Prologue
Ode Itsekiri… 33 Years Ago…
Oma Domingo heaved a sigh of relief as the lights of the ancient town came into focus.
Ode Itsekiri, the ancestral home of all Itsekiri sons and daughters. She smiled despite the sharp pains coursing through her body. She was finally here; finally home.
“Mo dokpe. Thank you very much,” she mumbled to the man paddling the canoe as he helped her out of the small boat and onto the wooden deck on the riverbank. She wrapped the Ankara cloth she had draped around herself more tightly as she made her way one step at a time, ignoring the pain, determined to reach her sister’s home on time.
Her sister, Alero Domingo, fondly called Sisi Alero or Sisi Domingo by all who knew her, had been widowed many years ago and had never had a child. She was a traditional midwife who had delivered many children in the community. Many were now established men and women who often returned to pay homage with gifts, enabling Sisi Domingo to own her small two-bedroom home in Ode Itsekiri.
The Domingo family gained fame among the Itsekiri people for introducing them to the Portuguese. More than a hundred years ago, one of their forebears spotted the Portuguese as they arrived in Ode Itsekiri and welcomed them into his home. This led to marriage with the Portuguese and the adoption of the Portuguese name Domingo. They were not only Itsekiris but also Portuguese, maintaining their relations to this day.
They were a big family, but not a close-knit one. Their late father was the parent of many children, while their mother only had Alero and Oma. The sisters shared a close bond despite the twenty-five-year age gap between them. Oma did not know their mother, as she passed away before Oma’s first birthday, and Sisi Alero raised Oma as her daughter.
Sisi Alero displayed a strong sense of protectiveness towards Oma, and it took considerable persuasion before she consented to her living and working in Warri because of the decreasing availability of jobs in Ode Itsekiri. That was four years ago when Oma was twenty-one years old. Initially, Oma came home at every opportunity, but for the past nine months, she did not come home, although she did not fail to send Sisi Alero her monthly allowances and write letters about how she fared. A little about how she fared: she did not think Sisi Alero would appreciate the entire story, so she kept some of it to herself.
She let out another sigh, partly to bear the pain she experienced and partly to regain her composure. She had arrived at Sisi Alero’s little, two-bedroom, red-brick bungalow, less than a mile from the waterfront. Shortly, she would face her sister, who played the motherly role and shared her wisdom. With a sense of shame, Oma acknowledged that she had not followed her teachings.
Inside, the lights stayed switched on, indicating that Sisi Alero, a woman who followed a routine of going to bed early and waking up early, was still awake. Oma placed her little bag, packed in a hurry and bearing all her most important possessions on the little steps, and after wrapping herself more tightly, she knocked on the door.
“Eri nesin? Who is it?” Sisi Alero’s shrill but strong voice enquired from within.
Oma smiled despite her discomfort. Yes, that was the Sisi Alero Domingo she was familiar with.
“Sisi, Emi ren. It is me, Omasan.”
The door swung open instantly. Luckily, it opened inside, sparing her face from a harsh impact. She barely picked up her bag before Sisi Alero enveloped her in a fierce hug.
In pain, she winced, causing the older woman to step back and peer at her with wise eyes that never missed a thing.
“Oma, are you ill?”
Tears welled up in Oma’s eyes. Tears of relief, knowing she had returned home and all would be well. Before she said anything, Sisi Alero ushered her into the tidy, pleasant living room. Once inside, Oma put her bag down and turned to face her sister, removing the wrapper she had used to cover herself. As she did, Sisi’s eyes widened in shock.
“Sisi, please forgive me. I have no one else to turn to and nowhere to go!” Oma cried.
“Oh, Oma!” Sisi covered her mouth with her calloused hands. “Oma, you are pregnant! How could you?!”
“I am sorry,” was all she managed to utter before another surge of pain spread through her body, forcing her to double over and clutch her abdomen. Then, as it subsided, came the sensation of needing to relieve her bowels. “Sisi, please, I need to use the toilet,” she announced, overwhelmed by the irresistible urge to push.
“No! You are in labour.” Sisi Alero took her arm and led her into the small room that used to be hers until she went to live and work in Warri.
