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MMIRI IN THE 1500's
The day had barely broken, and the soft light filtered through the wooden shutters of Lota's room. She sat on a low stool by her work table, the brass in her hands glimmering as she carefully polished a small horse figurine. On either side of her cheekbones were six small yellow circles in a straight line. The room around her was a testament to her craftsmanship—brass trinkets and ornaments filled every corner, hanging from the walls and adorning her shelves. The air smelled of freshly burnt wood and warm brass, a scent that always brought a smile to her face.
The door creaked open, and a small, stocky figure rushed in, panting and fretting. It was Nkiru, Lota's young servant, she had the same round circles but four of them sitting straight on her forehead and two under her mouth, her round face framed by neat rows of threaded hair. She wore a simple cotton wrapper, tied around her chest and another around her waist, both faded but clean.
"Senior Sister! Senior Sister! Great Mother is on her way!" Nkiru's voice wobbled with urgency, her eyes wide.
At once, Lota's hands froze. She sprang to her feet, her heart racing. Her mother did not like her playing with these things. She always considered that a job for the men.
"Nkiru, quickly! Put these away," Lota instructed, her voice steady but her movements hurried. Together, they began clearing the table, the brass trinkets and unfinished pieces of jewelry vanishing into drawers with Nkiru's small hands moving deftly.
Lota's attire was already elegant but not yet befitting the occasion. The young servant hurried to her side, smoothing down the rich gold, red, and black hand-woven textile cloth that Lota wore. One piece of the fabric was wrapped snugly around her chest, another draped gracefully around her slim waist, and a long strip was artfully slung over her elbow, trailing like royal regalia. Lota's waist, adorned with strands of coral beads, shimmered in the soft morning light. Nkiru moved with practiced precision, adjusting the heavy brass bracelets on her wrists and fixing the beads woven into her hair.
When Nkiru had finished, she quickly ducked her head out of the door and then rushed back, breathless.
"Senior Sister, Great Mother is close." she whispered urgently.
Lota checked her reflection in the polished brass mirror hanging on the wall. Her hair was immaculate, the beads gleaming, her clothes perfectly arranged. She turned to Nkiru.
"Are you sure nothing is out of place?" she asked, her voice laced with tension.
Nkiru gave a quick nod, her eyes scanning Lota one last time. Satisfied, Lota exhaled deeply, just in time to hear the faint footsteps approaching.
Her mother entered with regal grace, flanked by two older women. Her presence commanded respect and admiration. The hand-woven wrapper her mother wore was woven in rich hues of blue and gold, tied to the floor in a way that pooled like liquid silk around her feet. Her thick, intricately twisted hair was adorned with bright red coral beads, and she carried an ichaka—a fly whisk made of white horsehair—waving it gently as she walked. The soft jingle of brass bracelets on her wrists accompanied every step.
Lota immediately fell to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the ground as she genuflected. Her mother's attendants mirrored her, their heads bowed in deference.
"Young lady." Her mother's servant's voice filled the room, and she nodded to them
"Good morning, Mother," Lota greeted, her voice reverent as she dared to lift her head.
Her mother, still a striking beauty despite her years, smiled softly and motioned for her daughter to rise. She placed a gentle hand on Lota's elbow, helping her up before leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. The room was quiet, except for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the wooden floor. The two attendants stood by the door, their eyes respectfully downcast.
"My daughter, how are you?" her mother asked, brushing a stray bead from Lota's hair with tender fingers.
Lota smiled, the warmth of her mother's touch softening the tension in her chest.
"Mother, as you can see, I am doing fine," she replied, standing and giving a playful twirl to show off her attire.
Her mother chuckled softly, a glimmer of pride in her eyes. Taking her daughter's small hands into her own, she sighed, her expression growing serious.
"My daughter, you are growing more beautiful every day. With each passing morning, we are blessed by the gods with many suitors visiting our home, asking for your hand."
Lota's smile faltered.
"You are fifteen now," her mother continued, "and ripe for marriage. Your father and I have found you a worthy match."
The words hit Lota like a heavy blow. She rose abruptly, her heart pounding.
"I know you and Father wish me well, but how can you part with me so easily?"
Her voice trembled with frustration.
"Why are you and Father trying to send me away?"
Her mother motioned for her to sit back down, her face softened by understanding. She wrapped an arm around Lota's shoulders.
"My beautiful child, you misunderstand," her mother said gently, pulling Lota close. "It is not that we want to part with you. These are troubled times."
Lota's eyes widened as her mother continued, her voice solemn.
