Paris, France.
Above is a picture of Annika Twala🤎
Being married to a billionaire oil magnate with two kids was one thing she could never trade anything for.
Yet, one thing Toke promised herself, is to always put herself first, and she did. With George off to Singapore for work and her twins at her parents house, Toke decided to go on a vacation all by herself like she always did, since she born into the Ajirotutu and Salami's lineage.
Every April 1, the L'Herme-Célines, one of France's great banking families would host Le Bal du Rosé, a sumptuous ball that was the highlight of the spring social season.
This year, as Toke entered the arched passageway leading into the L'Herme-Célines' splendid hôtel particulier on Île Saint Louis, she was handed a delicate sprig of flowers by a footman in smart black-and-gold livery.
"It's after Charles X, you know. He would present lilies of the valley to all the ladies at Fontainebleau every April Day," a woman wearing a tiara explained to her as they emerged into the courtyard where hundreds of miniature eighteenth-century hot-air balloons floated among the topiaries.
Toke barely had time to take in the delightful sight when the Vicomtesse Olivia de L'Herme-Célines pounced on her.
"Oh chérie, I'm so glad you could make it," Olivia effused, greeting Astrid with quadruple cheek kisses.
"My goodness, is that linen? Only you could get away with wearing a simple linen dress to a ball, dear Toke!" The hostess laughed, admiring the delicate Grecian folds of Toke's buttercup gown.
"Wait a minute ...Oh là là is this an original Madame Grès?" Olivia asked, realizing that she had seen a similar dress at the Musée Galliera.
"From her early period," Toke replied, almost embarrassed to have been found out.
"But of course. My goodness, Toke, you've outdone yourself once again. How on earth did you get your hands on an early Grès?" Olivia asked in awe.
Recovering herself, she whispered, "I hope you don't mind, but I have put you next to Timothée. He is being a beast tonight, as he thinks I am still fucking the Croatian. You are the only person I can trust next to him at dinner. But at least you'll have Céline on your left."
"Don't worry about me. I always enjoy catching up with your husband, and it will be a treat to sit next to Céline I just saw his new film the other day."
"Wasn't it a pretentious bore? Hated the black-and-white, but at least Céline looked edible with his clothes off. Anyway, thank you for being my savior. Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?" the hostess asked with a pout.
"I've been gone almost two weeks! I'm afraid my son and daughter will forget who I am if I stay one more day," Toke answered as she was ushered along into the grand foyer, where Olivia's mother-in-law, the Comtesse Annabelle de L'Herme-Céline, presided over the receiving line.
Annabelle let out a small gasp when she caught sight of Toke. "Toke, quelle surprise ma chèrie, ça fait longtemps! How are you my darling?" She said in her French accent.
"Well, I wasn't sure that I would be able to attend until the last minute," Toke said apologetically, smiling at the stiff-looking grande dame standing beside Comtesse Annabelle. The woman did not smile back.
Rather, she tilted her head ever so slightly as if appraising every inch of Toke, the gigantic emerald earrings fastened to her long earlobes swaying precariously.
"Toke Ajirotutu Makinwa, permit me to present my dear friend Baronne Pauline Marie de la Durée."
The baronne nodded curtly, before turning back to the comtesse and resuming their conversation. As soon as Toke had moved on, Pauline Marie said to Annabelle, sotto voce, "Did you notice that necklace she was wearing? I saw it at JAR last week. It's unbelievable what these girls can get their hands on nowadays. Tell me, Annabelle, whom does she belong to?"
Annabelle began, "Toke is not a kept woman. We've known her family for years."
"Oh? Who is her family?" Pauline Marie asked in astonishment.
"The Ajirotutu's are an African family from Nigeria."
"Nigeria? Ah yes, I've heard that Nigerias are getting quite rich these days. In fact, I read that there are now more millionaires in Africa than in all of Europe. Who would have ever imagined?" Pauline Marie looked rather shocked. How could a Nigerian be this classy, gracious and elegant?
"No, no, I'm afraid you don't quite understand. Toke's family have been wealthy for generations. Her father is one of Lawrence's biggest clients," Annabelle whispered.
"My dear, are you giving away all my secrets again?" Comte Lawrence de L'Herme-Céline remarked as he rejoined his wife in the receiving line.
"Not at all. Merely enlightening Pauline Marie about the Ajirotutu's," Annabelle replied, flicking away a speck of lint on her husband's grosgrain lapel.
"Ah, the Ajirotutus. Why? Is the ravishing Toke here tonight?"
"You just missed her. But don't worry, you have all night to ogle her across the dinner table," Annabelle teased, explaining to Pauline Marie,
"Both my husband and my son have been obsessed with Toke for years."
"Well, why not? A girl like Toke only exists to feed obsession," Lawrence remarked.
Annabelle smacked her husband's arm in mock outrage. "Lawrence, tell me, how is it possible that these Nigerian have been rich for generations?" Pauline Marie inquired.
"I thought they were all penniless Communists in drab little khaki uniforms not too long ago."