And so began the longest night of Oma Domingo’s life. She pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed, and finally, in the wee hours of the morning, a woman about Sisi Alero’s age and a traditional midwife in Ode Itsekiri placed the tiny baby in her arms.
Oma was weary, but not too exhausted to admire her beautiful baby. As she looked at him, her smile expressed triumph. It proved to be worthwhile in the end. The entire experience had been worth it; one day, her name would be known by all Itsekiri people. She looked at the midwife, then at Sisi Alero, who wept softly, and finally at the sleeping baby in her arms.
“Onetoritsebawoete!” she proclaimed and closed her eyes.
Chapter One
The Kingdom of Benin …. Today
Amenze concluded that her life, as she had known it, was officially finished. She observed with great interest and a slight pang of sadness as her dear childhood friend Tiyan Alile was seated on her fiancé’s lap. Traditionally, this meant they were now man and wife. Tiyan was now officially Mrs Usi Isekhure, the wife of the Chief Priest of the Benin Kingdom. First, Eki, then Ede and now Tiyan. Amenze’s friends were now married, and her relationship with them would change regardless of whether she wanted it to. Their friendship would take on a different disposition.
Amenze sighed in resignation. Despite being practical and realistic, witnessing the joy of her married friends made her feel like she was missing out on something special. She secretly desired that something special for herself. Yes. She desired to understand the essence of falling in love. She wished to be married to a man she loved and have her belly swell with his baby!
Amenze considered her relationship with Dimitris Papadopoulos and bit back a groan. It frustrated her that her relationship with Dimitris Papadopoulos was going nowhere fast. Seeing her friends marry and get pregnant left her completely dissatisfied with her life and also led to a subtle resentment for her boyfriend and the desire to bring the relationship to an end. She envied her friends.
She wasn’t the only person who noticed that her friends were entering into matrimony. Her mother noticed, and on the eve of another friend’s wedding ceremony, Tuedor Giwa-Amu called her only daughter to the living room for a chat. She thought Amenze was a fool for wanting to break up with Dimitris instead of using her feminine wiles to get him to marry her.
Amenze was a realist. Dating Dimitris Papadopoulos had been fun, but she didn’t think they had what Eki and Oba Osad or Tiyan and Usi had. Or even what Ede and Sato had. If they did, they would get married, not constantly seek the latest Michelin-starred restaurant to try for dinner. She’d become fed up with that! Love, romance, and marriage were what she desired. Her desire was to be looked at with the same intensity as Oba Osad looked at Eki, as Usi looked at Tiyan, and as Sato looked at Ede. Oh, and even as her father looked at her mother after almost forty years of marriage!
“Don’t you love him?” her mother had asked during their little chat last night, a puzzled expression on her ageing but still beautiful face.
“Love?” Amenze snorted. “Of course not.”
“I will never understand you.”
“That makes you and most people,” Amenze had murmured. And me, she’d added silently.
Amenze’s scowl deepened as she recollected her mother’s nagging. Her mother thought she was getting old and reminded her that she had already been married at Amenze’s age.
As midnight approached, Amenze decided to say her goodbyes and leave the party. Tiyan, the glowing bride, had been escorted to her husband’s home according to the Benin native law and customs. The lavish reception at the groom’s house was now quickly ending, with guests leaving one after the other as the early hours of the following day approached.
The night was as pretty as a picture, with the moon as a backdrop. But it was both warm and humid. Amenze stepped out of the air-conditioned three-storey house, instantly hot and uncomfortable in her bridesmaid outfit – a red long-sleeve mermaid dress made of luxurious embroidered fabric. The traditional Benin Okuku hairstyle was done beautifully, and her neck was adorned with multiple strings of coral beads, adding to her discomfort. With one hand holding up her floor-length dress, she walked down the cobbled drive, her red stiletto heels clicking against the ground, while palm trees and garden lamps lined the path to the car park.
Amenze had just reached the white Kia Sportage she’d borrowed from her mother when she heard the groom’s voice behind her.
“Amenze, just a minute!”
