Chapter 12

 

 

WↃFA SEKYERƐ AND THE Abusua Panyin—family elder—performed the marriage rites, presenting the ceremonial drinks and bride wealth to Esi’s family; gifts of cloth to the women in the family, and the akonta sekan to Kwame and his male cousins as custom demanded.

Michael arrived when all the gifts had been offered, and his family formally introduced him to Esi’s parents and a few other relatives gathered. He made a slight bow and greeted them in turn, then a man he recognised as a village elder spoke to him.

“Your uncles and mother have brought these gifts to my brother-in-law for the hand of his daughter, my niece.” The others all nodded. “Since you’re here yourself, I will ask you if it is your will for us to accept these gifts.”

Michael had a strong urge to roll his eyes. “Elders, Wↄfa, Maame. Before my father, Opanyin Badu, passed on—may his soul rest in peace—it was his wish that I marry Esi Afriyie. If I have found favour in your eyes, please accept these gifts.”

The elder replied, “This is testimony from your own lips that you want to have our daughter as your wife.”

“Yes.”

Papa Afriyie whispered something to his wife who left the room for a few minutes, returning with his bride.

Even though he’d psyched himself for this moment, Michael’s pulse raced when they emerged through the bamboo-bead curtain. The bride walked regally, wearing a kaba and slit made from the same white kente fabric he was wearing. When their eyes met, his breath caught as an odd sense of familiarity hit him. Then he remembered they’d gone to school together—according to his mother. Of course.

She looked young, early to mid-twenties at the most, and attractive. Strike that. She was beautiful. Under different circumstances, she might have caught his attention. Her lips curved up in a little shy smile that was cute in every way. Don’t stare. He tore his eyes away from her.

Her father asked her if she would like him to accept the gifts, and her simple “Yes” snuck its way into his heart without warning.

This process was repeated two more times, as custom demanded. Papa Afriyie then took his daughter’s hand and presented her to Maame Badu, who stood up slowly and took Esi’s hand, accepting the bride as her daughter-in-law. The old woman then presented her to her son.

Michael took her, kissed her lips softly, and held her for a moment. When she looked up at him and smiled again, his kneecaps felt as if they had been hit with a sledgehammer. He released her quickly, an alarm sounding in his head. His lips had touched hers only slightly, but he’d enjoyed that little kiss entirely too much.

This wasn’t good. Not at all.

 

****

 

The drumming became louder, and cheers erupted from the guests when the elders and parents presented Michael and Esi to them.

The formal ceremony had been brief, which pleased Michael. Now, he could use the merriment as an excuse to drink, maybe succeed in numbing himself against the dread clutching at his throat.

“It seems as if the whole village is here. Even Maame Dufie, who rarely leaves her house, came,” his new mother-in-law said. He assumed the comment was meant for Esi, since the older woman put her arm around her daughter. “You need to go and greet her and thank her for coming.”

“I will, Mama.”

Unwilling to be left alone with Maame Afriyie and make a pretence of being happy, he began to invent an excuse. Thankfully, Sefah arrived with Esi’s brother, Kwame, and whisked him away to an area where a group of young men were doing shots of what he hoped wasn’t akpԑtԑshie.

 

****

 

Esi and her mother approached Maame Dufie, one of the oldest women in Ebinom. Well into her eighties, she was given reverence for her age.

“Maame Dufie, it’s good to see you,” her mother greeted. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” Maame Dufie said. “We haven’t had a marriage in months.”

“Esi, say hello to Maame Dufie.”

“Good afternoon, Maame Dufie.”

“Yaaa medie.” Maame Dufie extended a thin hand to Esi. “Congratulations, child. You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, Maame Dufie. Did you get something to eat?”

“Yes, my child.” Maame Dufie stood up slowly as Esi and Maame Akua helped her up.

The old woman placed a hand on Esi’s forehead and orated. “Esi Afriyie, you’re a respectful and kind young woman, and today, Ɔdomankoma has blessed you with a husband. May he bless your home and give many children. Your house will be filled with love and laughter. May your children grow up strong and healthy and have respect for their elders and parents.”

“Thank you.” Moved by Maame Dufie’s kind words, Esi’s voice trembled slightly.

“Now, let me sit down and enjoy the party.” The old woman took her seat.

Mansa rushed to Esi and her mother after they had left Maame Dufie. The two girls screamed and hugged.

“Esi, you look so beautiful,” Mansa said.

“Thank you. You look good, too. Look at your hair.”

Mansa posed. “You like it?”

“You are the queen of hairdressing.” Esi turned to her mother. “What do you think?”

“Yes, Mansa, your hair looks beautiful,” Maame Akua said. “You’ll snatch a husband from the crowd with that.”

Mansa laughed. “You think so?”

“Oh, yes.” Maame Badu said. “Now, who would you pick?”

“I’d pick Sefah Badu.”

Esi gasped, but her best friend’s response confirmed her suspicion. “Really?”

“He looks so handsome in his kente cloth,” Mansa said. “When I arrived with the Jollof rice, he opened the gate for me.”

“If Sefah marries you, we would be sisters.”

