In the gap running through the crowd, a long line of women stood on offer, one behind the other like sacrifices to a God. The king himself sat in an exquisitely crafted chair made from ancient teak wood, flanked by his royal priest on one side and a member of the court council on the other. You could not tell how old the Oba was from looking at him but his black skin shone and his head seemed too big for his body. The wrapper he wore was heavily embroidered with a frill overlaid by a waistband sash with tassels. He had royal iwu tattoos on both arms that Adesua was too far away to see in detail.
As the family tentatively moved to the front, the procession of dancers began to navigate through the room. People clapped along as they wiggled and shook body parts, drawing admirable glances and whoops of encouragement. By the time they had worked their way to the back, the councilman beside the king stood up and held his hand out for silence.
“You!” he said pointing to Adesua, “come forward and introduce yourself to the king.”
Adesua walked towards them “I am Adesua sir.”
“And where have you come from?” the councilman asked.
“Ishan.”
“Tell us what you have brought as a gift for the king and why you would make a good wife.”
“I brought a pot of nmebe soup and I would make a fine wife because one day I’m going to be the best hunter in all of Edo.”
The crowd burst into laughter and the other wives giggled. Adesua turned to see that Papa had his hands on his head and Mama was trying not to smile. After the laughter died, the councilman looked to the king. He was sitting forward in his chair and studying Adesua as if she were a rainbow piercing through the heart of the sky.
Condition Make Crayfish Bend
If during his time as king Oba Anuje had been an unwavering rock that even tidal waves bowed to, his son Odion was not. Anuje had sowed the first seeds of inadequacy in Odion when on picking him up as a newborn he had wrinkled his nose as if the child smelled rotten. When the baby curled its lips and let out a wail as most babies do when born, Anuje seemed to take it as a personal affront and declared, “This child is useless,” then handed the baby back to its perplexed mother.
Nobody in the palace knew why Anuje hated his son Odion. He had many children from various wives, some whom he loved, some he tolerated. But his reaction to his fourth son was as strange as an antelope mating with a hare. When Odion was a boy he did everything he could to gain his father’s approval. He won wrestling matches, attempted to squash any signs of rebellion from villagers who didn’t want to pay their annual tributes, he solved riddles Anuje liked to set to amuse himself. All to no avail, Odion was not even a crumb on his father’s plate. Through the years, he longed for his father’s approval.
Sometimes when Odion dozed at night, he imagined that a Mammy Water with her big tail wriggled into his head through his ear and like a broom sweeps dirt, swept away the faults his father saw, leaving behind multi-coloured scales that glittered like rare gems. Despite this, Odion continued to suffer under his father’s hand haunted by one dream; a human heart swelling, then shrinking on a copper plate engraved in a foreign language and his father eating the heart with his bare hands before releasing his bloody mouth to the kingdom’s sky. He never asked Anuje to whom that heart belonged.
Years later Odion, now a young man, stumbled on Anuje in one of his rooms, clutching at his throat and gesturing wildly for help. Aware in that moment of being the only person his father needed and the only one who could help him Odion stood rooted to the spot, basking in his father’s weakness. Something exchanged between father and son that was worse than death tapping you on the shoulder. Anuje had been poisoned. Fully aware his son had no intention to help; with his last breath he cursed him.
After Anuje returned to the ground, flesh to dust, Odion was left still chasing a ghost. And even as king he heard the mocking laughter of his father’s ghost sneaking through the gaps in the palace gates and laying claim to the Oba’s chair.
And so against the advice of the head councilman and private berating of his priest, Odion insisted on marrying Adesua. “Such insolence Oba! She is not fit for marriage and will embarrass the palace. Think of your reputation!” Odion could no more explain his choice of a new bride as he could the desire that drove him to be king. Seeing her for the first time reminded him of a stalk that refused to be bent by the wind and for reasons unknown to him he equated such strength of character to mean loyalty. Adesua bid goodbye to everything she knew. To days spent exploring and wondering where her adventurous feet would take her, to nights around a fire listening to her father’s stories while Mama threw in a word here and there. Goodbye to old friendships and maybe blossoming new ones.
Her village rejoiced, their daughter had been chosen. If Adesua, a beautiful young woman, but one who walked purposefully rather than swung her hips to catch a young man’s eye and preferred playing with animals to learning recipes, could become queen, then there was hope for all their daughters! But there was a muted uproar, too. Within the palace walls vicious whispers circulated amongst courtiers, noblemen and women like a plague amidst its victims. Preparations were made to celebrate the king’s new bride under what struck Adesua as false jollity. Some people smiled but were not really happy. Others seemed to welcome her with open arms but their embraces left her cold.
In the days before the wedding Adesua paced the palace floors with a lump in her throat no amount of spit swallowing would push down. She wished her Papa and Mama had never brought her to the ceremony but wishing could not erase what had already come to pass. In the palace walls something dark hatched in the stomachs of hungry creatures growing small, ambitious tentacles, whispering to body organs at night. Adesua prayed and pleaded with the Gods, feeling like a small stone catapulted into a dense forest.
During the night before the wedding, after pre-celebrations had slowed to a close and the trees sunburnt leaves still trembled with the last notes of music, Oba Odion wound his way through the back routes of the palace. Benin was beautifully shrouded in a feverish orange glow, as if the lines of the buildings would shift beneath his touch and the copper birds on the turreted roofs had returned from secret journeys, pressing their newly inherited irises against a darkening skyline and lining the rooftops with small spoils visible only in a certain light.
Clutching an empty green bottle of palm wine, Oba Odion stumbled along, an almost comical figure. His large belly stuck out, he followed its rumblings, occasionally looking down, patting it affectionately. He could smell the palm wine on his own breath, could feel the looseness and lightness of his tongue, as though it would shoot out and keep the rooftop birds company, or trace a coming dawn with saliva before being swallowed by its pale mist.
Oba Odion raised the bottle to his lips, thinking of the new road to Benin he’d instructed his workers to start building. Not only would it lead to more trade for Benin but it meant labour for some of the people of the kingdom, who repeatedly came to the palace begging for scraps. Who knew what that road would bring to Benin’s gates? Arching his neck, he spoke to the bottle. “Go and tell the world about Oba Odion! Tell them the wonders I can do!” He flung the bottle. It landed in a gnarly patch of shrubbery, neck jutting out, and ready to catch tiny silvery cracks winding their way towards it.
When the Oba arrived at Omotole’s quarters she was naked, and voluptuous. He knelt before her in the warm dark room, reached for her waiting body. He traced the line of sweat snaking between her breasts greedily with the remnants of the wine from the mouth of the green bottle. He did not tell her about seeing her spread-eagled on that new road and that the copper palace rooftop birds had passed through her womb in a blurry blue light that rendered a person temporarily blind. Instead he stuck his face deep into the folds of Omotole’s bountiful breasts and told his mind to quiet down. Meanwhile Adesua the new bride paced her quarters, unaware of the slow erosion eating through the virgin movements her silhouette shared or that bits of the red trail had found its way into the Oba’s thrown bottle.