Unexpected Love

Praise for the Wrong Person

Cars lined up, parked in various directions, some facing the Akintunde mansion, others right in front of the neighboring house due to lack of space. Those considered close family had their cars parked inside the mansion’s compound, where banquet chairs and tables stood mostly unoccupied.

The wall painting beautifully complemented the decorations, with balloons and ribbons fluttering everywhere. The air brimmed with excitement, and the loud music forced guests to scream just to share simple gists.

Elegantly dressed women barely sat, relishing their self-imposed fashion parade. Most men sat still, eyes roaming but quickly averted when caught by their spouses.

It was a special get-together at the Akintundes'. The compound teemed with rich and middle-class friends and relatives. Atinuke and her mother had also been invited, so Jumoke tagged along.

Jumoke sat quietly, dressed too modestly for someone with her talent. Her friend, beside her, wore a dazzling outfit, one of two gowns Jumoke had designed for Labake’s last birthday. They had planned to wear them together.

At a previous wedding party where they couldn’t afford the aso ebi (special attire for friends and family), the gowns had made them the center of attention. Though a few gossiped about their different look, most secretly admired their style.

For a fleeting moment, Jumoke tasted glory. But it vanished when Atinuke arrived with an errand from Mama Tinu. Her stepmother hadn’t liked how Jumoke appeared "too glamorous" for that wedding, so she made sure the event was cut short.

“I thought we agreed to wear this gown together. Where’s yours?” Labake asked.

“Labake, I’m sorry. I couldn’t wear it. The last time I did, my stepmother was furious.”

“You see? I told you she doesn’t love you.”

“No, she does. She’s just trying to make sure I don’t get too comfortable and lose my senses.”

“Isn’t her own daughter losing her senses already?”

“Forget it. Let’s just enjoy the party.”

“How can I enjoy the party when I’m the only one looking good and you’re dressed too casually for an event of this class?”

Labake’s words stung like lashes. But Jumoke’s convictions were cloaked in fear—fear of being seen as selfish. She couldn’t understand why Atinuke wasn’t subjected to the same scrutiny, but she chose not to dwell on it.

No one had been assigned to anchor the party. So, Mrs. Jakande, a famous luxury bag and shoe dealer, picked up the mic from the table.

“Eku irole o (Good evening, everyone). Please come closer, let’s come together.”

She waved frantically at the DJ who didn’t realize it was time to lower the volume. It took a guest nearby to signal him before he complied.

“Ehen, can you all hear me now?” she asked, repeating the question thrice before finally gaining the crowd’s attention.

“I just want to welcome you all to this occasion. Mr. and Mrs. Akintunde are delighted to have you here. There’s nothing particularly planned today, just fun and good company.”

Applause followed. She paused briefly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alright, there’s a Mercedes Jeep parked in front of a neighbor’s gate. Please, if it’s yours, kindly go and move it.”

After repeating the message thrice, a woman sluggishly rose and headed toward the gate.

Suddenly, a warm, heavy hand rested on her left shoulder.

“I have an announcement to make, Mrs. Jakande. Thank you for holding the fort.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” she said, handing him the mic and striding gracefully to her seat, her waist swaying rhythmically, legs crossing elegantly like a cat.

Mr. Akintunde beamed with an idea.

“Thank you all for coming. I know I didn’t tell you what this celebration was about. Well, here it is: I’ve just been appointed Special Adviser to the Governor of Oyo State!”

Before he could continue, the compound erupted in cheers and applause. He waited, an irrepressible smile stretching across his face.

“We’ll be moving to Ibadan by month-end, so I thought to host this last get-together. And to make it memorable, I just got an idea—since you ladies are dressed so elegantly, let’s have a mini fashion parade! The winner will receive a token of one hundred thousand naira!”

Jumoke sat up, suddenly alert. The prize money connected to her soul. She believed she could win. Her admission was ready, and she needed funds to process it.

She glanced at Labake’s outfit, it wouldn’t stand a chance against what Atinuke wore. Last night’s design was one of Jumoke’s best.

But when Labake asked, “Are you planning on joining the parade?” she slumped back, defeated by reality.

