Mgbafor was plagued with the duty of playing surrogate mother to her brother's mischievous son. And she loved it. But whoever heard of a mere toddler throwing land-crabs into the chicken coop after the hens had gone to roost?! And she was tired of shouting, because it only made him think she wanted to play. And her attempts at discipline were always met with a pained expression of pure innocence that she simply could not overlook.
To think that Nna-anyi had the `good humour' to remark that the boy was just like her. How? Was she his mother? Simply because she refused to brook any nonsense from her former in-laws, choosing instead to defend herself and protect her honour as a princess? Let them say what they will. Even her uncles had been busy looking for possible matches for her. Like hens scratching the earth in search of elusive worms. Let him come forward, the warrior who thought himself worthy of Mgbafor Akwueke. When the neighbouring Eze had come to ask her hand in marriage to his son, she had listened to her grandmother and had consented, knowing full well that the prince was a weakling who got other men to till his land, and thatch his roof. She was to be his second, after Uloaku his first wife had gone through eight barren seasons, and the elders of the land had decided to find a better field for Nwankwo to plant his man-seeds.
The entire clan knew that her dowry could only have been coughed up by a leader of leaders. Not only was she the most beautiful maiden in her age-grade, she was at least two heads taller than any woman in the village, and a head taller than most men. It was the legacy of her father's family. It was the reason why they were nicknamed Ogologo, tall. Her fair skin glistened with years of prosperity and pampering, and her wrists and ankles were adorned with ivory, gold and coral. Mgbafor was a maiden destined for a king. And she had been given to Nwankwo as `second'wife.
Somewhere deep inside her, she had known that there was a problem. As the wedding party danced with Nwankwo's age-grade through her father's yard at the heart of Aro, circling the great ancestral tree that was both the village square as well as the entrance to her father's compound and set out left towards the road that led to Amannagwu and further to Uzoakoli, Mgbafor looked at her new husband and felt strange. He did not look or act like a newly married man.
That night the celebration had been long and full. The palm wine kept flowing like river water; the pounded yam kept appearing as though out of thin air, and the assortment of soup encouraged even the satiated to try another dish. Nwankwo's sister-in-law, an Anang woman, had surpassed herself with the menu. Ekpang-koko with dried fish, edikan-ikong with goat meat, afang with bush meat, and otong with periwinkles, shrimps and fat, freshly-caught fish. Mgbafor was fawned over, petted and offered all kinds of delicacies. From not too far away, she could hear the young men teasing Nwankwo and telling ribald consummation jokes. She pretended not to hear them.
After the ceremonial bath, she was prepared for her conjugal duty, and escorted to Nwankwo's hut, white-washed especially for the occasion. The first wife, Uloaku, made the traditional pronouncements of `open womb, open hands, and open hearts', then she placed the calabash of water by the entrance of the hut. Mgbafor looked at the white cloth and touched it briefly before spreading herself carefully upon it. It would not do to have the proof of her value and virtue wrongly positioned. That cloth must be returned to Aro as evidence, she knew. No one had said anything about returning the raffia mat if the hymen was not properly aligned with the shew-cloth. Mgbafor had been uneasy, though not afraid. It was more curiosity than fear. She had always wondered what it would be like the first time. Her mother had told her all the necessary details, but she still wondered at the undisclosed bits. The bits that made women whisper conspiratorially and clap their hands in glee. Or not.
She was awakened by the fumbling of a drunken man. Startled, she remembered her new status, and assumed the proper position as Nwankwo's abada wrapper was thrown heavily across the room. She stilled herself, though her heart beat like the pulse of a trapped rabbit, and she waited for the matrimonial dance to begin. Nwankwo crawled onto the mud ledge beside her, dislodging both the shew-cloth and the mat beneath it. Mindful of its importance, Mgbafor wriggled to one side, reached down and adjusted the shew-cloth quickly. As she straightened, she felt Nwankwo's heavy, soft palm on her stomach.
Eeeh, she thought, so that is where they start from, ehn? She lay still, waiting for a more decisive move. Nwankwo is a married man, she thought, he knows what to do. He was perhaps just taking his time to give her some assurance that she was safe. She waited, and when the hand began to weigh heavily on her half-full stomach, she turned slightly so that the hand was now somewhere close to her side. He moved then. Clambering over her and hurriedly fondling her left breast as he unceremoniously removed the modest covering around her waist. He moved his loin-cloth to one side with his left hand, holding something that was lost within the fist of his right hand as he groped and prodded between her thighs. Mgbafor tried to spread wider, as she had been told to do. Suddenly she felt his hip grinding into her underbelly with frantic desperation. A fat `finger' seemed to poke her inner thigh for all of four blinks, and then nothing.
Nwankwo collapsed silently beside her. Shortly afterwards, she heard his snores begin from some place behind his gullet.
She wept.