On her wedding day Adesua was struck by two things: that life would never be the same again and secondly, it would always be divided into sections: life before and life after the wedding. The day itself rolled in as if reluctant and with the pace of a snail. The palace roused with a gentle hum that turned into a buzz of activity on discovering Oba Odion had gone missing. Adesua heard the news through her personal servant, a young woman with tribal markings on her arms who stammered slightly. She bore a cut above her left eye and her small frame belied a sturdy strength of character.
Her name was Etabi and it was she who burst through the wide door of Adesua’s living quarters as if a flame had been set on her backside. “Mistress! Mistress! The Oba is nowhere to be seen,” she said, out of breath having run all the way from the servants building. There she had heard it from one of the noblemen’s servants, who in turn had eavesdropped on his master’s conversation with one of the councilmen and took it as his duty to spread it to any equally lowly person within the palace grounds.
On hearing this good news Adesua had to stop herself from jumping up and down. She smiled and it was wrapped in sunshine and nearly threw her arms around the servant as they went through the motions of dressing her for the day. Throughout she hoped this meant her predicament would change. She fantasised that the reality of having her as a new wife had troubled Oba Odion so much it had given him stomach ache and he was crumpled in a heap somewhere. Or that he was in a secret meeting with one of his advisers who was doing such a good job of persuading him to send her back home, that by the following day, she would be back in her village trying to outrun her shadow and making stupid bets with some of the elders. By the time she was fully dressed, Etabi fuelled by both instinct and excitement said “Mistress, this is the happiest I’ve seen you in days.”
This happiness was fleeting because a few hours later, the king finally arrived for his wedding. Caught up in the excitement that ensued as for the whole palace, the moment they had all so long anticipated was finally here, they prepared to produce the most impressive wedding any of them had ever witnessed, for their Oba Odion. Adesua waited anxiously as Odion approached her. He was unsteady on his feet and rocked slightly from side to side and for the entire ceremony appeared as if impatient for it to be finished. His breath was wine-soaked and intoxicated words tripped off his tongue. Adesua felt her nails digging into her palms; it reminded her she was alive because throughout the wedding, it was as though she was not there but rather in the crowd of guests somewhere, watching a frightened young woman being dragged into what looked like a steep grave. She watched the unfamiliar faces surrounding them. She resented the pitiful glances that came so frequently. It was hard to miss Papa’s nervous shuffle and Mama’s wringing hands.
The celebrations went on for a while, till the sun and moon swapped greetings as the moon took charge of overseeing the proceedings. It shone over the courtiers who speculated on the Oba’s whereabouts earlier in the day, and the tailors and craftsmen who marvelled at the coolness of the new bride whom they had all hoped would crumble a little to make the spectacle even more amusing.
Darkness wasn’t just outside, it waited for Adesua in the king’s chamber.
Under the force of his clammy body and his insistent tongue in her mouth, Adesua’s innocence was taken.
She’d finally become a wife in the truest sense of the word.
After the deed was done the Oba relaxed on Adesua’s chest, his own rising and falling in the satisfying comfort of a deep slumber while his snores slid off her cold shoulders and escaped through the ceiling into the night. With all her might Adesua shoved him off her grateful body and listened as he rolled over and fell to the floor. He did not get up and the only move she made was to turn her long frame to the opposite side. Meanwhile a tiny spider crawled onto her heart. It sat comfortably and arranged its slightly crooked legs. It sipped a little blood.
The next morning Adesua woke to an empty bedchamber. To the smell of stale sweat clinging to the air as if they were lovers too. The sound of unfamiliar voices loitering in the palace grounds gave her no comfort, instead it was a reminder that today was the beginning of a new life. She longed for her Mama and Papa and for the yesterday she once knew that was now napping in her village. She felt a throbbing at the juncture of her thighs and an ache that ran through to her stomach before pausing in her chest. She touched the inside of her left thigh and felt dried blood. She rubbed it hard, then harder, as if to wipe away the night before.
Oba Odion’s face swam in the waters of her head, his full bottom lip dropped down and arms stretched out of his mouth like branches with open palms. She sat up and shook the vision away with the vigour of an angry father shaking a stubborn child. She counted her toes as if she didn’t know how many she had. She stroked her smallest toe; it leaned against the other toe like an anxious sibling vying for support. She studied her feet, soft front hard back. Soft front hard back, she spoke the word out like a chant. These were the feet that had carried her through the yolk of childhood and into the bowels of adulthood, along a road that appeared to have no ending. And into a clearing of thorns disguised as eager smiles and forced jubilation. It had brought her here; where betrayal slapped you awake and waited patiently while you dressed. The voices outside grew louder. But outside could have been inside and inside outside because she was thinking of her feet, soft front hard back. She wanted to cut them off.
Once again Oba Odion went to his hiding place, between the soft folds of flesh of his Omotole. Whenever he laid his head to rest on her generous breasts, the howl of wild beasts could not drag him away. He forgot about rebellious villagers who needed to be made examples of and the nagging doubts of members of his council with selfish interests. He forgot about the invisible rope that hung around his neck daily.
Omotole was the daughter of a nobleman who had travelled to Benin in search of fortune and prosperity. He did not find prosperity but found fortune in the form of a bow-legged, light skinned beauty who thought after she spoke and was never really made for motherhood. She bore him five children and each time she gave birth a little part of her seemed to die. Omotole was her last born and the Oba believed she schemed her way out of her mother’s womb. What she lacked in looks she more than made up for with her wily ways.
It was Omotole who had devised the plan to snare more villages outside Benin to increase the kingdom and Omotole who whispered the idea of a fresh bride to confuse the greedy noblemen who resided in the royal court. If Oba Odion had his wish, he would have dismissed some of the council and appointed Omotole as one of his official advisers. But a woman could not be given such a coveted position and a king could not be openly seen to do such things. Omotole was dutifully rewarded for her contribution; the Oba was affectionate and of all the eight brides, she resided in the most comfortable quarters in the Queens’ palace, but to her, there was still more to be done and she knew that for her the Oba possessed an easily bent ear.
“Ah, tongues will be wagging that you have wickedly abandoned your new bride.” She said, tucking her legs between the Oba’s. They lay on a large leather mat that cushioned their bodies and their plans.