– THE ARRIVAL OF THE STRANGER
DUST AND SILK
The village had never been this loud. Not even during New Yam Festival or when Mama Nkechi gave birth to triplets. From the distant clanging of pans to the frantic chatter in compounds, from the over-excited cries of children to the gossiping buzz of market women, the entire village of Umuahia was vibrating like generator wire.
Amaka had barely gotten any sleep when her mother banged on her door.
"Amaka! Wake up!" her mother's voice pierced through her sleep like a mosquito bite. "This is not the day to sleep like fowl with malaria! Stand up and go and bath! They said the man will land in this village before cock even crows!"
Amaka groaned, pulling the wrapper over her head. "Which man again?"
Her mother hissed. "You better carry yourself and go and bath! If you miss this one ehn—"
"I'll miss what? Is it Jesus that is coming?" Amaka muttered under her breath, dragging her feet toward the bathroom, the cold harmattan breeze slapping her face like unpaid debt.
By the time she came out dripping and grumbling, her mother had laid out two wrappers, an off-shoulder blouse she hadn't worn since her cousin's wedding, and a gele that had suffered under the iron three times this morning.
"Wear this one," Mama said, tying her own wrapper aggressively. "Make sure you rub powder. You hear me? Use small lip gloss. So that you can look fine."
"Mama," Amaka said with a tired sigh, "you're acting like it's husband that is coming."
Mama turned slowly. "My friend, shut up and dress. Who is talking about husband now?"
Amaka rolled her eyes but obeyed.
She finished dressing, adjusted her blouse and walked down the narrow footpath to Ngozi's house. Ngozi's mother was already shouting too, adjusting her daughter's scarf as if that would determine her future.
Amaka pulled Ngozi's hand. "Come let's be going joor. Before these women will burn us with iron."
As they walked off, Ngozi grinned. "Your mama don serious this morning o."
"You too? Everybody in this village is acting like they are about to meet their Lord and personal saviour," Amaka snorted.
Ngozi laughed. "They've seen light, my sister."
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They both strutted toward the chief's palace, where the welcome ceremony was holding. The crowd was already mad. People swarmed the palace like ants chasing a drop of sugar. Everyone had dressed like it was village fashion week. Children were dancing in circles, wrappers were flying, elders were blowing kolanut prayers, and the air smelled of jollof rice, sweat, dust, and pomade.
"See crowd," Amaka hissed, holding Ngozi's arm tight.
"I can't even see anything!" Ngozi shouted. "Why did we not come earlier?!"
"Because you were fixing your eyelashes, madam big girl," Amaka teased.
Suddenly, the noise changed.
From afar, the roaring of engines cut through the chaos.
"Ehhhh!" someone screamed.
"Dem don come!"
And there they were — four long, sleek black cars, shining like oil on a hot pan. They drove in slowly, gracefully, like they had no single pressure in this world. You could hear people gasping. Some women even threw wrappers in the air.
Ngozi started screaming and shaking Amaka.
"See car! Amaka! JESUS! I never see car like this for real life before!"
Amaka covered her eyes from the sun. "Which kind nonsense is this? Everybody is shouting like pig that has seen garri."
Ngozi laughed and pushed her. "Leave me! If you see car like this, you go shout too!"
The cars stopped. Slowly, the door of the first one opened. Dancers began their traditional music, their hips moving like water, their anklets jingling like alarm bells. But the crowd was still too thick. Amaka and Ngozi kept jumping, trying to see past the tall heads and loud scarves.
Someone in white stepped out.
Very white. Pristine white. Freshly ironed and dripping with class. The man's aura was sharp — like he didn't even need to speak before people started clapping.
"I no fit see his face o!" Amaka screamed, squinting. "Ngozi can you see?"
"No! I just dey see white cloth! My eyes dey pain me sef!"
The man stood briefly in front of the dancers, acknowledging them with a small nod, but still… they couldn't see his face.
The crowd started roaring louder as the man began to walk through the middle of the dancers toward the palace.
Ngozi suddenly screamed, "AMAKA! I see him face o!"
She tapped Amaka violently. "E be like movie star!"
"Where where?!" Amaka turned.
But it was too late.
He had walked past the crowd into the chief's compound.
Amaka groaned. "AHHHHH! I didn't see him!"
Ngozi was still holding her chest. "My sister… he fine. Like fine-fine. And his skin? Money dey show."
Drums started beating louder.
From the remaining three cars, six men came down — all wearing black suits and dark glasses. They looked like secret service agents from foreign films.
"See his guards!" Amaka gasped.
"Dem no be play!" Ngozi whispered.
All six followed him inside like shadows.
The crowd continued shouting. Market women were nearly fainting. Someone even said she'd name her unborn child after the stranger.
Amaka turned to Ngozi and shook her head. "This village is finished."
Ngozi bent over, laughing so hard she nearly fell. "They have seen their destiny husband."
But Amaka's heart was already curious. She hadn't seen his face, but something about the man's posture, his clothes, and the hush that fell as he walked… it stirred something strange in her chest.
"I must see him," she whispered.
Ngozi blinked. "What did you say?"
"Nothing joor," Amaka lied.
But she really wanted to see him.
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The moment the excitement wore off and the crowd returned to shouting, Amaka scrunched her nose and covered her mouth.
"Chineke! Ngozi, if one more person presses me with this kind of smell, I swear I go faint!"
Ngozi coughed. "My sister, I dey suffocate. Somebody just passed here now and I'm sure say he never baff since last week."
Amaka burst out. "God punish poverty! See as everybody dey smell like rotten rat mixed with egusi and fish water. Na wa o!"
Ngozi laughed. "And they're still squeezing themselves into us! As if we are meat in pepper soup!"
Amaka waved her hand dramatically. "Abeg, I dey go house. I no fit die of heat and armpit because of one man wey I no even see!"
They pushed their way out of the crowd, elbowing sweaty arms and dodging flying wrappers.
As they walked back toward their compound, they started gossiping about the crowd.
"You see that mama with big yansh and red scarf?" Amaka began. "She nearly climbed on top of my head!"
Ngozi laughed. "And that her daughter that look like over-fried chin chin—always forming posh!"
"She was shouting 'I see him! I see him!' like say na vision she dey see," Amaka said, eyes wide with mockery.
Ngozi clapped. "Na people like her dey dream say dem go marry billionaires."
They laughed until their stomachs hurt.
Ngozi branched into her house to do chores, while Amaka lingered outside, stretching and fanning herself with her wrapper.
Then her father came out of the house.
His potbelly led the way as he walked toward her, face unreadable.
"My daughter…" he began.
Amaka didn't let him finish.
She hissed so loudly the birds flew off the mango tree.
With a sharp turn, she walked away, leaving him standing like a carved statue.
Her chest was tight.
She didn't want to talk.
Not to him.
Not now.
Not ever.
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