"Well, first of all, you must understand that there are two kinds of Nigerian. There are the Nigerians from Mainland Nigeria, who made their fortunes in the past decade like all the Russians, but then there are the Overseas Nigerians."
"These are the ones who left Nigeria long before the Communists came in, in many cases hundreds of years ago, and spread throughout the rest of Africa, quietly amassing great fortunes over time. If you look at all the countries in West Africa... especially Ghana, South Africa, Morroco-you'll see that virtually all the commerce is controlled by the Overseas Nigerians. Like the Mandela's in South Africa, the Appiah's in Ghana, the Ajirotutu's in....." Lawrence tries to explain further but His wife cut in.
"Let me just say this: we visited Toke's family a few years ago. You can't imagine how staggeringly rich these people are, Pauline Marie. The houses, the servants, the style in which they live. It makes the Arnaults look like peasants. What's more, I've been told that Toke is a double heiress-aside from her grandfather and father there's an even more enormous fortune on her grandmother's side."
"Is that so?" Pauline Marie said in astonishment, staring across the room at the girl with renewed interest.
"Well, she is rather soignée," she conceded.
"Oh, she's incredibly chic-one of the few from her generation who gets it right," the comtesse Annabelle decreed.
"Laurent-Marie tells me Toke has a couture collection that rivals the Sheikha of Qatar's. She never attends the shows, because she loathes to be photographed, but she goes straight to the ateliers and snaps up dozens of dresses every season as if they were macarons."
Toke was in the salon admiring the Balthus portrait over the mantelpiece when someone behind her said, "That's Lawrence's mother, you know." Baronne Pauline Marie de la Durée said, this time attempting a smile on her tightly pulled face.
"I thought it might be," Toke replied.
"Chérie, I must tell you how much I adore your necklace. In fact, I had admired it at Monsieur Rosenthal's a few weeks ago, but sadly, he informed me it was already spoken for," the baronne gushed.
"I can see now that you were clearly meant to wear it."
"Thank you, but you've got the most magnificent earrings," Toke replied sweetly, rather amused by the woman's sudden about-face.
"Annabelle tells me that you are from Nigeria. I have heard so much about your country, about how it's become the Giant of Africa. My granddaughter is making a trip to Africa this summer. Perhaps you will be kind enough to give her some advice?"
"Of course," Astrid said politely, thinking to herself, and wow it took only five minutes for Pauline Marie to go from snooty to suck-up.
It was quite disappointing for Toke, really. Paris was her escape, and here she strove to be invisible, to be just another of the countless Nigerian tourists who crammed eagerly into the boutiques along the Faubourg-Saint-Honoré.
It was this luxury of anonymity that made her love the City of Lights. But living here several years back had changed all that. Her parents, concerned that she was living alone in a foreign city with no proper chaperone, made the mistake of alerting friends in Paris, like the L'Herme-Céline.
Word had gotten out, and suddenly she was no longer just the jeune fille renting a loft in the Marais. She was Femi Ajirotutu's daughter, or Yemisi Salami's granddaughter. It was soooo frustrating.
Of course, she should be used to this by now, to people talking about her as soon as she left the room. It had been going on practically since the day she was born.
To understand why, one had to first consider the obvious-her astonishing beauty. Toke wasn't attractive in the typical brown-eyed Nigerian starlet sort of way, nor was she the flawless celestial-maiden type.
One could say that Toke's eyes were set too far apart, and her jawline, so similar to the men on her mother's side was too prominent for a girl and her appearance were similar to that of her father's side.
Yet somehow with her beautiful pointed nose, bee-stung lips, and naturally long thick hair, it all came together to form an inexplicably alluring vision.
She was always that girl stopped on the street by modeling scouts, though her mother fended them off brusquely. Or whenever she was out with her family for functions, everyone called her oyibo pepper or ego oyibo (foreign currency in igbo language).
Toke was not going to be modeling for anyone, and certainly not for money. Such things were far beneath her. And that was the other, more essential detail about Toke: she was born into the uppermost echelon of African wealth-a secretive, rarefied circle of families virtually unknown to outsiders who possessed immeasurably vast fortunes.
For starters, her father hailed from Ondo state, from a venerable Straits Nigerian family that held a monopoly over the palm oil industry. And her mother, not from elite background so to speak.
But adding even more oomph, her father is the eldest son of Segun Ajirotutu and the even more imperial Yemisi Salami, her grandmother.
Her aunt, Aunt Michelle is married to a major crown prince of Lagos. Another, Aunt Tomiwa is also married to the renowned real estate billionaire, a Nigerian, Tunde Adefioye.
One could go on for hours diagramming all the dynastic links in Toke's family tree, but from any angle you looked at it, Toke's pedigree was nothing short of extraordinary.
And as Toke took her place at the candlelit banquet table in the L'Herme-Céline's long gallery, surrounded by the gleaming Louis XV Sèvres and rose-period Picassos, she could not have suspected just how extraordinary life was about to become, even anticipating the bigger drama that would soon begin next month when Annika Twala sets her foot on the soils of Nigeria.
************
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