Determined by fate

“Ugonma! Ugonma! Where is this girl now?” Her mother’s sharp voice rang through the compound. “Mum, I’m here!” Ugonma came running, her wrapper tied hastily, a faint smile still lingering on her lips. “Ah-ah! Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for a while now!” Ugonma hesitated. She had heard her mother’s voice earlier, but she’d been with Obinna—the love of her life. He had come to visit, and she’d insisted on seeing him off. They had paused under the big mango tree near the footpath, lost in laughter and quiet conversation, until her mother’s call had cut through the evening air like a whip. Reluctantly, she had bade Obinna goodbye and hurried home. “Mum, calm down,” she said breathlessly. “I was only seeing Obinna off.” Her mother’s expression hardened immediately. “I hope you’ve told him that your relationship must end, my princess", she said, resting a hand gently but firmly on her daughter’s shoulder. Ugonma said nothing. When her silence stretched too long, her mother continued, “You know Chief Ene is coming tomorrow for the introduction. He has already sent his emissaries and some items. Everything is set.” At that, Ugonma jerked away from her mother’s touch. “Mum! How can you and dad do this to me?” she cried. “You know my life revolves around Obinna! He’s the only one I love—and the only one I will ever love!” “My daughter, my princess, my beautiful Ugo daddy ya…” Her mother’s tone softened as she took Ugonma by the hand and led her inside. “You mustn’t let your father hear you talk like this,” she warned once they were in the privacy of her room. “But Mum,” Ugonma’s voice trembled, “I don’t love the Chief. Why are you both determined to make my life miserable? Is this what love looks like?” Her mother turned away, her eyes glistening. Ugonma didn’t see the pain that clouded her mother’s face — the memories that still haunted her after years of humiliation and heartbreak before Ugonma’s birth. For ten long years, she had endured mockery from other women. Some had called her barren; others, a man. The sting of their words had carved deep scars into her soul. She remembered one particular day she nearly lost hope — the day she challenged God Himself. It had been her women’s fellowship’s turn to clean the church. She worked quickly, planning to rush to the market afterward; her husband had told her an old friend was coming to visit, and she wanted to prepare a proper meal. Their leader, Mama Nneoma, had just praised her for a job well done when Mama Ifeanyi sauntered in — late as usual, her head tied high in defiance. Everyone knew Mama Ifeanyi as a troublemaker. Her husband had recently taken a second wife, telling everyone who cared to listen, “I need peace in my home.” No one blamed him. “Just look at the time you’re coming!” Mama Nneoma scolded. “Your fellow woman here has finished her work already!” “Eh-eh!” Mama Ifeanyi snapped. “Don’t compare me to a man, please. Is my strength equal to a man’s?” She threw a disdainful glance at Ugonma’s mother. “We all know it’s charms she’s using on her husband. Otherwise, he would’ve realized long ago he’s living with another man. Tufia!” She hissed and turned away. The insult struck deep. Ugonma’s mother said nothing, tears burning her eyes as she left quietly. That night, she wept until her pillow was soaked. She had begged God for mercy — or death. But one month later, her prayers were answered differently. She discovered she was pregnant. Nine months later, Ugonma came into the world — a cry of life that silenced years of mockery. Her husband, Ezejiofor, was beside himself with joy. The man once called “woman” had finally silenced his enemies. Though they were not wealthy, Ezejiofor’s love for his wife never wavered. He refused to take another wife, despite his friends’ advice. “Let them laugh,” he would say. “Peace is better than pride.” Even when others mocked him, he bore it quietly. Once, during an age-grade meeting, a younger man named Nnamdi—proud of his four sons—sneered when it was Ezejiofor’s turn to collect his share of the communal meat. “Why should a woman pick before me?” Nnamdi scoffed. The elders scolded him, but Ezejiofor said nothing. His silence was his strength. Years passed. Ugonma grew into a young woman of stunning beauty and gentle grace. She was the pride of her parents and the envy of the village. When elders passed, she bowed respectfully. If an old woman struggled under the weight of her firewood, Ugonma would drop hers to help. Her kindness was legendary. Women prayed their daughters would be like her. Men dreamed of her at night. It was said that more than one young man had woken up clutching his pillow, whispering her name. But Ugonma had eyes for only one man — Obinna. He wasn’t the wealthiest or the most powerful, but he loved her with a purity that disarmed her. Their love blossomed quietly, like moonlight on water — unnoticed by many, yet impossible to hide forever. Now, as Ugonma stood before her mother, bitterness welled in her heart. Tomorrow, Chief Ene’s emissaries would arrive, and her fate would no longer be her own. Yet deep inside, she knew Obinna would not let her go without a fight. His parting words that evening echoed in her mind: > “If fate dares to take you from me, then fate itself will bleed before I do.” And as night fell over the compound, Ugonma felt it — a stirring in her heart, a whisper in the wind — that the battle between love and destiny had only just begun.