“I’ll miss you. You know how I hate sleeping alone.” It was what he usually said whenever she was travelling, but it never failed to draw a smile from her.
“I won’t be long – three nights away. Would be back before you leave for office on the fourth day.” Her eyes were on the mirror as she twisted and turned, touching her hair, adjusting her suit.
She looked good. In fact, she looked good enough to be married again. On impulse, he said, “Will you marry me again, Miss Steffi?” His voice was serious.
She chuckled. “Empty-handed? No flowers? No ring? You must be kidding, dear Prof.”
“O, you look good. But, all this getup just to fly to Calabar?” He picked her Gucci bag, an honorarium from a conference where she was chief speaker. She was in high demand. He was proud of her, minus her trouble. “Hope your tickets are in here?” He tapped the bag. “And you better hit the road before the Ikeja traffic builds up. Lagos is awake now.”
“O, my God! Thank you, Steve! The tickets are still in my yesterday bag – no, not that one – the green Fendi bag – yes, that’s it!”
Steve picked the bag and fished out the tickets and leafed through them. “Lagos – P.H., Calabar – Lagos? You didn’t tell me you were stopping at P.H. What are you going to do there and why are you wearing your new trouser suit?”
“I have three new trouser suits. And I told you I’m stopping over at Aba to see Ulari’s mum.”
“What? What for?” Steve sounded shocked.
“The relation of our friend is our friend, isn’t it? Just to stop by and say hi!”
Steve looked uncomfortable. He recollected how she had gone two years ago when she had a conference at University of Port Harcourt. She had retorted flippantly, “She’s our protégé, isn’t she? Just to know where she came from, the girl we so valued. It won’t harm anybody.” It was she who found out that Ulari had a racially mixed father and a hairdresser mother, although Ulari insisted that her mother was a beautician.
“A-ha! Steve, please hand me my purple lipstick it’s on my side table.”
“Please, don’t put on a purple lipstick. You’re wearing cream coloured trouser suit.”
“What do you know about fashion?”
They heard the hooting of a car horn. “The driver calls,” he said.
“How dare he? He’s numbering his days, isn’t he?”
“Steffi, he’s just reminding you that the road isn’t free. You’ll miss your flight if you don’t hurry. Your wig is okay.” She turned away from the mirror reluctantly and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and turned her towards the door. “Off you go, I’ll bring your luggage.”
“That stupid driver is sitting in the car hooting car horn at me instead of coming here to take my luggage (she was already hurrying down the stairs) Florence! Florence! (Yes, Mum!) Call Tim! Isn’t he crazy sitting in the car and hooting the horn at me? Am I supposed to bring down my luggage?”
Florence was heard crying, “Tim! Tim! Won’t you come and take the luggage?”
“Akin! Aaakin! I’m off. Are you still sleeping? Is that how they keep a job? Remember Florence is off for three days. You make food for your uncle. She’ll show you everything. I must not hear that you overslept or didn’t return early enough to serve dinner. In fact, close from work and run back home, understand? (Akin, who’d come out to the hallway and was in fur slippers and pyjamas’ bottom rubbing his eyes, nodded). Good! See you! Bye, honey!”
Steve collapsed on his bed when they had driven off and pondered over his wife’s words. Visit Ulari’s mum? Whatever for? If Steffi is not crazy… It was 26 minutes past 5am. The house seemed peaceful already. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
It seemed all roads led to Aba, Abia state today, Ulari pondered as she hung up the receiver in Moremi’s Porters’ Lodge. First, Jamin had chosen that day to visit her mother, to meet her and introduce his intentions about her daughter to her in spite of Ulari’s cautions. Then, the woman whose friendship had always smacked of conciliatory to Ulari, Prof. Mrs Steffi Olarenwaju had called two days ago asking her to tell her mother to prepare to receive her because she would stop by to say ‘hi’ to her on her way to Calabar. Ulari had reminded her again that Calabar was far from Aba by road and that since Aba was landlocked, it would tire her to travel to Calabar from Aba by road. She dismissed Ulari’s words with, “Have you told your mum?” Ulari shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I have, ma.” The VC’s wife’s happy voice floated through, “Okay, see you, then, darling!”