Amenze turned around, and sure enough, Chief Usi Isekhure approached her as she stood in the large open car park outside his vast home. She furrowed her brows as she tried to decipher what he wanted.
“Hey, Amenze. I’ve been meaning to have a quick word with you all day.” His smile was quickly replaced with a frown.
Amenze disliked his intent gaze. Had she done something wrong, broken some traditional or cultural protocol, perhaps? Chief Usi Isekhure wasn’t just her best friend’s husband; he was the revered Chief Priest of the Benin Kingdom, and as the mouthpiece of the gods of the land—his word was potent.
He was not a man to be taken lightly. Her heart beat a little faster as the frown on Usi’s face deepened, and he came closer. She wasn’t great friends with Usi, not being present while his romance with Tiyan blossomed. But he seemed laid back the few times she’d seen or been around him, causing her to wonder, what now?
“What is the matter, Usi?” Amenze wondered whether it was a good time to be on a first-name basis with him. The man standing before her didn’t look like a friend, but rather like a chief priest.
Usi did not respond to her question. Instead, he caught her chin and slowly and carefully scrutinised her face.
“There is no mistake. You are the Olori of the Warri Kingdom. A Benin woman born for the Warri throne. He placed the crown on your head and called you Olori Sisan.” Usi released her chin.
Amenze did not burst out laughing for three reasons. No one dared laugh at the Chief Priest of the Benin Kingdom. Chief Priest Isekhure had never been wrong. Hadn’t she witnessed how Eki tried to escape the prophecy only to run right into it? Her heart raced even faster.
The third reason she didn’t laugh was that her middle name was Sisan. It was an Itsekiri name given to her by her Itsekiri mother but rarely ever used. Apart from Eki and Tiyan, no one outside her family knew her name was Sisan. Unless Tiyan told him. But why would Tiyan mention her rarely used name to Usi?
Then she pondered Usi’s use of the title Olori. Olori was the title used by the queen of the Warri kingdom. Was she going to be a queen? Queen of the Warri Kingdom? Who had Usi seen placing the crown on her head? She presumed the words were thoughts in her heart until she heard Usi answer.
“The Olu of Warri!”
Amenze gasped. The Olu of Warri? Olu Ginuwa III? At seventy-one years of age, the man was older than her father!
“Olu Ginuwa III?” she demanded angrily.
“Do nothing to mess this up. Do not attempt to make it happen,” Usi warned severely before walking away.
Do not attempt to make it happen?! What did that mean? Amenze thought with chagrin as she entered her car and slammed the door shut. She had no intention of trying to make the ludicrous prophecy happen! Why would she want to make a marriage to a man older than her father happen? If anything, she planned to do the exact opposite and do everything she could to make it not happen!
As she drove home, in a foul mood, she cursed her rotten luck. What was the deal with her? Why did she always get the short end of the stick? Eki married the young and handsome Oba of Benin, and Tiyan married the young and handsome Chief Priest of the Benin kingdom. Ede married the young and handsome bodyguard of the king. They all married young and handsome husbands.
And who would she marry? The old, ugly, never mind polygamous Olu of Warri. She punched the steering wheel and wanted to scream out her frustration! The gods were most unkind to her. Fate was most unkind to her. Life was cruel to her! She refused to accept this without a fight. She would go to great lengths to make it not happen, and in the end, if it still happened, well, at least she would not be going to the old man with her virginity intact. Note to self: Amenze, get rid of virginity as soon as you return to London.
“You look like you’re returning from a funeral instead of a wedding,” her mother commented as soon as Amenze entered the living room.
Amenze’s mother was an average-height woman with a well-rounded body gained through childbirth and years of cooking and eating sumptuous meals. She had a charming face that suited her plus-size body and was fashionable, always wearing clothes that flattered her figure.
Tonight, she dressed casually in Ankara palazzo pants and a denim shirt. She was a proud Itsekiri woman from the Warri kingdom, addressed fondly as Sisi Tuedor or Sisi Giwa-Amu. She loathed being called “mama” or “aunty” as it made her feel too old at sixty. Older Itsekiri women shared this sentiment and were addressed as Sisi.
