“I know.” Obina turned to her sharply. “You know,” she faced him then. “No woman cooks like that by mistake,” she said calmly.
“Not that kind of salt. Not that kind of pepper. That was not carelessness. That was deliberate.”
Obina stared at her. She was set up, he said. Mrs. If did not answer immediately, but her face had changed.
When they got home, Chief Amika met them in the sitting room. He took one look at his wife’s expression and asked, “What happened?”
Mrs. Aoma sat down slowly. The food was ruined. Chief Ama waited and then she added, “But not by accident.”
Obina stepped in at once. I knew it. Mrs. Ephoma nodded once. No girl who cooked carefully would make that kind of mistake.
The amount of salt in that food is too much to be a common cooking error.
Somebody wanted to disgrace her. Chief Amaka’s face hardened. And one more thing, Mrs. If said, “That girl cannot truly belong to that woman.
You can see it without being told. The way she watches her, the way the girl stands, something does not seem normal in that house.”
Aina looked at her with hope. So now you see it. Mrs. E Fa did not answer quickly.
She had seen it. Yes. But seeing it and accepting it was still two different things inside her.
Chief Maker looked from his son to his wife. Then he said quietly, “Come with me.”
He led her into their room and closed the door. For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Chief Ama faced her fully. You are fighting this too hard, he said. Mrs.
Aoma lifted her chin. I am trying to protect our son. From what? From trouble, from shame.
From entering a family that will stain his peace. Chief Ama was silent for a moment.
Then he said the one thing she was not expecting. Have you forgotten where you came from?
Mrs. Epheoma blinked. He continued, “When I first wanted to marry you, what did my people say?
What did people whisper? Did they not say you were from a poor background? Did they not say I could do better?
Did they not say you did not belong in this family?” Her face changed slowly.
Chief Mecha stepped closer. “And who fought for that marriage?” She said nothing. “I did,” he answered for her.
“I stood by you when people spoke against you. I married you because I knew what I saw in you.
And tell me now, did your background destroy my life? Mrs. Ephoma lowered her eyes.
No, she said softly. Did you bring me shame? He asked. No. Did you not become part of my peace, part of my blessing, part of everything good this family has built?
Tears gathered slowly in Mrs. Ephyoma’s eyes, but she did not let them fall. Chief Amecha’s voice softened.
You of all people should understand this. You know what it means to be judged before being known.
So why are you doing the same thing to that girl? That question landed heavily.
For some time, Mrs. Eilmer said nothing. Then she sat down slowly on the bed and pressed one hand against her chest.
Chief Famika was right. She had been so focused on class, family name, and appearance that she had almost forgotten her own story.
He sat beside her. “I am not saying the girl’s home is good,” he said quietly.
“It is not, but I do not believe she is the problem there.” Mrs. Ephoma gave a long breath.
This time when she spoke, her voice had lost some of its hardness. “I don’t know how to move quickly into this.”
“You do not have to move quickly,” Chief Mika replied. “But do not stand in the way of what may be right.”
That humbled her. Not all at once. Not like magic, but enough. Enough for silence to replace opposition.
Enough for her resistance to begin to loosen. Later that evening, Oena was called into the sitting room again.
This time, both his parents were there. Chief Omea looked at him and said, “If this is truly your decision, then do it properly.”
Obina stared at him for a moment. Dad. Chief nodded. Prepare the bride price the right way.
No half measures, no hidden games. Relief flooded Obina’s face. He looked toward his mother.
Mrs. If did not smile fully, but she did not object either. That was enough for him to understand that something had shifted.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, as if one joy had opened the door for another, he remembered the news he had been carrying.
“There is something else,” he said. His parents looked at him. My company received a major recognition this week.
We also secured a strong financial boost for the next phase. Chief Amika’s face lit up with pride.
He stood up and embraced his son. My son, he said, you have done well.
Even Mrs. Ephoma’s face softened truly now. For the first time that day, she looked at Obina not as a stubborn son, but as a young man whose life was moving forward.
Chief Amika placed a hand on Obina’s shoulder. Go ahead and do what you must do.
We will stand with you. That night, Obina slept with a peace he had not felt in days.
At last, things seemed to be moving in the right direction. Love had survived opposition.
His father was on his side. His mother was no longer fighting him. His work was rising, too.
Everything looked like it was opening. And that was exactly when darkness entered. Back in the village, word reached Auntie Ugotchi that the rich family had not turned away after all.