Maame Akua shook her head, giving them an indulgent smile. “You’re already like sisters.”

“Yes, but if we married brothers, we’d really be sisters,” Mansa replied and hugged her friend again.

Sefah stood beside Kwame and Michael who quickly became the centre of Esi’s attention. He was easily the best-looking man around, and for some reason, seemed to be the tallest, too. Maybe it had to do with the way he stood, as if the whole world were at his feet.

Every now and again, her heart would leap a little at the thought of the moment when his lips had touched hers. Presently, a shiver slithered down her spine, just the way it had when he’d kissed her.

Her dreams had been good, but they couldn’t beat reality. She was Michael’s wife! She gazed at him, waiting to be pinched back to reality. Not even in her dreams had she imagined being this happy.

 

****

 

Michael looked around him. The compound had been decorated for the occasion, with a dais mounted in the middle of the courtyard and on which young dancers added colour to the melody of the village band’s tune. There was food and drink aplenty. The whole village is here, he remembered his mother-in-law’s words.

Including Forest Girl? He searched people’s faces a little more closely, hoping ever so slightly that she’d be there. Of course, finding her after marrying someone else would make things a little difficult, but if he did find her…

He had no idea what he would do, but he knew he would have to make her his, whatever it took. His heart raced at the possibility.

His attention returned to Esi, and he wondered anew what was wrong with him. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. That kaba looked stunning on her. It hugged her curves, affecting him in ways he didn’t want to be affected. Something about her eyes tugged at his heartstrings—the way they seemed to dance when their gazes met.

He’d noticed the alluring sway of her hips as she’d walked towards Maame Dufie, and his body had stirred in the primal way a man desired a woman. He remembered the feel of her lips, which had touched his only briefly, but had held the hope of a promise. He still couldn’t believe all this was really happening, but as his eyes more than occasionally swept to where she stood, he remembered saying “Yes,” and she in turn accepting his gifts and the ring.

“She’s beautiful.”

Sefah’s voice penetrated his thoughts.

Michael glanced at his brother and smiled. She was beautiful. He wouldn’t even try to deny it. And he found her attractive, although that, he was prepared to deny. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Were weddings not supposed to do that? Fill people with warm and fuzzy feelings? But did that include an urge to ask her to dance? What about the fact that he was still getting used to his reaction to her kiss?

Unwilling to continue with that line of thought, he diverted his attention to the dais, on which Esi’s younger sister had just gone. Beauty seemed to run in the family, he noted, but beautiful though she was, Abena didn’t possess the air of innocence Esi had—that same air of innocence which worried him. He had been convinced, before meeting her, that she couldn’t possibly be his type, but now, he wondered if he was worthy of her. She didn’t deserve to be married to a man whose heart was searching for someone else. How in the world would he manage to get this marriage annulled without hurting her?

During Abena’s performance, he and Esi somehow gravitated towards each other. He sensed her before looking. She didn’t say anything, but offered him one of her kebabs. As he took it, his fingers brushed over hers, their eyes held for a second, and something passed between them; something he preferred not to overanalyse.

He took a bit at the kebab, giving a groan of approval as the spiciness hit his taste buds.

“She has such a great voice,” he said, directing his attention to her sister.

“She does.”

He couldn’t help but notice the complete love and adoration in her voice. What would it be like to have her speak of him with that kind of adoration? Damn. That was the last thing he needed to think.

“Do you sing?”

“Not like her.” Her tone sounded almost amused. “I cook.”

Her sense of humour came as a welcome surprise. A smile came to his lips. Whatever singing and cooking had in common.

“Did you make this?” he asked as he pulled the last piece of meat from the kebab stick.

She nodded.

“Really?” It was good. “What else can you make?”

“A lot of things.” She creased her brows as if trying to come up with something she couldn’t cook. “I did Cookery and Home Management in school.”

“Of course.” He remembered his mother mentioning something of that nature. “Maame did say that.”

He watched different emotions play out on her face, some obviously good, wondering what he’d said that softened her eyes a little more.

When Abena stepped off the stage, the band continued to play popular highlife tunes, but the sweet effect of her soulful songs, like an enchantment, lingered on.

Before he knew it, the crowd was pushing him and Esi to take the floor. A cheer erupted around them as he took his wife’s hand. He hadn’t danced highlife in years and felt himself make missteps, but she seemed to anticipate his steps, including the clumsy ones, and moved gracefully with him, boosting his confidence so much, even he began to believe his dancing wasn’t so bad.

To boot, the crowd applauded them. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sefah watching them with a look of approval. Kwame, his new brother-in-law, stood by with an air of authority that Michael supposed came with being the bride’s older brother. He reckoned he’d feel the same way when Serwaa married. Earlier on, Kwame had been monitoring affairs, making certain everyone was at ease and enjoying themselves while his father took time to mingle with some of the elders present.

Before long, other couples had joined them, crowding the dancing area and giving him a much-needed excuse to lead Esi off the floor.

All evening, people came to congratulate him on the marriage, offering free counselling. He couldn’t decide who was receiving more attention between himself and Esi, but he knew for a fact it wouldn’t take her long to realise what a mistake she’d made by marrying him.