They found a quiet space on the veranda, overlooking the commercial heart of the city. Deola let out a loud sigh of relief.
Femi laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“So where’s the client?”
“You know the answer to that. I had to get you out of there somehow. Your eyes were screaming it!”
She shook her head and smiled. “I was that close to walking out of here. Can someone tell me why everyone I meet in this city is obsessed with marriage? They live it, they breathe it, they bug you about it – in fact, this event?” She gestured around her. “It is testament to the million dollar wedding events industry in this country. I mean, this must have cost a king’s ransom. We are in the wrong profession. We should become wedding planners!”
Femi rested his elbows on the ledge and stared ahead. “We like our weddings big – the bigger the better. That’s the Naija way. Now, the marriages? That is another thing. I’ve always felt if we put as much effort into our marriages as we did into planning the wedding ceremony, divorces in this city would be more than halved.”
“Exactly. Ever since I’ve come, my mum has been getting on my nerves with this marriage thing. Now I’ve got my cousin berating me for being single, trying to make me feel small. Yet her marriage is hardly perfect. My mother was on the phone the other day trying to advise her on how to ignore her husband’s infidelities. That’s one thing that amazes me about this city – people just don’t mind their business. Do you know I was in the petrol station a few days ago when a guy walked up to me and asked me whether I was married? While I stood there staring at him he told me that he could upgrade my status – as if I was some kind of software or phone!”
Femi laughed and she gave him an indignant look, but she found herself smiling. “I guess he felt I was going to fall to his feet in gratitude!”
“You will get used to it. I have. My mother mentions it to me every now and then,” he added quietly. “I don’t handle it too well.”
Deola noticed the look of deep sadness etched into his eyes and it struck at the core of her being.
I have never ever seen a guy in love with a living woman like that – yet this one is still in love with his late wife. She must have been a really special person.
“My wife was the only woman I’ve ever loved. I don’t think I can put that kind of emotional investment into anything or anyone in this lifetime. Except my daughter, of course.”
She didn’t know why his words made her feel so sad. A wave of jealousy for a woman who had the ability to hold a man’s love, attention, regard and respect ten years after she had died made Deola feel guilty. She felt she had to say something but didn’t know what to say. She looked at him, and for one split second she saw a glimpse of the depth of the pain in his soul. She put out a hand and touched his shoulder. “I’m so very sorry.”
Femi straightened up and tried a smile “Thanks, Deola. I’m a bit raw today. I just saw one of my wife’s old friends back there. We all used to go to Ife. It brought it all back … But look, we are at a wedding. Don’t let me cast a dark shadow over things.”
“You’re just being real. Nothing wrong with that.”
They were both silent for a minute, then both tried to speak at the same time and ended up laughing and falling silent again.
“You are an easy person to talk to. It’s a great asset to have. Especially in a country where people are quietly combusting on the inside,” Femi said eventually.
She smiled. “Thanks – but the pressure cooker phenomenon is just the same in London. It’s life.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry, going on about myself and my problems. You are right, Deola. It’s like we can barely wait till they are out of high school before we are pushing our daughters into marriages they are not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle. That’s why I have great plans for my daughter. I want her to get to the top of her career. She can take her time with this marriage thing. It’s not a big deal to me.” He drew himself up to his full height, adjusting his Agbada, his earlier sombre mood put aside. “I just need her to concentrate on her future. She has no time for boys. Any man I see messing with my daughter will have me to contend with.”
“That sounds a bit like a threat intended at an actual person.”
“It is.”
“Er… Oh. OK.”
Femi sighed. “Look, I don’t know why I’m telling you this but, my daughter has been driving me up the wall for the past couple of weeks. She has been seeing some idiot nobody knows anything about. Where he lives, who his parents are. She is refusing to give any details.”
“That’s young people for you. They will keep falling in love. How naughty.”
Her sarcasm was lost on him. “Morenike has just turned 18, for goodness’ sake. She is going to university in a few months’ time to study law. I don’t need any distractions in her life.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know the guy.”
“So?”
“So how do you know he is going to be a distraction? He could be the best thing that ever happened to her.”
“Come on. How many of the men that you knew at university are you in contact with now?”
She took a deep breath and a step back, her lips tightening. “Sorry, I don’t see the correlation here.”
He closed his eyes. “Man, that was out of order. I apologise.”
“No worries.” Deola tried to keep the ice out of her voice.
“She spent the night with him. Can you imagine that? My little girl. She told me nothing happened but I can hardly look at her. I feel so betrayed.”
Deola noticed that he didn’t seem angry, just heartbroken, and she felt a little sorry for him.
“You think I’m too harsh abi?”
She smiled politely and kept quiet, realising that it was the best thing when dealing with an anxious parent. She had been 17 when she had first fallen in love, and twenty years later love was still proving elusive. “No of course not.”
“Children don’t come with manuals. Sometimes I feel as if I’m stumbling from one mistake to another with Morenike.”
“You’re a good Dad. Anyone can see that.”
His face creased into a reluctant smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, I think we had best get back before they send out a search party.”
“Of course.”
She nodded as they went back into the reception hall.
Deola was quiet on the way home. She wasn’t thinking about the beautiful bride and handsome groom, the lavish wedding, the speeches, the bejewelled ladies in the lace and Aso Oke iro, bubas and headties. She wasn’t even thinking about the fact that several people had asked her when she was going to invite them to come and eat rice, that her mother was sulking after their last altercation, or that her high-heeled pumps were slowly strangling the blood circulation out of her feet.
What she couldn’t get out of her mind was the depths of raw pain in Femi’s voice when he spoke about his late wife. The opaque wilderness of despair that lurked in his eyes came back to her, and then unbidden and totally unexpectedly she was overwhelmed by the sting of tears quietly building at the back of her eyes.
What was all that about?
Would she ever get a man to love her like that while she was alive, let alone just a memory?
In this Naija?