Nwanyieze's POV~
I look up from the hair scrunchie I'm making, hoping to see Maduka drive through the opened gates. Disappointed, I continue my work.
It has been three days since Maduka has revealed himself to me, and he has spent more time with his uncle since then. In the mornings, they go out in his car or sometimes on foot, come back for lunch, and go out again only to return at night. But he always sends texts, keeping me updated.
His uncle is taking him round the village and reintroducing him to the people through gatherings of kinsmen. As Maduka's father was a prominent village leader, it is important that they know that his son, who disappeared years ago, was alive and well, and had returned to take his place amongst them. Also, he had to familiarize himself with the Omenala, traditions of his people.
"Aunty, should I fold it this way?" one of my students asks.
Seated on mats underneath the mango trees, I am teaching the young girls in the compound how to make hair scrunchies with elastic bands and scraps of discarded textile materials. Yesterday, it was how to bake a cake, and the day before it was how to make small chops. My gathering is numbering up to a dozen, as the girls in our compounds have informed their friends, and everyone brought their needles and threads and scraps of textiles. The rest of the materials were bought from the market in the next village; Maduka had personally driven me there.
"Yes. Fold it, make a few stitches, and you're done," I instruct.
Those who have successfully finished their scrunchies make satisfied sounds, using them to pack their hair or wearing them on their wrists. Their eager faces make me smile. They are no more than teenagers under the age of sixteen, with innocence in their eyes and quick laughter bursting from their lips.
"Thank you, Aunty," a few of them say happily, their pride visible.
"You're welcome," I reply again and again to their gratitude.
When we are done, a few of them leave to run errands, while some stay back to ask me questions. One has brought her note book along, so I can help her with her home work.
I honestly enjoy their company. They remind me of myself when I was younger, and their carefree nature makes me happy, makes me wish them well and pray that they don't lose their innocence so early and not with pain.
By now I know a few of their names. Agbomma, the thick, curvy one with ebony skin and close cropped hair, asks me where I'm from.
"Lagos," I reply.
"So your village is in Lagos?" she queries.
"No."
Before Agbomma can ask another question, Nneka, who is so light skinned with grey eyes, short yellow hair in puffs and so many freckles, tells me that she doesn't want me to leave so soon. She is the shy one in the group, often talking only when spoken to.
"Will you come back if you go?"
"I don't know yet."
"Better marry our uncle. He is a good man, he gave my mother ten thousand Naira yesterday," Agbomma almost demands.
I laugh.
"Uncle Maduka dashed me one thousand because I told him I didn't have a good school bag," adds Adaora, the smallest of the group. Her size doesn't stop her from talking more than every one present. Adaora suffered from an accident as a child, and this has made one of her legs shorter and thinner than the other.
"They want to stop sending me to school," complains Ngozi, a tall girl with light brown skin and her hair in two threaded bunches
"Why?" Adaora demands on our behalf.
"He said it's useless." Ngozi says slowly. That I'm not learning fast. Because I came last in my class.
"Ngozi, can you read and write?" I ask her.
She nods, but looks amused by my question.
"Then how is it useless? If you have difficulty in any subject, come to me and I'll help you. Tell your mother that you need this education because you want to be a great woman in future. Do you know of Dr. Dora Akunyili?"
They all shake their heads. I launch into stories of great Nigerian women: Dora Akunyili, Obiageli Ezekwesili, Margret Ekpo, Onyeka Onwenu, Oluwafunmilayo Ransome Kuti...
By the time they leave to their various homes, the girls are amazed and motivated. I sit alone underneath the tree, satisfied that I have done something good today.
Maduka, where are you?
Since his revelation, Maduka has been calmer, more relaxed. Sometimes he randomly says my name aloud, and when I answer, he laughs and shakes his head, like he can't believe it all. For the past three mornings, I've caught him staring at me on different occasions. Disbelief is never absent from his face.
Come back and stare at me again.
It makes me feel good, because then, it feels like I'm all that matters to him, like I'm all he sees. I hear my name in the distance. Standing up from the mat, I step out from underneath the trees into the harsh afternoon sun.
"Yes?"
A lanky boy of about eighteen is jogging towards me with a blue palm wine keg.
"Ndewo."
"Ndewo," I reply.
"The elders sent me to give this to you."
The keg is foaming at the opening, which is partially blocked by leaves. I have seen this in Nollywood movies.
"Thank you. I'll keep this until Maduka returns."
The boy instructs me not to place the keg on the floor, or else the palm wine would go sour. I thank him again and he runs off.
Maduka returns after dark, when I am in our room. Daa Ndidi and I had cooked dinner in her backyard kitchen, a mouth watering meal of beans and plantain. I had enjoyed her company; she is always cheerful and has hilarious stories of the village residents.
I welcome him with a kiss. Groaning, he withdraws and quickly undresses before running into the bathroom with the promise of joining me in bed. Ten minutes later, Maduka returns and eagerly crawls into it with me, smelling of Irish Spring soap, his skin cool from the cold shower.
"I missed you," he says softly, pulling me closer to himself.
"I missed you, too. How did the meetings go?"
"There is a general acceptance towards me. My memories served me well."
"I'm happy this is all working out well for you." I knead his shoulders to remove whatever knots of tension he has there.
"It wouldn't have happened without you. Nwanyieze, you don't feel this place is too boring for you, do you?" His brows come together and concern fills his eyes.
"Not at all. It's just different from what I'm used to."
"You could always go back to Lagos. I'll finish up things here."
"For now, I'll choose to be here."
"What have you been up to today?"
I give him details of the skills and motivation I have been trying to impart on the girls around, how his aunt and I have made dinner, and how I have spent the day thinking of his return.
