The dusty black jeep bumbles along the winding road and screeches to a halt in front of a refurbished white bungalow. In the shimmering sky, creeping gray clouds smother half of the yellow sun. An orchestrated cacophony of shrilling insects is a background chorus for the rustling branches whose trees perch along the brown road and sampling their buttress roots in Eziokwe village, Uju’s ancestral home. This is where Obinna brought his friends when he came to pay for her bride price and for the traditional marriage proper. 

Fruit trees line the driveway. The earth beside the plastered walls of the house supports trembling corn stalks standing in disorganized rows and other germinating shrubs. An anxious Obinna, his head now full of doubts, brings out his phone from his pocket and dials. The phone is on speaker as he announces his arrival to the female voice that responds.

“I am at your place.”

“Where? “I can’t see you.”

Obinna snarls, “Your village home. In front of the house we conducted our traditional marriage.’

“That is not my house. Drive to the next compound.”

The call ends. The scowls on the faces of his three friends, Emeka, John and Raphael reveal their mockery. He enters the car and slams the door with his friends scurrying after him. No words are exchanged on the short drive. They approach the next compound. A cracked bungalow with a scruffy façade faces them when they emerge from the car. Below, rushing weeds have eaten up the brown soil in the compound. Twelve plastic chairs are arranged outside in two lines. Six chairs face six chairs on the left and right side of the compound, and six beaded elderly men are already seated on the right. Kaleidoscopic colours dance before Obinna’s eyes as they walk to the men and pay obeisance. The elders tease him for not recognizing his wife’s ancestral home in a short while. He stutters an explanation and stops halfway realizing there is no need engaging the cunning foxes.

Obinna places the earthenware jar of palm wine- the expensive up-wine variety- before the elderly men. They exchange pleasantries again before he sits with his friends on the empty chairs facing the elderly men. His arrival is announced by Mazi Omenuko, a tall, sturdy, bald man with long fingers and a rich sprinkle of white and grey facial hair. He is the uncle of Uju – the woman for whom Obinna has paid the bride price. Omenuko has beckoned Uju to greet her husband and his people. Obinna perceives the mockery, and his crossed legs shake vigorously. He diverts his attention when she emerges towards the raw and cracked fence littered with nodding lizards desperate for the flying insects hovering above their little heads. Obinna watches two agamas as they drop on the rough ground, size each other in a circular pattern, and whip their bodies with their tails. He notices as the winner scurries after female lizards and the loser limps away in humiliation. Dead leaves float to the ground beneath the numerous plantain and orange trees that bear swaying fruits. The grasses are a playground for grasshoppers hopping from blunt blade to blunt blade. The shadow of a large bird glides across the expansive ground as foraging chickens and lizards scamper to safety.

Uju’s appearance distracts him. Her face holds no enchantment. She is just a woman he once knew. She curtsies before the men, mutters some incoherent words at his party and disappears as swiftly as she arrived. Her uncle, Omenuko, mutters a prayer, “He who bring kola nut brings life, Onye wetere oji, wetere ndu.”

Omenuko hurriedly breaks the small kola nuts on an aluminium plate and disperses the lobes to be eaten after the rituals accompanying the breaking of kola nuts has been justified. Omenuko beckons Obinna to taste the wine he has brought. Obinna walks to the jar which rests on the table, seizes it with his right hand, and grabs a glass cup with his left.

The elders scream. Then, Obinna freezes, and his face contorts like a rogue caught in the act. He stares at their agape mouths, stern faces, and smouldering eyes.

“Are you not an Ibo man, a son of the soil?” asks an elder in Ankara fabrics. ‘If you knew tradition, you would know that what you just did is a sacrilege.”

Obinna blinks severally, and perspiration enters his eyes as his friends stifle their smirks. The elder continues, “You don’t hold the wine cup in the left hand. Neither is the wine jar held on the right hand. And you just don’t grab the wine jar and start pouring. No, you shake the wine jar in a circular motion thrice or four times and place it on the ground before pouring.” He glances at Obinna’s friends for full effect and continues, “When you young men are told to return to your roots, your respective villages, to learn culture and tradition, you refuse. Your coconut heads are filled with exaggerated tales of hate your parents have peddled you about your respective villages and kinsmen. Most of your parents were taught by their parents but now those teachings which they ought to pass down to you have eroded because you prefer the white man’s culture. I am not saying the white man’s culture is bad. No, the white man’s culture has paved the way for us, but charity begins at home. You learn yours before learning another’s. Anyway, these traditions are inevitable. You will learn them one way or the other, just like this one, eh.”

The arena now silent after his speech, Obinna regains composure, does the right thing, and drinks the palm wine. The stern faces dissolve into smiles as they cheer him.

The uncle, Omenuko, rises from his chair, clears his throat and bellows, “My brothers, I greet you all. We are gathered here this evening because our son-in-law believes it is necessary to summon us. I appreciate every one of us for answering this call. We have a saying that once an in-law beckons, we suspend whatever we are doing and respond. Obinna, we are here now, and our ears are itching to hear the tidings you bring.” He sits down.

Obinna rises to greet the men for the umpteenth time and blurts, “I am no longer interested in Uju and I want my bride price returned immediately.”

A light murmur spreads amongst the gathered men. Some snap their fingers and wave their hands around their heads. Omenuko stands again. “Our son, we’ve heard you, but we have laid procedures for situations like this. I’ve seen your entourage, and there is no elderly person. You young men should learn tradition. You are Ibo, yet you behave like a foreigner. Is your onye aka egbe, your intermediary man, here?’

