A WIDOW IN MAKING
IN THE MORNINGS, WITH DISEYE.
The fog crept slowly along the edge of the measly-built monkey bridge; the sky was a mixture of barely seen stars and navy-blue clouds.
The forest was quiet and the water calm.
Diseye sat, legs folded, chin on knee, watching, thinking, lost in a world only she could describe. Her hair stood, starched by the lack of moisture, her skin a resemblance to the white chalk of black charcoal school boards.
She was here, but barely aware of the things that watched her: the peering eyes of the red-headed lizard searching for food, the loud frogs in heated conversation, the brown-feathered doves that judged her immobility.
Her mind always found itself in another world in the early mornings, before her perpetually restless mother forced her into their farms, before her overly curious siblings berated her, before the world took precedence.
But that would not happen today, for it was her wedding day, the most auspicious day in a young woman’s life.
AFTERNOON HEAT WITH EBIKAKE
The compound was noisy; there was a scrawny-looking man hugging the mic at the center of the compound, surrounded by large drummers and a saxophone player. The loudspeakers were not helping the splitting headache that seemed to have been punishing Ebikake for the last thirty minutes.
He hated parties; they were always loud and chaotic and never his type of scene. He hated the drunk smell that people released whenever they opened their mouths to speak to him; the overt display of happiness irritated him.
That is what he would tell anyone if they asked why his face looked cross; he could not tell them it was because he was attending a wedding, the wedding of Diseye Ziniebimiete, whom he had just seen this morning as he tried to safely escape from her father’s compound without being caught before the crack of dawn.
No, he could not tell them that.
He chugged the glass of Heineken that sat before him as his eyes threatened to water; he could not show any signs of weakness, at least not in this place, in front of the people who would judge him, who already do.
He watched Diseye walk around the compound, which had been decorated with low-grade canopies for the occasion, a small wooden cup in her hand, filled with freshly brewed palm wine, in search of her husband as tradition demanded.
“Inei yei wá-mi-e” I am searching for my husband.
Diseye’s tongue was not seasoned, and her pronunciation caused the crowd to laugh as she walked from canopy to canopy while other men pretended they were her groom.
Ebikake watched her, as he had done last night, struck in awe at her beauty, the grace which she exuded. She was smiling, as she moved from canopy to canopy looking for her husband and ignoring the playful calls by other men.
The words she had spoken to him clouded his thoughts.
The lamp in the room was low, their shadows cast on the wall behind them. Diseye had a satisfied smile as she stared at Ebikake, who had red eyes, a result of tears from Diseye’s refusal to run away with him, run away from her father’s obvious business move to be attached to the Toruagbei Family, who were strong government officials by marrying their children together.
His father was a simple hunter who had long died and left his sickly mother to care for him. They had barely lived above the poverty line before his mother took her own life.
Everybody had called him a Teme-tọbọụ and isolated him his whole life, before he had met Diseye, who hadn’t cared that he buried his parents in his compound, that his parents had both died painfully and alone, and never cared for the evil spirit child narrative.
Diseye, who had loved him for himself.
He had been foolish enough to dream, to imagine the rest of his life with her when her father was notoriously known for his discrimination and pompousness.
Diseye also dreamt of a life where she didn’t have to answer to her father’s every whim. But she knew her father best; Ebikake would be dead the moment they were caught, and her father would make her miserable life even more miserable for the embarrassment he would’ve endured.
Ebikake’s eyes were glossy as he watched the happy couple embrace themselves and walk towards their beaming parents. Another glass of Heineken was emptied.
BIG BOYS LIKE WOYENGIDIEPEYE
Woyengidiepeye, or Woyengi as everyone had chosen to call him, was big. He was tall, with broad shoulders as large as an 18-inch flat-screen TV. He was a huge guy, like most men in his family.
His voice was a deep baritone that constantly felt like he was waking up in the wee hours of the morning, and his family was rich.
What was there not to like?
Those were his thoughts on that day, six months ago, when he had walked up to Diseye, in the midst of a heated argument with her friends on what was superior between Kekefie or Opurofloü, and introduced himself.
Diseye, in her usual fashion, had assumed he was speaking to one of her friends and quietly waited for them to converse, but Woyengi had been interested in her.
The tall, dark, and lean girl with wide afro hair that she didn’t bother to tame, whose voice was the loudest in the small local restaurant.