"Your father is a young merchant, and the king may call upon him to fight. And I must join the Women of Blessing to pray for our men to return safely. If something happens to us, who will protect you? We cannot leave you in the care of servants alone."
Her mother's words carried the weight of the unknown. The village of Mmiri, once peaceful, had become a place of whispers and fear. People disappeared in the night, their bodies found mutilated, and the Ogba Onwu—the secret society that investigated crimes and delivered justice—was hard at work to catch the perpetrator. But with the threat of war looming, the king summoned young, healthy men to the palace to fight in the war, a sign that dark days were ahead.
Lota knew she couldn't argue with her mother's logic. Her marriage was not just a matter of tradition; it was a way to secure her future in a time of uncertainty. So she can't be stubborn now.
Reluctantly, she knelt before her mother once more.
"Mother, I shall do as you say," she whispered, her voice quiet yet resigned.
Her mother placed a hand on her daughter's head, her expression one of both love and sorrow. "You will be protected, my daughter," she murmured, "no matter what comes."
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The past two days had been a haze for Lota, a blur of confusion and sorrow. Ever since her mother had broken the news of her impending marriage, she had been listless. Her trinkets, once her most cherished possessions, now lay untouched, their gleam dulled by her indifference. The only thing occupying her mind was the question that lingered like a dark cloud: who would her husband be? Would he be kind or cruel? What family would she marry into? These thoughts consumed her, draining the usual light from her heart.
From what her slave Nkiru had told her, her parents were rushing to arrange the marriage to coincide with the next market day, which was only two days away. Lota sat on her small wooden stool, chin resting in her hands, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Nkiru hovered nearby, her face etched with concern. Normally, Lota would have been crafting new trinkets or playing, but for the past two days, she had done nothing but mope. The vibrant young girl was now a shadow of herself, and it pained Nkiru to see her like this.
Suddenly, the stillness was broken by the clattering of feet and a voice that seemed almost out of place in the somber air.
"Little sister! Little sister!"
Nazam burst into the room, nearly tripping over the threshold in his haste. His energy filled the space like a gust of fresh air. Lota lifted her head briefly, but upon realizing it was Nazam, she sighed deeply and returned to her former state of melancholy.
As her servant and playmate, Nazam was the only one allowed to treat her as an equal despite the class difference. From a young age, Lota had begged her parents to let him be her little brother, and after much persistence, they had agreed. He was the one person who could pull her out of her darkest moods, but today even Nazam seemed powerless.
''Little Sister,'' he said, panting from his run.
"I heard you're getting married the day after tomorrow. Is it true? Please say it's not true."
He looked up at her, his large eyes brimming with unshed tears, his innocence piercing through the gloom. Nkiru stiffened at his familiar tone. It was one thing for Nazam to be her young mistress's confidant, but there were limits to decorum, and he was skirting them dangerously.
"Please, say something, little sister!" Nazam tugged at Lota's wrapper in desperation.
Lota stared ahead, her expression vacant, her mind elsewhere. It was as if she wasn't even in the room. With every tug, Nazam's cries grew louder, and his composure started to break. Finally, he sank to the floor and began to sob.
"Nazam!" Nkiru hissed, rushing to grab him by the arm. "Come quick!" She dragged the crying boy out of the room, throwing an apologetic glance over her shoulder at Lota. But Lota couldn't bring herself to offer any comfort to her young companion. How could she comfort him when she couldn't even comfort herself?
She sighed once more, sinking deeper into the suffocating weight of her situation. Just then, another servant appeared at the doorway. He didn't dare enter but announced himself politely, his voice low.
"Young lady, may I come in, please?"
He asked, seeking permission to come in.
Before Lota could respond, Nkiru's sharp voice rang out from outside the hut.
"How dare you approach the young lady's quarters without fear? What business do you have here?"
The male servant mumbled something before handing over the bundle he had been carrying and retreating. Nkiru returned, her arms piled high with an assortment of brightly colored fabrics, their rich hues clashing against the dim mood inside the hut. She dropped the fabrics carefully on a stool near the brass mirror, then approached Lota cautiously.
'Young Lady'
Nkiru began gently,
"Your wedding fabric is here. You need to choose one."
Lota's gaze shifted lazily to the pile of vibrant fabrics, but there was no spark of excitement in her eyes. With a deep sigh, she pushed herself off the stool and trudged over to the stool. Her movements were slow, almost robotic, as she sifted through the soft silks and bright cottons. Nkiru, sensing her young mistress's emotional exhaustion, bowed and stepped back, giving her space.
