Amina's mother returns to the kitchen a few minutes later, helping her pack the food into hot-pots. One is quickly taken to Grandma, who is already asleep, and Amina hurries back to find her mother has taken the rest of the meal to the living room.
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"Amina, come," her mother says, gesturing to the kitchen. "We'll eat here while the men talk."
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But Papa Chukwuma interrupts, his voice firm. "No, Nkechi. This is not the 1950s. Amina will eat with us. She's part of this family, and she should be part of this discussion."
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Amina wishes her father had considered this progressive mindset before arranging a marriage for her without her knowledge, but she says nothing. She sits at the table, her posture stiff, her movements deliberate. Normally, she eats quickly, but tonight she eats slowly, like a Victorian princess, her eyes downcast and her mind racing.
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After the meal, Amina clears the table and brings water for her father and Ifeanyi to wash their hands. She then retreats to the kitchen with her mother to wash the dishes. As they work, Mama Nkechi is constantly called back and forth to the living room, where she eavesdrops on the men's conversation.
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According to their talk, Ifeanyi already likes Amina. He's presented her father with a small briefcase and a bag containing a swollen envelope, a few yams, dried fish, and expensive spices imported from Indonesia and Singapore—luxuries that can't be grown locally. The briefcase contains a laptop and a smartphone, gifts that clearly impress her father.
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"He's a generous man," Mama Nkechi whispers to Amina as she returns to the kitchen. "This is a good match."
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Amina says nothing, her hands trembling as she scrubs the dishes.
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***
After finishing the dishes, Amina tries to slip past the living room unnoticed, but her father calls her back.
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"Amina," he says, his tone commanding. "Take Ifeanyi to the bedroom at the edge of the compound. He's tired from the journey and needs to rest."
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Amina hesitates, her heart pounding. "Me, Papa?"
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"Yes, you," her father replies, his expression stern. "It's just a short walk. Take the lamp."
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Ifeanyi stands, his tall frame towering over her. He smiles, his confidence unnerving. "Lead the way," he says, his voice smooth and commanding.
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Amina picks up the kerosene lamp, its flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. She steps outside, Ifeanyi following close behind. The night is cloudy, the air heavy with the promise of rain.
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They walk in silence, the lamp illuminating the narrow path through the fields. The compound is quiet, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the breeze. As they pass Grandma's hut, Amina notices a light shining through the window—Grandma is still awake.
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The sight gives her a small measure of comfort, though she can't shake the feeling that something is watching her. The shadows seem to move on their own, the darkness pressing in from all sides.
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Ifeanyi breaks the silence, his voice low and smooth. "You've grown since high school, Amina. You were always quiet, but I noticed you."
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Amina's grip tightens on the lamp. "I didn't think you'd remember me."
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"How could I forget?" he says, his tone teasing. "You were the girl who always had her nose in a book. I admired that about you."
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Amina doesn't respond, her mind racing. She quickens her pace, eager to reach the bedroom and end this uncomfortable conversation.
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