At that, Nia understood why Deka and Reena were preening like peacocks.
But an hour later, everything changed.
Deka stormed into the yard, face dark, bangles shaking.
“Imagine,” she snapped. “Dusty man with stick.”
Reena followed, whispering harshly. “He said not me. Not you. Her.”
They both turned and stared at Nia as if she had planned the sky.
“What did you do?” Deka demanded.
Nia stood slowly. “I did nothing.”
“You always say that,” Reena shouted. “Do you use juju? Men enter this compound and suddenly they lose their eyes.”
Nia said nothing. Truth is sometimes too weak against wounded pride.
That evening, after the stranger left, Uncle Gideon called everyone into the sitting room. His face was strangely bright, the kind of brightness that comes when cruelty finds opportunity.
“Nia,” he said. “Come forward.”
She stood.
“That man who came today, Timba, has asked for your hand in marriage.”
The room exploded before she could breathe.
Aunt Sarah clapped once. “Ah, God has done it.”
Deka laughed. “It has happened.”
Reena sang under her breath, “Nia and the cane man. Nia and the cane man.”
Nia’s lips parted. “Uncle, I don’t know him.”
“You will know him in marriage.”
“I have not spoken with him.”
“You do not need conversation to become a wife.”
Her heartbeat turned uneven.
“Please, uncle.”
His face changed instantly.
