Chapter 6: Reconditioning
1924 Words
By the end of the first week, the duplex no longer felt like a palace.
It felt like a training camp.
Chief Otunba hadn't merely moved Teniola and her mother into luxury—he had launched a complete reconstruction of their lives.
Every morning began with schedules.
Every afternoon came with lessons.
Every evening ended with another reminder that the girl from Mushin was slowly being erased.
The transformation wasn't violent.
It was patient.
Methodical.
Almost surgical.
To Chief Otunba, wealth wasn't something you possessed.
It was something you performed.
And he intended to make sure his future bride performed it flawlessly.
---
Downstairs, Mama Teni had declared war on the household staff.
Not because she disliked them.
Because she refused to let strangers think they knew her own house better than she did.
"Madam."
Godwin, the estate's butler, stood beside a sleek touch panel mounted into the living room wall.
As always, his charcoal waistcoat was perfectly pressed, his white gloves spotless.
"This console controls the lighting, air-conditioning, security shutters and curtain systems throughout the house."
Mama Teni folded her arms.
"So if NEPA take light nko?"
Godwin blinked once.
"The estate operates on independent solar power and industrial generators, Madam."
"Hmm."
She tapped the glass panel with one finger.
"So this small television for wall dey control everything?"
"Yes, Madam."
"And if e spoil?"
"There are backups."
"And if backup spoil?"
"There are engineers."
Mama Teni nodded slowly.
"Hmm."
She looked at Teni.
"Rich people no trust anybody."
Teni chuckled.
"You just noticed?"
Godwin politely pretended not to hear.
---
The house tour continued.
Godwin explained the automated curtains.
The smart surveillance system.
The panic buttons.
The intercom.
The biometric locks.
Mama listened patiently before asking the question that nearly made one of the maids laugh.
"So... if mosquito enter this house now..."
"...na which button go pursue am?"
The young maid immediately covered her mouth.
Godwin maintained the same expressionless face.
"I believe a fly swatter would still be appropriate, Madam."
Mama smiled proudly.
"At least one thing still normal."
---
The kitchen was another world entirely.
Chef Victor stood behind the enormous island arranging vegetables with almost artistic precision.
Rows of imported spices lined floating shelves.
Fresh seafood rested inside a chilled display compartment.
The kitchen alone was larger than the apartment they had rented in Mushin.
"Good afternoon, Madam."
Chef Victor bowed respectfully.
"I've prepared today's menu."
Mama glanced at the paper.
Her eyebrows climbed.
"What be quinoa?"
Chef Victor smiled.
"A healthy grain."
She looked at another line.
"And asparagus?"
"A vegetable."
She looked up.
"Oga Chef."
"Yes, Madam?"
"Abeg..."
"...where rice dey?"
Chef Victor laughed.
"I knew you'd ask."
He opened another warmer.
Steam escaped immediately.
Inside sat a large pot of perfectly cooked jollof rice.
Mama's shoulders relaxed.
"Now you're talking."
Chef Victor lifted another lid.
"Peppered turkey."
Another.
"Goat meat."
Another.
"Fried plantain."
Mama clapped once.
"God bless your village."
Chef Victor laughed harder.
"Thank you, Madam."
She dipped one finger into the stew.
Tasted it.
Closed her eyes.
Then shook her head dramatically.
"Pepper never reach."
Without waiting for permission, she walked toward a basket of fresh ata rodo.
Chef Victor hurried after her.
"Madam! Please..."
"You'll destroy the balance."
Mama had already picked up four peppers.
"My son."
She smiled warmly.
"You cook for rich people."
"I cook for survivors."
The entire kitchen burst into laughter.
Even Godwin's perfectly controlled expression cracked for half a second.
---
Watching her mother laugh...
Teni felt something loosen inside her chest.
Maybe they hadn't completely lost themselves after all.
---
Upstairs, however...
Her own transformation had already begun.
Her bedroom looked less like a place to sleep and more like a luxury fashion showroom.
Garment bags hung neatly from chrome racks.
Designer heels lined polished shelves.
Perfumes occupied an entire glass cabinet.
Jewelry sparkled beneath soft LED lighting.
Everything had been selected specifically for her.
Blessing stood in the middle of the room holding up two dresses.
"Which one first, Aunty Teni?"
Teni pointed at the simpler cream dress.
"That one."
Blessing frowned.
"Haba."
"Why?"
"This red one dey shout money."
"I don't want money to shout."
"I want it to whisper."
Blessing blinked.
Then smiled.
"I like that."
Just then the bedroom door opened.
Vanessa swept inside pushing a large silver makeup case.
She stopped immediately after seeing Teni.
"Oh no."
Blessing looked confused.
"What happened?"
Vanessa sighed dramatically.
"Everything."
She walked around Teni slowly like an artist studying unfinished work.
"Your posture."
She gently pushed Teni's shoulders back.
"Stand tall."
Then she adjusted her chin.
"Good."
She circled again.
"Walk."
Teni obeyed.
Vanessa stopped her almost immediately.
"No."
"What?"
"You're walking like someone chasing a danfo."
Blessing burst into laughter.
Teni folded her arms.
"I grew up in Mushin."
"Exactly."
Vanessa smiled.
"And we're fixing that."
She crossed one leg in front of the other.
"Watch."
Every movement looked effortless.
Controlled.
Elegant.
"Again."
Teni copied her.
"Better."
"Again."
By the tenth attempt...
Even Teni noticed the difference.
She no longer walked with the alert speed of someone constantly avoiding danger.
She moved with calm confidence.
The confidence of someone who expected the entire room to wait for her.
Vanessa nodded approvingly.
"That's a billionaire's wife."
Teni looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
One week ago...
She wouldn't even have recognized this version of herself.
The lessons didn't stop with clothes.
