Simi said, “But I’ve not got Tani’s water yet, Mummy.”
Abeo said sharply, “Do as your mother tells you, Simisola.”
Simi did so, casting an “I’m sorry” look at Tani, who shrugged.
She ducked her hands beneath the table and cast a look at Tani, who gave her a wink. She cast one at her mother, who kept her gaze on Abeo. After a long moment of observing Monifa, he gave the sharp nod that indicated his wife could begin serving.
He said to Monifa, “Your son failed to show up at work on schedule once again. He was able to give the shop only thirty minutes of his valuable time. Zaid had to do nearly everything at closing, and he was not pleased.” And then he said to Tani, “Where were you that you failed in your responsibilities?”
Monifa murmured, “Abeo . . . ? Perhaps later you and Tani . . . ?”
“This, what I speak of, is not your concern,” Abeo cut in. “Have you made eba? Yes? Simisola, bring it from the kitchen.”
Monifa spooned a large portion of gbegiri soup onto a rimmed plate. She passed it to Abeo. She scooped up more and gave it to Tani.
In a moment, Simi emerged from the kitchen with a large platter of eba. To accompany the swallows and in a bow to “being English,” she’d tucked under her arm a bottle of brown sauce. She placed this in front of Abeo and returned to her seat. Monifa served her last, as was their custom.
They ate in silence. Noise from outdoors along with the smacking of lips and swallowing of food was the only sound. Halfway through his meal, Abeo paused, shoved back his chair, and performed what Tani thought of as his father’s nightly ritual: He blew his nose mightily into a paper napkin, balled this up, and tossed it to the floor. He told Simi to bring him another. Monifa rose to do this herself, but Abeo said, “Sit, Monifa. You are not Simi.” Simi scampered off, returning only moments later with an ancient tea towel so faded that it was impossible to discern which royal marriage was being celebrated on it. She said to her father, “I couldn’t find any but there’s this. An’ it will work, won’t it, Papa?”
He took it from her and used it on his face. He placed it on the table and looked at them. He said, “I have news.”
Instantly, they all became statues.
“What kind of news?” Monifa asked.
“Things have been settled well,” was his reply.
Tani saw his mother shoot a glance in his direction. Her expression alone was a trigger for his anxiety.
“It’s taken many months,” Abeo said. “The cost has been more than I expected. We start at ten cows. Ten of them. So I ask can she breed if I am to pay ten cows for her? He says she is one of twelve offspring, three of whom are already producing. Thus she comes of breeding stock. That is of no account, I tell him. Just because her mother and siblings have bred so well, this does not mean she will do the same. So I ask for a guarantee. Ten cows and there is no guarantee? I say this to him. He says, Pah! What sort of man asks another for a guarantee? I say, A man who knows what is important. We go back and forth, and in the end, he says he will settle for six cows. I say it’s still too much. He says, Then she can stay here, because I have other options. Options, he says. I tell him I know he bluffs. But the time is right, her age is right, she will not last long if he puts the word out. So I agree, and the thing is settled.”
Monifa had lowered her gaze to her plate and had not lifted it again during Abeo’s speech. Simi had stopped chewing her food, her expression telegraphing her confusion. Tani felt lost within his father’s story. Ten cows? Six? Breeding stock? He felt something very bad in the air, a gust of tension flavoured with the scent of dread.
Abeo turned to him, saying, “Six cows I paid for a virgin of sixteen years. This has been done for you. Soon I will take you to Nigeria where you will meet her.”
“Why’m I meeting some Nigerian girl?” Tani asked.
“Because you are going to marry her when she is seventeen years.” That said, Abeo went back to eating. He broke off a piece of his swallow and used it to scoop up a small piece of beef. This appeared to remind him of something he wished to add, for he addressed Tani with, “You are lucky in this. A girl her age is usually given to a man of forty years or more because of the cost. Never to a boy like you. But you must settle and take up your manhood soon. So we will go, and while we are there, she will cook for you, and you will get to know her. I have seen to that so you do not end up with someone useless. She is called Omorinsola, by the way.”