As Ulari went up to join the early Morning Prayer, she was as baffled as the woman’s husband, the honourable Vice Chancellor.
“Where are you from?” Her voice was devoid of emotion.
Jamin hesitated. He was afraid. It was a new one on him. He had never been afraid of anyone in his life, but before him was someone with the power to break his heart and make him unhappy on earth.
“I’m Tiv, from Benue state.” He saw her eyes widened, and then she squinted. “You’re a northerner?” He shook his head. “I’m from the middle belt.” Her well manicured fingers waved his answer away like you would reject an unwanted food. “It’s the same to us in this part. How come you can speak Igbo? Did you grow up around here?”
“No, I learned it.”
Her body language told him she was done with him. She had lost interest in him. “I’m very busy, nna. I’m afraid, I cannot help you. We don’t marry people from up north.”
“I’m not a northerner, ma.”
“I see. But, look for girls from around your area. I’m sure there are lots of nice looking young girls from your area.”
“I want to marry your daughter.”
Her eyes narrowed. She frowned. Jamin watched her. He suspected that no one had ever made an attempt to insist on something she disallowed.
“Ulari’s father is hypertensive. It’s even worse today after Enyimba lost to Leventis last night. Please, don’t try to see him with this request. It can aggravate the situation.”
Jamin was dumbfounded. She stood up, her body commanding him without words to follow suit. A tremor went through Jamin. God, let this not be happening, he prayed silently. But it was happening. Ulari’s mother pushed the chair back and moved out, her eyes avoiding his the way people avoid looking at annoying folks.
“I have work to do.”
Jamin sought words, but words failed him. He found out that he couldn’t appeal to her. There was nothing he could tell her that would make her change her mind. He screamed silently, ‘I’m a Torkular, I’m from a very important family in Nigeria.’ She waited patiently for him. He stood up pushing his seat back. “One more thing, ma,” he said. She arched her brow. “Can you please (he laid emphasis on the word please), pray about it?”
“About what?” The expression on her face told him she thought he was insane.
“About my proposal.”
Later she was telling her own mother, ‘Onye awusa ilu onye Igbo, that’s what I should pray for. Hey!” She clapped her hands silently. The thought of a northerner marrying her daughter amused her in an annoying way.
As Steffi Olarenwaju was stepping out of the airport taxi that brought her to Ulari’s father’s Port Harcourt Road house, Jamin was walking out of the house towards his own car. Steffi stared at him. She knew him somewhere but couldn’t put her finger on where. It was not until she returned to Lagos, did she remember who he was by his mother’s name!
Marfi Terver paced the floor of his study in his Ikeja GRA house waiting for the call from the Torkulas. Jamin had intimated him that he would call his father and tell him about Ulari in spite of his counsel to wait. He had told him to take it easy with the girl, to do a personal background check on her and get to know who she actually was and above all, get her consent. The girl seemed quite unstable to Marfi. But, no, Jamin wouldn’t take his counsel. He seemed intoxicated. And this, morning, a little bird had called Marfi to tell him that Jamin was off to Aba! To do what? He called Ulari. “He went to Aba to see my mother.” What!? Marfi was beyond shock; he seemed frozen. When his senses resumed their normal functions, he called Ulari back. He would test her with this – “Please, don’t tell J that I called you. I’m not supposed to. It’s just that I needed to find him fast.” “Okay, I won’t,” she said. And somehow, he believed her.
Nothing had shaken him as this situation. He was completely unnerved. These past few days exposed him to the knowledge of insomnia. For unending hours, he would toss on the bed without sleep.
It was two days after J spoke to his father that the expected phone call came. The Prince-Regent of Tiv land, HRH Benjamin N. Torkular, the elder, told Marfi in no unclear terms what must be employed to arrest the unacceptable situation.
After putting down the phone, Marfi Terver collapsed into a chair. A strange feeling of devastation swept over him. But even as he thought about the instruction that was coolly communicated to him on the phone, he knew he’d not disobey. In fact, he could not disobey.
.Culled from The Girls Are not To Blame – continue from the novel.
