Hebo Imorei

A Husband for Osen

Tolo stood there, dutifully, waiting as Osen's thick, black locks were powdered till they were whiter than cowries. As the woman who'd been powdering the hair whispered a few words of prayer, Osen watched Tolo with the same piercing attention she always did. The same amount of intensity she gave goats she was about to slaughter.

Tolo didn’t need to look at Osen to know that she’d somehow angered Osen because she knew that her mere presence always rubbed Osen the wrong way. Even though Osen seemed keen on keeping Tolo by her side, she had never been shy about her dislike for Tolo. Not since she became Osen.

“Nu ongo nineh?” Osen asked. What are you thinking about?

“Osen nuoh.” You, Osen, Tolo answered, honestly.

“You don’t have to lie so often,” Osen said, her mouth rounding out the Jiki words in the aesthetically superior way that Osen had been trained to speak. Different from common folk in Usobo. Completely different from a foreigner like Tolo.

Osen raised her hands as the older woman moved between them, adorning Osen's naked chest with a white, woven chestwrap. As she strapped a skirt around Osen’s waist, Osen waved the woman away.

“Spit it out, Tolo.”

“You have, previously, expressed a desire to hear nothing but silence when you dress, Osen.”

“Speak and leave me in peace,” Osen said, picking up a bowl of water.

“The clansmen want to know when you will make a decision.”

Osen drank the water in the bowl, never taking her eyes off Tolo until she finished.

“I made a decision,” she said. “Did you tell them that you're the one who refused to take my proposal to the men?”

Tolo fought to keep her cool. There was a time she could have offered Osen a reply. There was a time she could have slapped Osen right across the face. There was a time Tolo could have dragged Osen by the hair and locked her some place quiet until Osen cried herself to sleep.

But Tolo couldn't do that anymore. The previous Osen was dead. The kind Osen who used to treat Tolo with respect was buried and now her daughter had ascended to Osen. One wrong word and Tolo would be flogged in the square for insubordination.

Tolo took a deep breath before she spoke.

“You cannot marry any of the men you chose, Osen.”

“Why not?” Osen asked.

“Because Fofor is Osen to his people. He cannot be a subordinate husband to you.”

Osen tossed the bowl at Tolo's feet.

“Well, then I'll be his subordinate wife.”

Tolo took another calming breath as she bent to pick the bowl.

“You're Osenusop. You’re subordinate to no one.”

Tolo wondered how Osen could say such careless things. Sometimes, it seemed as if she was testing Tolo, looking for a reaction. But Tolo thought she’d proved herself, time and time again.

“What of Ika?” Osen asked. “He's not a patriarch. He's a man of good standing. He'll make a good husband.”

“He's infertile, Osen. The people of Usobo will not stand for it.”

“Well,” Osen said with a shrug as she walked past Tolo, causing Tolo to follow her out of the hut into the morning sun. “I give up. You hate all the good men and I won't stand for mediocrity.”

“A patriarch with a wandering eye and an infertile farmer are hardly peak specimen, Osen.”

Osen stopped walking as she looked back at Tolo, her eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say to me?”

Tolo shook her head, taking a step back.

Osen opened her mouth when a man ran up to them. He came to an abrupt stop beside Osen and bowed slightly.

“The gods favour upon you, Osen,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Hebo Imorei is here.”

“Where is he?” Osen asked.

“In the Temple of Imorei, half a day's walk, north-east from here.”

“Of all the temples in Usehjiki, the son of the gods chose mine.” She looked back at Tolo, smiling in the harsh way she did whenever she was plotting something. “Bring me Hebo Imorei,” she said to Tolo. Eager to please, eager to erase her latest insult, Tolo nodded vigorously. “Bring him to me and I will marry him.”

Tolo's nodding stopped, abruptly.

“What?” Tolo asked.

“Don't come before me again until Hebo Imorei is in this compound.”

“He's the son of god, Osen. The other clans will not be happy if you –”

“Maybe your bruises healed too quickly,” Osen said, shutting Tolo up as the memory of the flogging flashed through Tolo's mind. “Maybe,” Osen said, getting close to Tolo's face. “Maybe you think I'm my mother.”

“No, Osen,” Tolo bowed her head. “I didn't mean to offend.”

Osen took Tolo by the chin and lifted her head until she was looking at her.

“I wouldn't want to have you flogged again this soon.” Osen smiled at her. “Maybe a dip in the river? Would you like that?” Tolo tried to shake her head but Osen held her chin in place. “If I wake up tomorrow and Hebo Imorei is not in this compound, I will have you bound and tossed into a river. Do you understand me?”

Tolo nodded. Osen let go of her chin.

As Osen walked away, Tolo staggered towards the closest hut and held on, quivering as Osen’s last words echoed in her head.