After what felt like an eternity, Lota picked up a lovely yellow and gold fabric. She stared at it for a moment, her fingers running over the delicate weave, then flung it onto the bed with a frustrated huff. Without a word, she turned and sank back onto her stool, her spirit still heavy.
"You may take the rest back," Lota muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nkiru moved quickly, gathering the remaining fabrics, but just as she was about to leave, Lota spoke again.
"Keep Nazam away from my quarters for the next two days," Lota instructed.
''Yes, Young Lady''
Nkiru responded softly before slipping out of the room.
The next two days were a whirlwind of preparations. The servants bustled around the Compound, redecorating every corner with fresh palm fronds, strings of beads, and vibrant flowers. The smell of freshly cooked meals and roasted meats filled the air as her soon-to-be in-laws arrived with carts of food that would feed the household for years. They brought with them baskets of yams, kegs of palm wine, and live animals for slaughter. Lota watched all of this from a distance, her heart still burdened with uncertainty.
She felt like a bystander in her own life.
The night before the ceremony, her parents entertained her future in-laws in the main courtyard. Lota could hear the sounds of their voices and laughter, but it all felt distant, as if the entire world was happening far away from her.
Then, the day came. The day that had once felt so far away now loomed over her like a shadow. Lota was dressed in the golden fabric she had chosen, her hair woven into intricate braids adorned with cowries and beads. Nkiru, ever the dutiful handmaiden, fussed over every detail, ensuring that Lota looked every bit the part of the bride. But none of it seemed real to Lota. She still felt as though she were in a dream—or perhaps a nightmare.
Finally, it was time for her to meet him. Her husband-to-be.
Lota's heart pounded in her chest as she was led to the central courtyard, where the ceremony would take place. The elders of both families were seated in a semi-circle, while the rest of the villagers watched from the edges, murmuring excitedly. The air was thick with anticipation. Her parents stood proudly at her side, beaming with joy.
And then, there he was.
For the first time, Lota laid eyes on the man who would become her husband. Her breath caught in her throat as she took him in. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome. His skin gleamed in the sunlight, and his eyes held a quiet strength. For a moment, everything around her faded away, and all she could see was him.
Her heart fluttered, and just like that, all her fears melted. The reservations she had carried for days evaporated, and a new feeling took their place. It was as if something had clicked inside her. Maybe this marriage wasn't such a terrible thing after all. Maybe, just maybe, she could love this man.
As the priestess began the marriage rites, Lota found herself smiling—a real smile, not the forced one she had practiced earlier that morning. Her hands, once clammy and cold, now felt warm as she took her husband's in hers. She had been so scared, so unsure, but now, standing beside him, everything felt... right.
The ceremony passed in a blur, but Lota's heart remained full. When it was done, and the final blessing had been given, she glanced at her new husband once more. He looked down at her with a small smile, and in that moment, she knew.
This was the beginning of something beautiful.
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That night, Lota felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world. Her heart fluttered with excitement as she sat in front of the brass mirror, fixing her hair and adjusting the beautiful yellow and gold wrapper she had chosen for her wedding night. She could hardly believe that she would finally get to spend her first night with her husband. Ever since she had laid eyes on him at the ceremony, she had been filled with a mixture of anticipation and hope. He was everything she had imagined—handsome, tall, and with an air of quiet strength that left her breathless. Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of their life together, the night they would truly become husband and wife.
She couldn't stop herself from smiling as she smoothed her wrapper one more time, her eyes flickering to the door in expectation. Any moment now, he would walk in, and they would finally be alone. Time ticked by, and her excitement only grew. The flickering oil lamp cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the small bed draped in fresh linens, the room decorated modestly for the occasion. Everything was perfect. Everything was ready.
But the minutes turned into hours.
Lota's smile began to fade as the silence in her room deepened. Her hands, once busy fixing her hair, now lay idle in her lap. Where was he? Why hadn't he come yet? The excitement that had bubbled in her chest now gave way to a dull ache of uncertainty. She glanced at the door again, hopeful, but there was no sound. No footsteps. No movement.
Soon, the night grew cold, and exhaustion began to creep in. She told herself he was probably delayed—maybe he had family matters to attend to, or perhaps he was still occupied with the guests. But as the night dragged on, her heart sank further. Finally, unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Lota lay down on the bed, her wrapper still neatly tied, her hair still perfectly in place. She had fallen asleep, waiting for him.
The first cock's crow startled her awake. Lota sat up abruptly, disoriented by the faint light of dawn creeping through the windows. She blinked, her eyes heavy with sleep, and then her heart skipped a beat—there he was. Her husband, seated across the room in a wooden chair, staring at her. But the look in his eyes wasn't one of love or warmth. It was cold, hard—filled with something she couldn't quite understand. He was glaring at her, as if her mere presence offended him.
