Part Two: A Family Goes to War...Politely
It is a strange thing about Nigerian families: they will disagree about everything... money, land, old slights, the correct way to cook egusi ... but they will come together with remarkable unity when the matter at hand is the formal introduction. And when the Adeyemi family of Ijeun Titun received word that Babatunde had found a woman he intended to marry, and that her family were Cokers of Ibara, the response was swift, organized, and only slightly terrifying.The date for the Introduction was set for the second Saturday of March.The list of Eru Iyawó (the items the groom's family must present) arrived via WhatsApp from Funmilayo's Aunt Bimpe, who appeared to be the family's designated logistics officer.
Babatunde read it on his phone while his mother, Mama Tunde, a woman of compact build and oceanic determination, leaned over his shoulder, reading along with the focused energy of a general reviewing battle intelligence.The list was six pages long.
"Six pages," Babatunde said.
"It is a good family," his mother said. "They know their worth."
The list included, but was not limited to: twelve yards of aso-oke in burgundy and gold, two sets of women's lace fabric (the receipt must be visible), one Bible and one Quran to represent spiritual balance, a hand-crafted wooden jewelry box, two bottles of orijin, four bottles of champagne (no local ones. The family had even specified French), one live tuwo chicken, a bag of kola nuts, a tin of obi abata, bitter kola, alligator pepper, two jars of honey, a live goat, a bolt of ankara fabric sufficient for twelve women, one leather handbag of notable brand, a pair of shoes in size 39 (Funmilayo's mother), a pair of shoes in size 42 (Funmilayo's father), gifts for all aunties present (the number was estimated at fourteen, though the list noted it could be higher), a suitcase filled with Funmilayo's personal clothing items as a gesture of the groom's readiness to provide, and at the bottom, almost as an afterthought, a carved wooden keg containing palm wine.
Babatunde's Uncle Biodun, a retired civil servant who had survived three children's weddings and therefore considered himself an expert, reviewed the list and made a sound of moderate approval.
"This is reasonable," he said.
"Reasonable?" Babatunde's cousin Sade said.
"Uncle, there is a live goat on this list."
"That is very normal."
"Where are we going to get a goat from? We live in Lagos."
"You don't buy the goat in Lagos," Uncle Biodun said, patiently. "You buy it here. From Abeokuta. What do you think markets are for?"
The shopping took three days and the participation of eleven family members, which was actually on the efficient side. The goat was acquired from a farm in Odeda. It was a healthy, confident animal that seemed unbothered by its ceremonial role and ate a portion of Uncle Biodun's agbada hem during the journey to the event. Uncle Biodun maintained that this was a good omen. His wife maintained that it was an expensive suit.On the morning of the Introduction, the Adeyemi delegation assembled in the compound of Babatunde's eldest uncle, Baba Temi, who owned the family's largest and most impressive minibus. There were forty-three of them. They wore coordinating outfits. The men in dark blue agbada with gold trim, the women in a matching aso-ebi of royal blue and gold gele that had required two WhatsApp groups, several arguments, and one brief period of non-communication between Mama Tunde and her sister-in-law Auntie Folake to organize.
They arrived at the Coker compound in Ibara in a procession that moved at a stately pace, the minibus followed by three private cars and one okada that was carrying Babatunde's cousin Wale, who had not been told the correct time and was therefore late but determined not to miss the event.The Coker family received them in their compound, which had been decorated with streamers, a rented canopy, and chairs covered in white fabric that several of the older guests immediately identified as being the same chair-cover fabric from a wedding held in this same compound two years prior, which they noted with the quiet satisfaction of people who notice these things.
"E kaabo!" the Coker family head, Chief Coker, a tall man with the bearing of someone who has been told he is distinguished for so long that he has come to believe it fully, welcomed them.
"E kaabo to this family. We have been waiting."
"We are grateful to be received," Uncle Biodun responded, because he was the designated spokesman, a role he had been preparing for with noticeable enthusiasm since the date was announced.
"We have come with humble hearts."
This was, technically, not entirely accurate, since forty-three people, a goat, and fourteen separate gift items is not most people's definition of humble. But no one said so.The two families settled. Tea and minerals were served. And then began the negotiation.