“He is here sir,” Obinna responds with a broad grin as he pats his friend, Raphael, on his back.

“Good, at least you have gotten one thing right today. Now, intermediary man, you have heard what your man is saying, is it correct?”

“It is his choice sir. I can’t make decisions for him.”

“I asked a simple question. Leave grammar.”

“It is correct.”

Obinna interrupts him, “I may not know the rudiments of traditional divorce, but one thing I’m sure of is that I’m not leaving this place without that bride price and the funds I spent on the traditional marriage. See, here, I brought my list.” He fumbles in his pocket and brings out a crumpled sheet of paper he waves before the men.

The elderly men giggle and tell him to relax his frayed nerves. “We are one here. The anger of an in-law shouldn’t be bone deep,” the Ankara-wearing elder reminds him.

“I can see your blood is hot,” Omenuko, the uncle, continues. “Nevertheless, we must continue if you insist. Once a river is crossed, we always anticipate the return journey. With patience a hot calabash of soup is consumed. We’ve heard your hasty words my son, but we’ll also hear from our daughter and confirm if she is still interested in this union. Whatever her reply is will determine our next action. As you can see, we’ve refrained from asking you the cause of the quarrel. I didn’t ask you over the phone when you called. We won’t delve into that matter. From your demeanour you have only one task in mind, and we pray it will be handled amicably.”

Omenuko asks a young elder to fetch Uju. When she emerges, she stands in front of Omenuko who faces and addresses her softly. “We believe Obinna is your husband. We know when he approached us and performed the prerequisites for your hand in marriage and then took you away. Now he has approached us with a new tale that we cannot comprehend, that he is no longer interested in the union. What about you my daughter, are you also not interested?”

“I’m still interested.” she replies.

Obinna chuckles nervously. It is obvious she has been coached.

Omenuko faces him this time. “My son, you’ve heard your wife. What do you have to say again? Those who speak the English language have an expression which says it takes two to tango.”

Obinna remains silent as the men watch him. He shrugs off a light tap from Raphael and sighs aloud. He has been trapped, and his chauvinism has overwhelmed him. He hears as crickets chirp in accord in the fluttering grasses and a goat bleats in the distance. Still the men stare at him.

“Alright then,” continues Omenuko after a minute elapses. “There still remains one more ritual to fulfil.” He beckons Uju who kneels in front of him. Another elder is called upon again. He rises and walks to the palm wine jar, fills a glass cup to the brim, and hands it over to Omenuko. He is careful not to spill the wine. Omenuko hands the glass cup to Uju. “Take this cup of wine to your husband. Whatever he does with it will decide your fate.”

“What, what, what sort of fucking shit is, is this?” Obinna rages, his eyes bulging on his dark face.

“Relax my good man,” placates the Ankara man. “We must see the end of this fucking shit.”

Obinna’s friends calm him, and he sits down. He watches her as she walks the short distance towards him. He turns his face away from her, still watching her from the corner of his eyes. She sips from the cup when she nears him and kneels in front of him. She stretches the arm bearing the glass cup to him, an act she performed during their traditional marriage ceremony. Her face as rigid as yam peelings, Obinna ignores her. His friends cajoling him, he faces her and receives the glass cup and pauses. He looks at her, and she stifles a chuckle. All eyes are focusing on him now. He rises violently and spills the content of the glass cup on the soil. She rises and hurries to the safety of her people.

Omenuko stands up from his chair and greets the gathered men. He faces Obinna and his friends as he speaks. “Obinna, you have rejected our daughter in our presence, but we won’t reject her. We are not angry. Rather your action has shown the sincerity of your quest. We’ll definitely grant you your utmost desire. Meanwhile I won’t forget to mention something peculiar at this moment. The rejection emanated from you.”

Obinna stutters, but Omenuko holds up a finger in the air and continues, “You spilled the palm wine and so doing waived the right for a refund. What this means is that your bride price will be returned, but the expenses expended for the traditional marriage rites won’t. If the rejection had come from our daughter, we would return that as well. Only your bride price will be returned to you.’

Omenuko dips two fingers in his shirt pocket and retrieves a shiny fifty naira note. “This is what we accepted from you when you came to marry our daughter. Remember, on that day I told you our daughter isn’t for sale when I returned the bulk money you insisted I receive. Intermediary man, is it true or not?”

“It is true sir,” Raphael answers, smarting from his previous flaw.

“Good. Now intermediary man, you can have it.”

As a flummoxed Obinna snatches the money from his palm to Raphael’s chagrin, Omenuko calls the young elder again and gestures the wine jar. The man carries it shoulder high and smashes it on the ground, spreading anguish and surprise on the faces of the seated men. This time, Omenuko speaks fiercely, “The union between Uju and Obinna is hereby broken. You both can now go your separate ways.”

The elders chorus, “So shall it be.”

Omenuko faces Obinna and his friends, “Gentlemen, you are no longer welcome here.”

Obinna storms out of the compound with his friends rushing after him unsure what evil might befall them if they delay. The sky is almost swallowed by black clouds, and the chirping of crickets is louder when they reach the Jeep.  Obinna reverses the Jeep, his bright headlamps revealing when the young elder places another jar of palm wine on the table. He sees the buxom women emerge from the building and dance toward the seated men, their enormous buttocks swaying like large fruits on a tree. They embrace Uju who joins them in their exercise. The men exchange high fives, laugh boisterously at the dancing women, and clang palm wine cups.

Obinna grimaces and screeches away in a cloud of dust but not before shooting a well-aimed missile of phlegm at the foolish gathering.