"My husband, I have been waiting…" she said that so naturally and softly, her voice still groggy with sleep but laced with hope.
He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive, and turned his gaze away from her. Lota's chest tightened. She had expected a tender reunion after the ceremony, but instead, she was met with indifference. No, worse than indifference—contempt. His coldness hit her like a slap, and she felt the sting of tears threatening to fill her eyes.
What had she done wrong? Lota's mind raced back to the ceremony—the way he had smiled at her when they first saw each other, the warmth she had felt in his presence. Everything had seemed fine. She had been so sure that he would at least be kind to her, if not love her right away. But now, sitting across from her with that icy glare, it was clear something was terribly wrong.
Days passed, turning into many moons and Lota quickly realized her first impression of her marriage was nothing but a fleeting dream. Her husband barely acknowledged her existence. He wouldn't eat the meals she carefully prepared, wouldn't speak to her, and certainly wouldn't visit her quarters. He stayed with his family, leaving her alone and isolated. It was as if she had been forgotten, a ghost living in the same house.
At night, she cried silently into her pillow, clutching it as if it could somehow fill the aching void in her chest. During the day, she wandered through the house, watching the family go about their lives as if she were invisible. Her husband disappeared for long stretches of time, claiming to be occupied with his work as part of the Ogba Onwu, the group investigating the string of cryptic murders that had been haunting the village.
But Lota knew better. She knew it wasn't just the investigation keeping him away. She was anxious and lost. One evening, she had sent Nkiru, her trusted maid, to follow him discreetly, desperate to know why he was avoiding her. When Nkiru returned, her expression was grim.
"You were right, Young Lady,"
Nkiru said cautiously, bowing her head.
"He is avoiding you. There is… another woman."
Lota's heart clenched painfully in her chest.
"Another woman?"
Lota whispered, her voice trembling.
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Adaora."
Nkiru explained. Biting her lips, hoping she could just lie so her mistress would be at peace. But she knew she couldn't protect her that way, she was aware of how she was treated, and she wanted her mistresses to be prepared for anything instead of living in blissful ignorance like a fool.
"She is not from a noble family, but he is in love with her. They have been together for some time now, but they could never marry because of her caste."
Nkiru said cautiously as Lota's world crumbled at Nkiru's words. Her husband's coldness, his distance, his disdain—it all made sense now. He had been forced into this marriage, and he resented her for it. He loved another woman, and in his eyes, Lota had stolen his chance at happiness. But she hadn't known. How could she have known? She hadn't chosen this marriage any more than he had.
Nkiru's voice was barely a whisper as she added,
"He blames you for ruining his life."
Lota felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. How could he blame her? She hadn't asked for this marriage either. She had done everything expected of her, tried to be the dutiful wife, tried to please him. But none of it mattered. He hated her simply because she existed.
Her days became an endless loop of loneliness. Her in-laws hardly spoke to her, treating her like an unwelcome guest rather than family. After the marriage ceremony, it was as if they had dumped her in her quarters and forgotten about her. She felt like an outsider, a stranger in the home that was supposed to be hers. Even worse, she had no way to distract herself. Her mother had forbidden her from bringing her brasswork materials, fearing it would disgrace the family to see their daughter working with her hands like a common artisan.
Without her tools, Lota was not only isolated but utterly bored. She had nothing to do but sit in her quarters, day after day, waiting for a husband who would never come. The silence pressed in on her from all sides, suffocating her. Each night, as darkness fell, she would lie in bed, her tears soaking the pillow as she thought of the life she had dreamed of—a life filled with love, companionship, and happiness. Instead, she had been cast aside, unwanted and unloved.
One night, unable to bear the weight of her emotions any longer, Lota sought out Nkiru. She found her in the small servant quarters, where the fire they had lit to keep themselves warm had long since died down.
"Nkiru,"
Lota whispered, her voice shaking with desperation.
"I don't know how much more of this I can take. What should I do?"
Nkiru, always loyal, looked up at her with sorrow in her eyes.
"My lady, I wish I had an answer for you. You are trapped, as am I. But perhaps, in time, your husband will come to see your worth."
Lota nodded, though she found little comfort in Nkiru's words. She was beginning to lose hope that her husband would ever see her, truly see her, for who she was.
That night, as she lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, she made a silent vow to herself. She would not let this be the end of her story. If her husband refused to love her, then she would find a way to love herself. If the family shunned her, then she would carve out a space for herself, no matter how small.
But how? The question lingered in the darkness, unanswered.