Instead of retreating, they were preparing to move forward properly. The news hit her like fire.
She sat still for a long moment. Then she rose. Her face had changed. “This cannot happen,” she said under her breath.
Kioma looked at her uneasily. “Mommy.” But Auntie Yugosi was already thinking far beyond ordinary trouble.
Now if shame had not stopped Amara and sabotage had not stopped Amara, then something stronger would have to do it.
That evening when the compound grew quiet, Auntie Yugosi wrapped a cloth around herself and slipped out alone.
She did not take the main road. She followed a lonely narrow path. The farther she walked, the more the air seemed to change.
The path grew darker. The trees thickened. The sounds of normal life faded behind her.
Ahead of her was a place people did not visit for good reasons. But Auntie Yugoi did not turn back.
She kept walking. The path ahead of her was narrow and lonely. The farther she went, the less the road looked like something made for ordinary people.
The trees became thicker. Their branches crossed over one another like hands trying to block out the sky.
The air felt colder there, even though the night was not cold. The ground was uneven, full of twisted roots and broken branches.
At one point, her wrapper brushed against something on the ground. She looked down and saw old animal bones.
She paused for one second, only one second. Then she kept walking. Her jealousy had already grown stronger than fear.
In her heart, she kept repeating the same thing. I will not accept defeat. I will not sit and watch that orphan girl enter wealth while my own daughter remains here.
I will not. At last, she reached a giant ancient tree standing deep inside the forbidden part of the forest.
Its trunk was thick and dark, wider than two men standing side by side. It looked older than the whole village.
Auntie Yugosi looked around once, then raised her hand and knocked three times on the tree.
Nothing happened at first. Then the silence around her changed. It was not a sound exactly.
It was more like the air had moved. From behind the tree, a tall figure stepped out.
Its face was covered. Auntie Ugochi felt fear rise in her chest, but she kept her feet planted.
The figure said nothing. It only lifted one hand and pointed deeper into the forest.
Then it spoke in a low voice. From here, you will close your eyes. Unto you, Gochi swallowed.
The figure continued, “If you open them before you are told, you will regret it.”
Her mouth went dry, but she nodded. She closed her eyes. A rough hand placed a dry stick into her palm.
She held one end. The faceless guide held the other. Then the journey began. She walked with her eyes closed, following the pull of the stick, hearing only strange things around her.
Cracking branches, wind that seemed to blow from nowhere, soft sounds in the darkness that did not sound like normal night creatures.
By the time she was told to stop, her legs were trembling. “Open your eyes!”
She did. She was now standing in front of a small hut built in a clearing hidden inside the forest.
The place looked old and wrong. Small clay pots sat near the entrance. Animal skins hung from one side.
A faint fire burned somewhere nearby, though she had not seen anyone light it. Then she saw him.
The old Dibia sat just outside the hut on a low wooden stool. He was thin, wrapped in dark cloth with eyes that looked too sharp for his age.
He did not look surprised to see her. It was as if he had already known she was coming.
For a moment, Auntie Yugosi could not speak. Then the old man said, “Why have you come?”
His voice was calm, but it was not gentle. Auntie Yugosi took a breath and stepped forward.
There is a girl in my house. The dibia said nothing. She is an orphan.
Auntie Yugochi continued. Poor worth nothing but a rich young man wants to marry her.
The old man kept watching her. My daughter is there too, she said. My own daughter, the one who should enjoy such a blessing.
But this girl wants to take it. Still the old man did not speak. Auntie Yugoi’s voice hardened.
I want the man to turn away from that girl and choose my daughter instead.
The old Dibia lowered his eyes briefly, then lifted them again. That can be done, he said.
The relief that rushed into Auntie Yugoi was almost immediate. But the old man lifted one finger.
Nothing is done for free. She nodded quickly. I will pay. It is not only money, he said.
Then he asked her to come closer. From beside his stool, he brought out a small calabash covered tightly with red cloth.
He placed it between them and spoke slowly so there would be no mistake. “This water will not work by being poured carelessly like medicine into a sick man’s mouth,” he said.
“The first time must be done with intention. Your daughter must be the one to serve him.
It should enter his body through something he receives from her hand willingly.” Auntie Yugosi listened closely.
After that, he continued, “It must continue for some time in small amounts, not enough to draw attention.
Food, drink, a little at a time.” She nodded again. The old man rested one hand on the calabash.
