Unsuitable ties [Part 7]

After dinner, Funke’s mother stands up to lead the room in a prayer. A dignified woman in a vintage aso oke outfit with matching stole and head tie, she seems unlikely to tolerate extravagance. “Lord,” she says, “we ask that You grant Funke wisdom and humility with age.”

Saheed makes the toast between pauses, as guests respond to him.

“She is the love of my life.”

“Ah!”

“I am for ever indebted to her.”

“Ah!”

“And to my in-laws, Professor and Mrs Akande.”

Where are his parents? Yemisi thinks. He flies everyone else around the globe. Why couldn’t he fly them here? All she’s ever heard about Saheed’s parents is that they live in their home town.

The guests stand up to clink glasses. They sing “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and sit down.

“Well,” Oyinda says afterwards. “That was more like an anniversary toast. You know, I’d much prefer to celebrate my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary than my fiftieth birthday.”

Oyinda knows full well that given a choice, Nigerian women will celebrate their birthdays before any wedding anniversary.

“It’s envy,” Biola says, out of nowhere. “It’s all envy at the end of the day.”

“Yes,” Funke murmurs. “It is.”

Yemisi can’t decide if they are talking about Oyinda or Oliver. Then she guesses from Funke’s sober expression that Biola may have been referring to someone else. She reconsiders a rumour, which she initially ignored, that Saheed has several girlfriends in Lagos he is supporting financially, including one who has a son by him. That could explain why Funke is not sitting with him.

The DJ, who has been setting up his equipment on the dance floor, begins to play Afro hip-hop music. Oyinda and Oliver get up to dance, followed by Funke and Biola and other couples on their table. Women take over the dance floor. Akin won’t dance in public. He thinks it emasculates him. Yemisi, a self-confessed lousy dancer, stays in her chair and watches. Oyinda and Oliver do a calypso dance as Funke and Biola point at each other and sing, “I’m hot and you’re not,” to a D’banj song.

The men on Saheed’s table finally disperse and head for the dance floor to join their wives. Only then does Akin remember her. He smiles as he approaches her, sits in the chair next to hers and then frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Having a good time?”

“Yeah.”

He rubs her knee. They watch other couples on the dance floor. Funke is dancing with Saheed, side by side rather than face to face.

“What were you and Saheed talking about?”

“He wanted my advice.”

“On?”

“Some business idea.”

“I knew it! That’s why they separated us!”

“Who separated us? Why?”

She softens her voice. He might retreat back to Saheed’s table.

“What business idea?”

“He wants to invest in a country club.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere off Lekki Expressway, past our estate. Mustapha is involved.”

“Are you involved?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“It’s not about being stupid.”

“What is it about?”

What is it about? she thinks. Saheed has not been charged. The EFCC may never even charge him. This is his chance to play country clubs with Mustapha.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Akin asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Why do you keep asking?”

“I mean, I thought it worked out well that we were on separate tables. You said you wanted to stay as far away as possible.”

“I know, I know.”

She has also said he shouldn’t take her literally.

He laughs. “Or are we still on the matter of my choice of tie?”

She smiles. “Of course not.”

Written by Sefi Atta

Sefi Atta was born in Lagos, Nigeria, in 1964 and currently divides her time between the United States, England and Nigeria. An award winning writer and playwright, she qualified as a Chartered Accountant in England and a Certified Public Accountant in the United States. She is the author of Everything Good Will Come, News from Home, Swallow, A Bit of Difference and Sefi Atta: Selected Plays.

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