And as the wedding day drew closer, Mami Ajoa’s plan moved quietly into its final stage—a plan not meant to unite two people, but to break them apart in front of everyone.
As the wedding day approached, everything appeared to be moving smoothly on the surface. Invitations had been confirmed, preparations were nearly complete, and both families were making final arrangements. But beneath that calm, something else was unfolding.
Mami Ajoa was not a woman who left things to chance. One evening, she sat in a quiet corner of her compound with two men she trusted. Her voice was low, but her words were precise.
“The tree must remain exactly where it is,” she said. “No one should touch it before the ceremony.”
One of the men nodded. “Everything has been arranged. It will not be easy to cut, especially with a knife.”
“That is the point,” Mami Ajoa replied. “He must fail.”
The second man asked, “And if he refuses to attempt it?”
Mami Ajoa’s eyes hardened. “Then he proves himself unworthy in front of everyone.”
There was a brief silence.
“Either way,” she continued, “this marriage will not happen.”
The men nodded in agreement before leaving quietly. Mami Ajoa leaned back, satisfied. To her, this was not cruelty. It was correction. She believed she was protecting her daughter from a future she did not approve of.
Meanwhile, Afia struggled to ignore the growing tension in her heart. She found herself thinking more about her conversation with her mother. The way Mami Ajoa avoided her questions, the way she insisted on secrecy, did not feel like tradition. It felt like something else.
That evening, Afia visited Boma again. She found him working on a small mechanical repair outside his shop. His hands were covered in grease, but his focus was steady.
“You have been working all day,” she said as she approached.
Boma looked up and smiled. “There is still more to do before the wedding.”
Afia watched him for a moment before speaking. “Do you ever feel like something is wrong?”
Boma wiped his hands and stood up straight. “What do you mean?”
“My mother,” Afia said. “Her sudden change, the ritual. Everything feels planned.”
Boma listened carefully, then shook his head slightly. “I understand your concern, but fear can also make things seem worse than they are.”
Afia frowned. “So you are not worried at all?”
“I am prepared,” he replied. “Whatever comes, I will face it.”
Afia looked at him, searching for any doubt in his expression, but there was none.
“You trust too easily,” she said quietly.
Boma smiled faintly. “No, I choose to stand firm.”
His confidence calmed her slightly, but not completely.
