bu ndidi, i nugo mwam. Marriage is patience, my daughter,’ she began. ‘Fear of God, love and respect are necessities for the survival of any marriage. Surrender to God while submitting to your husband. We have done our part as your parents. We’ve taught you all it takes to be a child of God, a good wife and a future mother. Be a good ambassador for this family. Don’t bring problems or complaints to me because I might not help you. God can and always will. If you’re asked to request one thing from God now, what would it be?’

Oby beamed, sucking her lips. ‘Fruit of the womb, long life and good health,’ she answered.

‘Great! To summarise, I suggest you take God more seriously. When you do, every other thing will fall into place. No one is a saint, and prayer changes all things. That’s why I’ve not condemned Uj and his business but have been praying for God to change and use him.’

‘I pray for him too,’ Oby claimed.

‘Good. Prayer and fasting should be your weapons of warfare; prayer moves the hands that move the mountains. Resolve any problem you have with your husband, and don’t let your anger spill over. Be careful with what you tell people about your life and marriage. Remember, the heart of man is deceptive. Your best friend might be your worst enemy. Trust God only, and you’ll never go wrong.’

Oby nodded.

‘You can now go in and catch some sleep for tomorrow’s event,’ her mum concluded.

Gina was fast asleep when Oby came back to her room. They’d come a long way; best friends right from university and had been each other’s pillars. Gina seemed pleased with her friend’s marriage as she sought to get a husband like Uj for herself. Oby didn’t feel like sleeping yet. She looked at the clock, 2 a.m., the early hours of the long-expected day. She peered through the window of her room. Music was still playing, and a few people were dancing while a few queued near the cooling van. The caterers were dishing out food. The suya corner was still busy.

Uj and his entourage came in briefly. ‘Let the people eat, drink and be merry,’ Uj said, ‘for the year 2010 is special for Obiageriaku and Ujumba. Tomorrow, the two names and the two people will become one. It shall be called OBUJU 2010. Let the party start now!’ Uj declared before he left.

What a life for a woman, Oby thought, scanning her room. After tonight, she would be a guest at the only place she’d known as home for twenty-six years. Her younger sister would move into her room and would automatically inherit all her possessions, as if to fulfil the biblical ‘and his place, let another take.’ She closed her eyes but still couldn’t sleep. The uncertainty of marriage dropped a pebble of fear into her. Marriage was like a sack stacked with assorted things; good and dangerous wrapped and mixed; eyes closed, one dips in a hand and picks out just one. Whatever you pick becomes your portion. If you’re lucky and picked honey, you’ll enjoy the sweetest experience. Pick a scorpion and be forever miserable. She’d known Uj for a little over a year. He wasn’t wicked, but her concern was his type of business and his insistence on making her a full-time housewife. ‘Pray and pray,’ she remembered and knelt down, said a short prayer and lay down to sleep.

As early as 7 a.m., Oby’s family compound was bubbling with joyous revellers; everything set up and ready to go. She woke up and had her bath. Her mum and Gina were at the caterers’ corner inspecting their cuisine. Their spices were in unlabelled containers to disguise the names and prevent competitors from unravelling the secrets of their tasty food. Jollof and fried rice, vegetable and egusi soups were ready. Moimoi was simmering; nkwobi and isiewu were left until last, so they would still be warm. Malam had seasoned and roasted four whole cows for self-service. Members of the Big Boys Club and other VIPs had theirs specially prepared. Six cooling vans, each loaded with a particular drink, were available. All the maidens looked radiant in their costumes. The make-up artist finally put the finishing touches onto Oby.

The village elders occupied their allocated canopy as the day aged, chatting in high spirits. The chairman of the village association stood up and cleared his voice. ‘Anyone who says a good thing isn’t good, may good things forever elude his generation.’

‘Iseee,’ his supporters affirmed as the libation got underway.

‘The spirits of success and prosperity, which have been visiting other towns and villages, should please make their way into our village and families.’

‘Iseee.’

‘Chukwu Abiama, we ask for your blessings upon our children so they can take care of us. Anything their mates are doing to succeed, may it never burn their fingers.’

‘Iseee.’

Ichie Unogu, the eldest man in the village, got up, a tumbler of brandy in one hand and some pieces of kola nut in another. ‘Our ancestors,’ he began. ‘What we’re doing today is our inherited tradition. Take your rightful positions in today’s occasion. We recognise and honour your presence in our mist.’ He threw some kola nuts and poured some brandy, facing the four cardinal directions, and continued. ‘Our daughter Oby will be the mother of many children, and she will live in peace and good health with her husband to raise their children.’

‘Iseee,’ the rest of the elders responded.

The master of ceremonies took the microphone at 1 p.m. The music kept blaring as guests trouped in.

‘Get seated, please. Musicians, take a short break. Your ears, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been mastering ceremonies for decades. Never have I seen or heard anything like today’s occasion; neither is it likely that I’ll see another soon, except, of course, when my daughter has hers with the son of the president.’

People burst into