Chapter 7- Mango tree talks
617 Words
Chapter 7:
The Mango Tree Has Ears*
*Yemisi’s POV*
It started with Mama Nkechi.
“Yemisi, your auntie dey look for you,” she said on Tuesday, voice low. “And she no dey smile.”
Yemisi’s blood went cold.
Auntie Bola was waiting at the stall with her arms folded. Next to her was Yemisi’s mother.
Mama hadn’t come to visit in 3 months.
Yemisi kneels to greet them both.
“My daughter,” Mama said. Her voice was flat. Dangerous. “Stand up.”
Yemisi stood. Her legs shook.
“Is it true?” Auntie Bola asked. “That Hausa boy. You’ve been meeting him. Under the mango tree.”
The world tilted.
“How—” Yemisi started.
“Don’t _how_ me,” Mama snapped. “Mama Nkechi’s cousin’s son sells pure water near that tree. He saw you. Two Saturdays. Eating. Laughing. With a northern man.”
Yemisi couldn’t breathe. “Mama, it’s not—”
“Not what? Not shameful?” Mama’s eyes were wet now. “Yemisi, do you know what people will say? A Yoruba girl and a Hausa boy. Sneaking around. Do you want to disgrace this family?”
“I’m not— I love him,” Yemisi whispered. She didn’t mean to say it out loud.
The slap came fast.
Not hard. But enough.
“Don’t you ever say that word again,” Mama said. “Not about him.”
Auntie Bola looked away. “Your mother will take you home tonight. No more market on Saturdays. Not until this nonsense stops.”
Yemisi nodded, tears falling. But in her head she thought: _Saturday. 3pm. Mango tree._
*Monsor’s POV*
Uncle Sani didn’t shout. That was worse.
He sat Monsor down in the parlor. Baba was there. Two older cousins.
“We heard from a friend,” Uncle said. “That you’ve been meeting a Yoruba girl. In Ibadan. Every week.”
Monsor didn’t deny it. What was the point?
“Is she pregnant?” one cousin asked immediately.
“No!” Monsor stood up. “Her name is Yemisi. And we talk. That’s all.” "We both respect our beliefs it is pure love between us"
“Talk,” Baba repeated. He looked tired. “Monsor, my son. You know what this means. Our people. Their people. There will be problems. Police. Family fights. Maybe worse.”
“I know,” Monsor said quietly.
“Then stop,” Uncle said. “No more Ibadan on Saturdays. We’re sending you to Kaduna next week. For work. Far from here.”
Monsor felt like the floor had dropped. “You can’t— but we are not doing anything wrong!!! You can't stop us from seeing each other "
“I can,” Baba said. “For your own good.”
That night, Monsor sat on his bed with the green and gold bracelet on his wrist. He pulled out his phone.
No number. No way to reach her.
He wrote a note on paper instead. Tore it. Wrote another.
> _Yemisi,
> They know.
> I don’t know if I can come Saturday.
> But if you’re there, I’ll try.
> Please wait for me.
> — M_
He folded it and put it in his wallet.
Both - Friday Night*
Yemisi was locked in her room. No phone. No going out.
She stared at the ceiling and counted.
_If he comes, I’ll know he’s serious.
If he doesn’t, I’ll know too._
Monsor packed a bag for Kaduna. He told himself he wasn’t packing to run. He was packing to leave.
But he also put the note in his pocket.
The mango tree stood empty, waiting.
Saturday was tomorrow.
---
- Writer