Amenze wasn’t surprised to see her mother still awake. Sisi Tuedor would stay up whenever any family member was out late. She had done it for her husband and sons when they lived at home and began going out with friends at night. Now, she did it for her only daughter and last child.
Amenze dropped onto the deliciously soft leather sofa beside her mother and kicked off her stilettoes. “It seemed like a funeral at the end.”
Her mother looked baffled. “Did anything go wrong? Are Tiyan and her husband okay?”
“They are fine, Mum. Nothing wrong at their end, but plenty at mine.”
Sisi Tuedor knitted her brows. “Tell me what happened,” she invited, her frown deepening as Amenze recounted her brief meeting with Usi.
“Well, at least now we are certain you will marry!”
“Mummy!”
“Listen to me, my daughter; there are worse things in life than marrying a man much older than you are.”
“I don’t believe you are saying this, Mum.” Amenze shook her head in utter disbelief.
“Niko wo fe gin demi fo? What would you have me say, Amenze? Last night, you insisted you wanted to break up with Dimitris, even though I thought you were better off giving your relationship a chance. I told you that getting another man may be challenging and that African women living in the United Kingdom struggle to marry. Some of your father’s distant cousins, who travelled to live in the UK years ago, are still unmarried in their forties. I worry about you emulating them, especially as you will be in London for another three years for your doctoral programme. Now, a prophecy foretells your marriage to a king. Should I say the gods forbid because he is much older?”
“Here we go again.” Amenze groaned and rolled her eyes. They discussed this yesterday, and Amenze slept late. Perhaps she should go to bed and catch up on much-needed sleep. She rose to her feet. “I’m going to bed, Mum. If I must marry Olu Ginuwa III, then I will, but I will go to him screaming and kicking!”
“Hmm… Oton mi tse denden. Child, be careful. The chief priest has warned you not to mess this up; please listen to him. It’s better to be married to an older man than to be an older unmarried woman. You are my only daughter; please let your heart pity your mother.”
Amenze rolled her eyes as she bent and picked up her shoes. Her mother could be dramatic when the occasion suited her. She’d used the same blackmailing tactics with each one of her three older sons. The blackmail and drama never got old.
Just as Amenze walked away from her mother, her father walked in. “Who is getting married?” he peered through the upper portion of his bifocals, first at his wife and then at his daughter.
At sixty-five years old, Dr Giwa-Amu was a renowned consultant gynaecologist who had delivered many prominent Benin men and women. His private fertility and maternity clinic, Giwa-Amu Clinic, next door to their residence, was the foremost private gynaecology clinic in the kingdom. For that reason, the city’s authorities named their street Giwa-Amu Crescent.
Her parents were very different. Amenze frequently wondered why her father married her mother. He was gentle and soft-spoken, and she was the complete opposite.
“No one is getting married, Dad.” Amenze walked up to her tired-looking father and kissed his cheek. “Welcome, Dad. How was your day at the clinic?”
“It was good, thank you.” He stroked her cheek affectionately as she pulled away. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am, just a little tired.” Amenze feigned a smile. He looked at her long and hard to show he didn’t believe her, but didn’t push the matter.
As her father strolled further into the living room and settled himself in his favourite seat, the lazy-boy recliner, he and her mum exchanged mumbled greetings that would make anyone think they had a lovers’ tiff, but Amenze understood her parents well enough by now to appreciate this was their standard way of saluting each other. Also, they had seen each other over dinner as her dad made it a habit to take a break and come home to eat lunch and dinner with his wife.
“Dr Giwa-Amu, I am glad you’re home. I was just having a chat with Amenze. Both her friends, the Alile girls, are married. Oloi Eki will soon become a mother, while Amenze plans to end her relationship instead of trying to get her boyfriend to propose. She is living in the United Kingdom. Who finds a husband in the UK? You remember your cousins, now in their forties and still unmarried?”
Amenze sighed and quietly left the room. After last night, she wouldn’t stick around to hear all of that. Her father could take her place tonight.
“Poor Dad,” she mumbled as she climbed the stairs and went to her bedroom. “But better you than me, Dad.” She stifled a giggle.
Olori is now available on Amazon.