"Never one to be less busy, this one. You'll make a great speaker," he tells me. "I'll probably be the one holding the mic for you."
I laugh at the thought of that. "Your presence will make everyone lose focus on whatever I'm saying."
"How will they notice the humble mic holder when the speaker is so gorgeous, and that she had such a sexy voice?"
"Bia, your flattery is now getting too much!"
"I'm being honest here."
As I'm telling him about the palm wine the elders had sent, my phone rings. It is on the small table beside Maduka, and I ask him to pass it to me. Maybe Mama Uju is calling. I'm sure Adanna is missing my company.
"Saheed," he tells me. The laughter has left his eyes.
I take the phone and push the answer button.
"I doubt you're having a boring evening." His voice is like mercury, fluid and with a hint of mischief.
My heart has started beating irregularly. I feel my muscles stiffen involuntarily. "Good evening, Saheed. Is there a problem?" I say in a cool voice.
He chuckles over the phone, a low, wicked sound. "Let me guess: your lover is close by and you're putting up this show for him."
I take one look at Maduka, who is propped up on a pillow, watching me unabashedly. I excuse myself quietly, and leave the room. Something in my stomach twists, from the knowledge that I've just confirmed that I'm hiding something from him.
Outside, I sit on the balcony bench.
"What is it, Saheed?"
"Just checking to see how you're doing. Also, I want you more and more every day."
"Try again. That's not an option."
"The more you try to evade me, the more excited I get. Did you know, that no woman has ever said no to me?"
"There is a first time for everything."
"Is your lover out of earshot now?"
"Saheed, for the millionth time, I am not interested in you. It's so obvious, I don't know what still holds you."
"We'll see about that, won't we? Tell me, are you in love with Maduka?"
I don't answer.
He gives a low laugh. "Just as I suspected. Silly girl, he has wooed you. And who wouldn't fall for you, all sin wrapped up in a veil of innocence? I find it all very enticing."
"I've told you, I'm not-"
"A prostitute anymore? Can any soap wash that stain away from you?"
"If you're trying to demean me-"
"By telling you the truth?"
"Then why are you, Saheed Bello, so intent on having me in your bed?"
"Because that's where you were meant to be, from the first time we met. I had already chosen you, your friend Temi was supposed to hand you over to me. And let me tell you, I am obsessed when it comes to getting what I want."
"And you're willing to hurt me?"
"Face it, Queen. Your infatuation with Maduka will end one day. I just want it to end sooner."
"It's not infatuation. And even if it ends, you'll never have me."
"Let's see how he'll take the news. And the best part? You'll tell him yourself. I'm looking forward to seeing you in Lagos soonest."
"How did you know-?"
Another low laugh. I imagine him sitting in a dim room, eyes glinting with excitement.
"Baby, you don't know me."
He clicks off, and I exhale, feeling myself deflate. You'll tell him yourself.
That's so much like Saheed, making me shoot my own foot. Obsession, that's what drives him. He can't accept a no. How do I go in and face Maduka now? What do I tell him?
Maduka is still right where I left him, his eyes closed, fingers linked over his chest.
"I hope you enjoyed catching up?"
"He was calling to say hello," I manage to say.
"I doubt a hello would make you run off to catch up in secret."
"I didn't want to upset you."
He rises from the bed and walks to where I stand close to the door. Having him so close when I can feel his anger rising seems like a bad idea.
"Did you do anything with Saheed when you two were-"
"Why would you even ask me that?" I demand.
"The last time you saw him, you were obviously uncomfortable. And he did seem so smug. Today, I heard him laugh over the phone before you left. I mean, he knows about us but you didn't look too happy when he called."
"Nothing is happening between Saheed and I."
"There's something you're not telling me. I can feel it."
"You're better off saying you don't trust me."
He takes a step backward like I've just slapped him. "Do you really want to take that path now?"
"This conversation is over, Maduka. I'm not keeping anything from you. Saheed is still coming to terms with our relationship."
"If you want me to seek him out and tell him personally-"
"You will do no such thing!" I yell in alarm. Knowing a little about Saheed, he might deliberately harm Maduka. I wouldn't put it past the evil bastard.
Maduka looks shocked at my outburst.
"I'm just trying-" he continues.
"Focus on making Tasha to come to terms with our relationship."
"Nwanyieze, you know Tasha is different."
I fold my arms. I have to distract him. "How so? She knows about us, but she has chosen to run to you over all her troubles. Did you ever tell her to stop calling you? Don't you know she wants you back?"
"She knows I don't-"
"Then why doesn't she stay away? Why does she keep calling you even when you have said the baby isn't yours?"
"Ouch. That sounds a bit like you don't believe me."
Don't talk anymore, Maduka. Please. This isn't easy.
He clenches his jaw and rubs his temples. "Tasha is different. She's going through a tough time, and I told you about it."
"Well, Saheed is going through a tough time. I'll tell you about it in due time. For now it's...private."
"Keeping secrets, I see. Questions about Saheed lead to questions about Tasha. And I've been open about the matter."
Oh, but he doesn't know how it hurts to see him like this. Telling him the truth will jeopardize all he's worked for in this village now.
"I'm sorry. Just ignore Saheed, he will eventually stop. He isn't dangerous, just a bit jealous. He'll get over it."
But the damage has been done, anyways: I have answered a call from another man in secret, I have refused to tell him the truth, I have made accusations, and I have been aggressive towards him.
His face is now unreadable and it feels like I've been shut out. "I'll go to bed now."
"Maduka-"
"Don't bother, Nwanyieze. I've had a tough day and I need to sleep early."
But in the middle of the night, while he sleeps on his side of the bed with his back to me, I move closer to him, seeking his warmth. Maduka murmurs my name, turns, and curls an arm around me.
I can't help but smile.