“Ok, my dear,’ said Okwuoma’s mother, after giving her a detailed account of the occasion, and suggesting that she did everything within her feminine powers to keep Okezie coming for more. “It’s well now. We’ll shame all those who ever imagined that you’d be an ọtu na aka nne ya. You shall marry, my daughter. Say amen.”

“Amen.” Acquiesced Okwuoma.

“And you’ve found a good man. Our enemies shall not prosper.” Okwuoma repeated amen, for lack of something else to say. “Yes, we’ve defeated them. So Nnennaya, I just said let me call you and share this joyous news with you. It was too much; I could not keep it to myself. If not that they left late and I feared you’d be asleep, I would have called you last night. But, it’s ok. Don’t forget to read your Psalms this night till the day they come and do something on your head.”

“I will, ma. Thank you, ma. Eh, I’ve to go now. Greet papa for me. Hopefully, I’ll visit during Easter.”

“Yes, that would be nice. But we’d prefer it if Okezie’s people came before then, so that you can come too. Easter is a little too far now. The sooner, the better you know.” Easter was only two months away.

“Of course, ma.” She was looking at her wristwatch. It was 10.05am.

“Have faith, my child. Nothing is impossible with out God. Bye bye.”

Okwuoma dropped the receiver and sprang up. “Christ! I wondered if she’d be talking forever.” She muttered to herself as she assembled the things she needed for the meeting from her files and drawers.

Just as she was about to climb upstairs to the conference room, the telephone at the reception rang. The front-desk girl was at the meeting, as was every other person. Okwuoma deliberated whether to let it ring or answer it. She decided on the latter. After all, she was late; what difference would a minute make. Moreover, it could be an important client. It was a young lady, quite out of breath, who asked for Dozie, Okwuoma’s immediate boss.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Nwankwo is in a meeting. You could call back in an hour’s time. Thank you.”

“No, no. Wait! Please, this’s urgent. I’m his wife’s sister. I’ve been trying to call his mobile phone but it’s switched off. Please, please. Can you tell him to call me back right now? Please. My name is Chinwe.”

“No problem, I will. But, calm down. Everything will be fine.”

In the conference room, the meeting was in full swing with Dozie speaking. Not wanting to distract him, Okwuoma wrote down the message in a post-it note and slipped it to him as she walked past him. He glanced at the note, opened and read it, while still addressing the staff. Soon enough, he rounded up and beckoned Okwuoma to see him outside to explain the note. Two minutes later, she was back to the room without Dozie. As she took her seat, by instincts, she looked up to find Mandy staring darkly at her.

When the meeting came to an end, Mandy came up to Okwuoma where she stood with a colleague. She was smiling, but it did not get to her grey eyes, which would been a lighter shade. Mandy was a British-born Hungarian and the next person after the CEO. She wasn’t remarkable as far as physical appearance went, but she was nice to Okwuoma.

“Frances,’ she preferred to call people by their baptismal names, if they had English ones, or the shortest form of their nicknames if they didn’t. “May I have a word with you, please?”

Okwuoma excused herself and walked behind Mandy as she marched to her office.

“What was that all about?” scolded Mandy, the minute they were alone. Something, Okwuoma didn’t know what, had seriously upset her. “You now pass notes to Gilbert? Have you any idea how suggestive that looks? I’ve been observing you all month, and your new-found friendship with Gilbert. You always find something to say to him, speaking your language whenever I’m present. What’s all that? Do you fancy him?” she was all red and trembling with fury.

Okwuoma then understood what the fuss was all about, but replied in a whisper, afraid someone might be listening, “Ha! Mandy, Dozie – sorry, Gilbert is from my place. I’m just fraternizing with a fellow Igbo person. There’s nothing more to it, I swear.”

“I don’t believe you. If it’s as you say why then do you treat me the way you do? You’re ashamed of me, right? You never show any sort of emotion in the public with me. You’re barely friendly.”

“Mandy, this is Nigeria! We don’t do our things like that.” Okwuoma exclaimed, exasperated.

“Oh really? Well, just before you go running off to Gilbert or that silly chap of yours in the UK, remember all your horror stories about men, how I kissed your tears away, and above all, that you love me in a way you could never love them.”