Bittersweet.
The uncanny and majestic spleandour of this bourgeois is unsettling for
me. The bourgeois I am conversant with are known to cultivate an air of
grandoise, a haughty look of disgust for peasants like myself. But Chuks
seemed disparate. He is so polite and respectful. Or could he be up to
no good? I am scared stiff of being banished from the village. I can't
fathom his intentions. He talks so sweet to me. I quiver when he pokes
my rib with his pinky finger. "Adama, Omalicha nwa" he often calls me.
He says I am beautiful every time we meet for a tryst. Not once has he
mentioned sex. This makes me crave him. He gives me insomnia.
That fateful new born day,
while we walked the fields of a new mown hay, he popped the question.
My YES came with the speed of light.
Ignorant of what I've gotten myself into. How could a peasant girl
become the next queen of Umuhora? Dumbed with ecstasy at that moment, I
never considered that question until I was invited by the king, Chuks
father.
I aired my concerns to Chuks about our divergent backgrounds but he said
they were mere dog-eared myths. "It's the 21st century, parents are all
about the happiness of their children," Chucks added. I felt safe with
his words and grew courage to meet with the king.
I showered and donned a simple sheath dress according to Chuks instructions.
How foolish of me, to think my meeting with the royal family would be a walkover.
As I walked through the palace' gate, the butterflies in my belly
fluttered their wings. My heart palpitated like it was going to burst.
I was directed to a vestibule where I spent over 3 hours waiting for his majesty.
"What a god-awful proletariat, Chuks!" the King bawled in rage. I woke
up from my trance and it was still only me at the vestibule. No sign of
the King yet.
Then the news came that the king took ill in the early hours of the day and just passed away.
The news launched me into a bittersweet mood where I was both sad and happy at the same time.
PORTFOLIO
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