“I can’t. My stepmother would be livid. And besides, I don’t even have Atinuke’s dress.”

Soon, women, young and old, lined up for the parade, now energized by the prize at stake.

Jumoke placed her index finger on her lips and hissed, “Shhh,” to silence Labake as they leaned back to watch the show.

“Don’t you want to join them?” Jumoke asked.

“Really? There’s no point making a fool of myself. We both know who’s going to win.”

One by one, the contestants walked down the makeshift aisle. Men and older women sat on either side.

When Atinuke appeared, even her fellow contestants couldn’t help but gaze in awe. Some broke character and approached her, asking who made the dress. As though reading their thoughts, her mother answered proudly from her seat, “Of course, she made the dress herself.”

Applause broke out. It echoed not just admiration, but validation. Even the contestants joined in, though many didn’t need the cash; they craved the glory.

Atinuke’s victory was seamless, though no professional judges were involved. As food was served, she waited for her prize.

Jumoke, meanwhile, rested her head on the table and wept silently. She had needed the money. She had wanted the glory. The applause should have been hers.

Her friend stared at her, stunned. “If I were you, I’d go over there right now and announce that I made the dress.”

Labake stood, ready to speak on her behalf, but Jumoke pulled her back.

“What are you trying to do? Do you want to destroy my life?”

“No—I want to fix it!”

“Sit down and don’t draw attention to us, please.”

Labake raised her voice. “You need to go and claim your prize money!”

Guests nearby heard but couldn’t piece together what she meant. To cover up, Jumoke stood and cheered loudly.

“Yes, little sister! Yes, you did it! Go get your prize money!” She clapped wildly until the crowd joined in again.

Her stepmother sensed trouble. She had always kept a close watch, especially with Labake around.

Once, she had assigned Jumoke a task impossible to finish on time, intending to punish her. Labake secretly helped her complete it. When Mama Tinu found out, she was furious. It wasn’t the first time Labake had come to Jumoke’s aid.

Now, she wasn’t taking chances. She approached them.

“Jumoke, what are you trying to do?”

“Nothing, ma’am. I was just cheering my sister.”

“You better keep it that way.”

“Sure, ma’am.”

As she walked off, Labake hissed and rolled her eyes. “Your stepmother’s a witch.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Mr. Akintunde returned, this time with the cash prize.

As Atinuke received it, basking in praise, Jumoke held back her tears. This would be the third time she’d miss her university admission, and the millionth time she’d miss her moment of glory.

It felt right to speak up and claim what was hers. She locked eyes with Atinuke, now standing with the mic.

Mr. Akintunde had asked her to say a few words, especially about how she made the dress. Guests were eager to hear.

Her mother joined her, sensing her hesitation.

“My daughter is a bit shy,” she said.

“Madam, let her speak!” shouted a woman from the crowd who seemed to know the truth.

Mama Tinu turned, trying to locate the voice, but the crowd was too thick.

Encouraged by Mr. Akintunde, Atinuke began.

“I’m grateful for this opportunity, and the prize. It took me two sleepless nights to make this dress. After conceiving the design, I drew it and—”

Jumoke bolted upright, eyes wide. But fear yanked her back. Mama Tinu’s stern gaze from the stage rekindled her dread.

Resigned, she sank into her seat, feeling like a traitor to her own destiny.

Labake, now stiff with rage, remained silent, arms crossed, trembling.

Jumoke didn’t ask what was wrong. They both stared into space.

After the speech, Atinuke and her mother walked back to their seats, steps synchronized, shoulders raised.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The hall grew quiet, as though everyone fell asleep at once.

They both took their steps carefully on their hills, almost rehearsed and the sound their hills made was rhythmic, and when play along with their victory, it was almost worth dancing to. As they swayed magnetically from right to left, their waists swerved graciously. Only Mama Tinu was a bit stiff. but together, they look good.

Jumoke stood to welcome them. She opened her arms to embrace Atinuke, but she gave her a side hug, almost like she thought her plain dress would rid her of her new glory. Jumoke felt a bit embarrassed, but she quickly put herself together and sat back down.