“No” was her reply.
She had not let him deliver his rehearsed and overused speech, had not let him release his thunder.
“What do you mean no?”
Diseye had no interest in explaining herself; she did that too much at home and walked out with her friends following close behind. They were used to this and had stopped berating her about chasing away her future husband with her rude attitude long before.
Woyengi’s friends had laughed at him, in such a manner that invited other strangers to laugh too. He did not forget it.
As all children do, he ran home to his father, who was breaking kola while chewing gum, and told him to get him Diseye, who apparently was on sale.
The events after that were easy. The families met, and Diseye tried to beg her father, but Woyengi had made up his mind.
Maybe it was the shame from that day or the fact that he had seen Diseye ‘round town with that poor boy with dead parents who was skinny and held no candle to him; or maybe it was both of those things.
But Woyengi, whose mother had spent over two years begging to drop the playboy title and find a wife, was finally getting married.
WEDDING NIGHT
Diseye’s legs had a nervous tic as she sat on the annoyingly soft, silky bed in her matrimonial room. She had only removed the gele that had been straining her neck all day and loosened the hold of the wrapper on her waist as her new husband loudly took his bath in the bathroom.
She was taken back to six months ago, wondering what she could’ve done differently to avoid getting married to him. Maybe she would have been able to save herself if she had pretended to care for his attention.
Her heart was beating fast at the thought of fulfilling her wifely duties. Her stomach churned at the thought of his broad shoulders above her, her legs spread wide.
A tear escaped her eyes as she remembered seeing Ebikake, downing more bottles of Heineken than she could count as the wedding took place. Her eyes swelled as the events of last night flooded her memory; it was a painful goodbye to the man who had taken hold of her heart.
But she could not dwell on the thought long, as Woyengi, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, walked out of the bathroom, half wet, an evil smile on his face.
She had dreaded this night from the beginning, from when her father accepted the proposal, and now it dawned on her that she would be unable to do it.
Unless she was tied and whipped continuously, she would not let this man touch her.
“We need separate bedrooms” was a sentence that she had not thought she would be able to utter.
Woyengi felt insulted. “What did you say?”
Diseye heard her heartbeat in her ears; her palms felt sweaty; she was taken back to her father’s parlour, her younger siblings to her left, in tears, trying to be quiet, her beaten mother sprawled on the big couch, her bleeding palm stretched out for contact with her father’s belt.
Woyengi’s eyes resembled his, that brown that slowly changed to red as his anger grew. She had decided.
He would beat her.
“We should have separate bedroo-” The room was silent, as Diseye tried to register the slap.
Her jaw stung, her lips trembled, and a tear fell. Woyengi’s chest had grown larger in size.
A smile decorated his face “Apooo!! See this girl o! You know how much I dun spend for your head?! Separate bedroom? Make I no chop wetin I pay for because na awoof I be!”
Diseye would bite him; that is all she thought as she waited patiently for him to touch her again.
“I begged you not to force me into this-” a knock on her door interrupted her. It was a single room; that is all he could afford to spend for their honeymoon.
“Wait first, oh! I go soon answer you.” Woyengi sluggishly moved to the door, annoyed by whoever had thought this was a perfect time to knock; he was about to show Diseye what he was all about.
He opened the door, ready to pounce on whoever was on the other end, only to be met with a gun’s barrel.
Ebikake was like his father, fascinated by guns and their ability to put an end to one’s life. He had imagined using it on himself just like his mother had done so many times, but now he had a better use for it.
Diseye’s hands flew to her mouth as she tried to not scream. Woyengi, who was now coming down from his shock, wasted no time in trying to overpower Ebikake.
The scuffle had both men on the floor, each trying to stay on top. Diseye was by the bed, unsure of what to do except watch, hoping a bullet would pierce her and end her misery.
The gun went off twice.
Diseye’s eyes, which had been closed, opened wide. The gun had found itself under the small stool by the table, while the two men lay on the floor. One dead, one groaning.
Diseye would not move, for fear of using the gun herself; tears flooded her cheeks at all that transpired.
Woyengi groaned, asking her to find help to save him. Begging her.
Diseye sat there, watching him die as she mourned the immobile body of her lover. Remembering his sweet words and confessions of the night before.
Diseye crawled to where Ebikake’s body laid and kissed his lifeless lips.
She had been married by day, a widow by night.