–The Parade of Madness
Dust and Silk
The morning sun had barely crept past the sheer curtains of Tunde Adewale's master bedroom when he rolled out of bed, the silk of his dark robe whispering against his toned skin. He dragged a palm over his low-cut fade, yawning as he moved toward the wall-length window that framed the view of his sprawling estate.
Outside, the early hours in the village were peaceful—misty, fresh, and deceivingly quiet. The gardeners were already tending to the front lawn, and his dogs barked in the distance, restless in their kennel. Inside, the silence was golden.
Tunde moved with lazy elegance, bare-chested beneath the robe, which hung open just enough to reveal the large, intricate tattoo sprawling from the left side of his chest down to his arm. A phoenix wrapped in tribal flames. His back bore a second one—an Angel wings visible on his back , inked in memory of resilience.
He walked barefoot down the marbled hallway, sipping black coffee from a white mug, his mind half-focused on the emails waiting in his inbox. Deals. Blueprints. Bank alerts. All stacked and blinking on his sleek MacBook. He sat down in his personal study—one of the quieter rooms in the mansion, tucked just beside the reception lounge—and cracked his knuckles before diving in.
Half an hour later, as the air conditioner hummed quietly above, a light knock came at the door.
"Sir?" came a familiar figure, one of his guards.
Tunde didn't look up from his laptop. "Yes?"
"There are… uh… three women at the gate," the guard said, a little hesitantly. "With… six girls. Young women. They say they want to see you."
Tunde blinked once. He paused mid-typing, lifted his brows, then slowly looked up. "Six what?"
"Young women. And their mothers. They say you told them to come."
"I did what?"
"They said you—well—" the guard hesitated again, clearing his throat, "they said you're looking for a wife."
Tunde leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then, he sighed deeply, muttered under his breath, "God, not today," and waved a hand.
"Let them in. Reception lounge. I'll be there."
The guard nodded and disappeared. Tunde rubbed his temples, got up from the chair, and tied his robe tighter around his waist.
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The reception lounge, painted in warm ivory with wooden detailing, was meant to be a soft introduction to the grandeur of the house. With two velvet couches facing each other and gold-rimmed side tables, it had seen politicians, bishops, and the occasional overexcited journalist.
But today? It would host chaos.
By the time Tunde entered, the space was already charged with perfume, laughter, and tension. The three women—village aunties in their finest ankara wrappers, gele towering like crowns—were seated comfortably, each flanked by two girls dressed like they were going to an Instagram audition.
The moment he stepped in, all nine heads turned sharply.
"Ahhh, Tunde my son!" one of the women shrieked, standing up with arms outstretched.
Another woman stood up too. "You've grown fine like your papa—chai!"
The third one jumped up as well, her loud wrapper rustling. "And you're even finer than those oyinbo boys you went to school with!"
Tunde offered a weak, charming smile, standing tall in his robe, the tattoo on his chest peeking out again. "Good morning, madam."
"Ehn ehn, it's us!" one of them beamed, gripping the shoulder of a tall, light-skinned girl with too much highlighter on her cheeks. "I brought my daughter—Ada—she just finished university!"
Before he could respond, the second woman jumped in. "Abeg park well, Madam Ego. This one is my neighbor's daughter. See as she fair—Tunde needs a calm wife, not these ones with social media hips."
That triggered the drama.
The girls began whispering among themselves, glaring at each other. One of them, bold and chewing gum, rolled her eyes and muttered, "He doesn't even want any of you people's daughters."
"What did you say?" a mother snapped.
"I said what I said."
Another girl—chubby and sweet-faced—leaned forward, looking at Tunde with shy eyes. "Good morning, sir. My name is Onome. I'm very good at cooking."
Tunde blinked. "Okay… Thank you?"
Suddenly, one of the mothers clapped her hands loudly. "Tunde, don't let these jealous witches confuse you. Since you came back, I've been praying for your arrival. God told me, clear-clear, in my dream last month: you're my son-in-law."
The room erupted again.
"You dey mad, Mama Ada!"
"Is it your dream? My own prophet said he saw wedding bell!"
"Is your daughter a virgin, sef?"
"Virgin fire! She don use social media scatter brain."
Tunde stood in the middle of it all—frozen, expression blank, coffee now cold in his hand.
He slowly muttered under his breath, "What the fuck is going on?"
As two of the women nearly lunged at each other, their daughters trying to hold them back and their headwraps nearly falling off, Tunde took one long look, turned on his heel, and walked silently toward his main sitting room.
The women followed—still shouting.
He sat down on the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at the flatscreen TV. Muted. Black. Peaceful.
"Uncle Tunde! Are you not hearing us?" one of the girls called out.
"Brother Tunde! I'm very respectful o! I even go vigil—"
"Tunde, answer your future mother-in-law now!"
Tunde didn't even look up.
He sighed. Loudly.
Then slowly reached for the wine glass he had left on the side table the night before.
He poured himself half a glass, swirled it slowly, then leaned back.
The noise continued outside the room.
"Na me him greet first!"
"Your pikin wey no sabi even kneel down!"
"She kneel for Jesus, that's enough!"
"Go and marry your pastor!"
Tunde took a sip.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Fisayo popped up:
> Heard the matchmaking demons have landed. May God strengthen you, boss. 😂
Tunde cracked a half-smile, shook his head, and responded:
> I'm about to fake a Zoom meeting and disappear.
Then he stood, adjusted his robe, and headed to his study to lock the door.
Let them shout.
He didn't come to the village to be auctioned.
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