Funny tales of love and customs

Chidi, a software engineer in Houston, had once led a team of forty people. Then Ada’s Umunna handed him the bridal list.

It was so long that he asked whether it was a shopping list for the whole village. “Yes,” said Uncle Obi, smiling. “And you are the van.”

He counted goats, yams, cartons of malt, George wrappers for the Umuada, basins, umbrellas and stockfish. His Excel sheet crashed.

At the end of the negotiation, the actual money paid to Ada’s father was a symbolic ₦25. Chidi laughed so hard he cried. “Twenty-five naira? I have spent more on the van!”

Ada’s father patted his shoulder. “My son, we are not buying a woman. We are gaining a son.”

At her Igba Nkwu, Ada’s father blessed a cup of palm wine. “Go and find your husband,” he said.

The drums started. Ada danced through the crowd, and every uncle held out banknotes. “Over here, my daughter! I look like a husband!”

Emeka, the groom, had hidden behind a very large chief to build suspense. Ada danced right past him twice. The guests screamed with laughter.

On the third pass she spotted his shoes, because nobody else had that shade of polished blue. She knelt, offered the cup and Emeka drank it.

He dropped money in the empty cup. “That was the longest ten minutes of my life,” he whispered. “Mine too,” she whispered back. “Nice shoes.”

Sarah from Ohio met Chinedu’s family for the first time. Auntie Ngozi smiled. “Tonight you will cook Ofe Onugbu for us.”

Sarah looked at the bitterleaf. She tasted a raw leaf and made a face that could stop traffic.

She washed it. And washed it. And washed it. “Until the bitterness is barely a trace,” Auntie Ngozi called from the kitchen door.

Two hours later, the whole family sat down. Auntie tasted a spoon, closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Daalụ,” Auntie said. “You pass. Next time, we try Ofe Nsala.” Sarah smiled. Her fingers still smelled of leaves, but her heart smelled of victory.

At the wedding of Nkechi and Obinna, the eldest man, Papa Eze, raised the kola nut and prayed for ten minutes. The guests whispered, “He is praying for each person’s grandchildren.”

He broke the nut. There was a long silence. “One, two, three… four!” he announced.

“Oji Udo, the kola of peace!” Everyone cheered. Aunties started dancing before the music did.

Obinna’s cousin, hungry, reached for a piece. A dozen aunties turned and looked at him at the same time. He put it back very slowly.

Nkechi whispered, “Even the kola approves of us.” “Of course,” said Obinna. “I paid it.”