If anything, that was the easiest part.
According to Vanessa, elegance had nothing to do with expensive fabrics.
"It starts with habits," she said one afternoon, placing a hardcover book on the dining table.
"You can buy someone a ten-million-naira dress, but if she chews gum like she's fighting it, everybody will know she's pretending."
Blessing laughed so hard she nearly dropped the tray she was carrying.
Vanessa ignored her.
"Teniola, sit."
Teni pulled out a chair.
"No."
Vanessa sighed.
"You dragged the chair."
"So?"
"Rich women don't drag chairs."
She demonstrated instead.
A gentle pull.
A smooth movement.
Hardly a sound.
"Again."
Teni repeated it.
"Better."
Over the following days, the lessons became endless.
How to greet elderly women in elite circles.
How to sit during family meetings.
Which fork belonged to which course.
How to hold a wine glass without wrapping all five fingers around it.
How to walk downstairs without rushing.
How to receive compliments.
How to smile without looking nervous.
It was exhausting.
One evening, after nearly an hour of balancing a hardcover book on her head while walking across the bedroom, Teni finally let it fall onto the carpet.
"I've hacked three financial servers in one night," she muttered.
"But this..."
She pointed accusingly at the book.
"...is impossible."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"You think billionaires are difficult?"
She smiled knowingly.
"Their wives are worse."
Even Teni laughed.
"You people are wicked."
"No."
Vanessa walked over and gently lifted the book from the floor.
"We're preparing you for war."
Those words stayed with Teni long after the lesson ended.
Because that was exactly what this was.
Not beauty.
Preparation.
Every skill she learned became another layer of armor.
Every lesson became another weapon.
---
The physical transformation came next.
Her natural hair was carefully washed, moisturized, and braided into a protective foundation.
Vanessa examined her skin with the seriousness of a doctor reviewing a patient.
"You've got beautiful skin."
Teni smirked.
"I know."
"But you've also spent years under the Lagos sun."
"I know."
"And you barely drink enough water."
"...I know."
Vanessa raised an eyebrow.
"So why are you smiling?"
"Because you're sounding like my mother."
Blessing burst into laughter.
"I said the same thing yesterday!"
For the next several days, creams, serums, face masks, and moisturizers became part of Teni's morning routine.
She hated every second of it.
"How many products does one face need?"
Vanessa answered without looking up.
"As many as your future bank account can afford."
---
The wigs fascinated her the most.
Not because they were expensive.
But because they reminded her of home.
She ran her fingers through a long bone-straight unit.
Years earlier...
She had spent countless nights braiding clients' hair under rechargeable lamps whenever electricity disappeared.
Every braid paid for something.
School forms.
Internet data.
Food.
Laptop repairs.
Life.
Now she was wearing hair worth more than everything she had owned in Mushin.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
"You know..." she said quietly.
"I used to install wigs for customers."
Blessing smiled.
"Now you're the customer."
Teni looked at her reflection.
"No."
"I'm still working."
The only difference...
...was that this time, she was the project.
---
That evening, she found Mama Teni sitting alone on the balcony overlooking the quiet estate.
The older woman held a cup of tea between both hands.
She looked peaceful.
But only from a distance.
Teni sat beside her.
"You've been quiet."
Mama nodded.
"I've been thinking."
"About what?"
She looked out toward the rows of expensive houses.
"When your father was alive..."
"...we lived like this."
Teni remained silent.
"I used to complain."
Mama smiled sadly.
"I complained that the generator made too much noise."
"I complained the driver came late."
"I complained the cook used too much salt."
A soft laugh escaped her.
"Funny, abi?"
She looked at her daughter.
"Life humbled me."
Teni reached for her mother's hand.
"It didn't break you."
Mama squeezed her fingers gently.
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If this mission ever becomes bigger than your life..."
"...leave the money."
Teni didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she rested her head lightly on her mother's shoulder, just as she used to when she was a little girl.
"I promise I'll choose my life first."
Mama smiled.
"Good."
"Money can return."
"My daughter cannot."
For several minutes...
Neither of them spoke.
The evening breeze drifted through the balcony.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled across the Lagos sky.
---
Three weeks passed.
Slowly...
The mansion stopped feeling unfamiliar.
Mama Teni no longer hesitated before giving instructions to the staff.
Chef Victor had accepted that every pot of stew required more pepper than any recipe recommended.
Blessing had become more like a younger sister than a maid.
Even Vanessa admitted that Teni no longer needed to be reminded to stand tall.
She had changed.
Not only on the outside.
Inside too.
That realization frightened her.
One morning, she caught her reflection in a hallway mirror.
Without thinking...
She adjusted the expensive silk robe on her shoulders.
She paused.
Then frowned.
Old Teni would never have done that.
For the first time since entering the duplex...
She wondered where the girl from Mushin had gone.
Was she hiding beneath the designer clothes?
Or had she already disappeared?
"No," she whispered to herself.
The reflection stared back confidently.
"I haven't forgotten."
"I've adapted."
There was a difference.
A predator didn't survive because it was the strongest.
It survived because it learned the environment better than its prey.
A sharp knock echoed through the hallway.
Three measured knocks.
Not hurried.
Not hesitant.
Professional.
Godwin's calm voice came through the closed door.
"Miss Teniola."
"The Chief's family has confirmed their arrival for tomorrow morning."
"Preparations will begin at six."
Teni slowly closed the wardrobe she had been organizing.
Tomorrow.
The waiting was over.
She walked toward the bedroom window and looked out over the quiet estate.
Beyond those high walls...
The girl from Mushin had built a life through intelligence.
Inside these walls...
She would have to survive using something far more dangerous.
Patience.
Tomorrow...
The Otunba Dynasty would finally meet its Trojan Bride.
- Writer