The first point of discussion was the bride price itself, a matter so delicate and so fundamentally Nigerian that it had its own ceremony within the ceremony. Funmilayo's Uncle Mufu, a short man who wore his importance like an extra garment, opened the matter by explaining that the Coker family did not put a price on their daughter because their daughter was priceless, which was their way of saying the price would be high.
Uncle Biodun responded that the Adeyemi family understood completely, and that they too recognized the extraordinary value of the woman they were seeking, which was their way of saying they were prepared to negotiate.
What followed was forty-five minutes of the most elaborate financial theatre Babatunde had ever witnessed. The two sides circled the subject of actual numbers the way two cats circle a fish, each feinting and withdrawing with great dignity. Uncle Mufu spoke of Funmilayo's education (her degree in History and Education from the University of Ibadan), her character (impeccable, he said, though he glanced at her as he said it in a way that suggested the impeccability had required some effort), and the investment her family had made in her upbringing.
Uncle Biodun praised each point. He spoke of Babatunde's own education (Electrical Engineering, Covenant University), his employment (project manager at a construction firm in Lagos), his character (equally impeccable), and the seriousness of the Adeyemi family's intentions.
Numbers were written on a piece of paper, folded twice, and passed across the room as though they were state secrets.Uncle Mufu unfolded the paper. He read it. He folded it again. He looked at the ceiling. Then he passed it to Chief Coker. Chief Coker read it. He also looked at the ceiling. The ceiling appeared to have no useful information but was being consulted heavily.
"This," Chief Coker said finally, holding the paper up, "is what you are telling me my daughter is worth."
"It is a starting conversation," Uncle Biodun said.
"Ah." Chief Coker set the paper down. He addressed his brother: "Mufu, these people say our daughter is worth a starting conversation."
There was laughter from the Coker side. Restrained, polite laughter, but laughter with teeth.
Babatunde, sitting in the row of chairs designated for the groom's party, became aware that his palms were sweating. Beside him, Lanre leaned over and whispered: "They are doing very well. Your uncle is good."
"My uncle is making me age," Babatunde whispered back.
Three more exchanges followed. The paper went back and forth. Numbers shifted. Funmilayo's mother, Mama Coker, a woman who had said very little all morning but whose silence had the weight of someone who was listening to everything, leaned to her husband at one point and said two words that Babatunde could not hear. Chief Coker paused. Then he nodded. Then the paper came back across the room with a new number, and Uncle Biodun read it, and an expression of such profound relief crossed his face that Babatunde knew they had reached the end.
The final bride price was agreed upon. The exact figure is a family matter. What can be said is that both sides shook hands with the satisfaction of generals who have ended a battle with their honor intact.
The items were presented one by one. Each one was received, examined, and either accepted or, in two cases, set aside for minor adjustment. The fabric bolt was measured and found to be eleven and a half yards rather than twelve, which required a return trip to the car and the discovery of an extra half-yard that had been folded inside. The live chicken was presented and promptly escaped, leading to a pursuit around the compound that lasted six minutes and involved four people, the goat, and a small child who thought the whole thing was excellent entertainment.
The goat was accepted with ceremony. The jewelry box was opened and admired. The champagne was counted. The shoes were presented with their original boxes, receipts folded neatly inside.
When the palm wine came out, the carved wooden keg carried in by Babatunde's younger brother Segun with the careful concentration of someone carrying something irreplaceable, Funmilayo's family accepted it, and then the cup was filled, and Funmilayo, standing now in the middle of the compound in her cream and gold iro and buba, took the cup in both hands.She had to find Babatunde.
This is the moment. She walked through the assembled guests, past her aunties, past his aunties, past Chief Coker who was smiling now, past Mama Tunde who had pressed her lips together in that way she did when she was trying not to cry... until she stood before him.
She knelt. She offered the cup.
Babatunde took it from her hands. He drank.
The compound erupted. Music came from somewhere, a speaker someone had connected to a phone, and the older women began to sing in Yoruba, their voices rising and weaving together into something ancient and celebratory, and the younger ones began to dance, and the afternoon light fell across the compound in long gold bars.
"You found me," Funmilayo said quietly, only for him, beneath all the noise."Near the foot of Olumo Rock," he said. "You were arguing about a postcard."
She laughed her real laugh again.