I know every inch of this home; every corner where the kids play hide and seek, every room where a mother cradles her newborn, and every hearth where food simmers to win a husband’s heart anew.
Today, I am sitting in front of the large family compound, drinking in the cool morning air while faintly reminiscing on my teenage years in this home that sparkles with warmth, laughter, and love.
Although I have been away from Limbe for two years, it feels like it was only yesterday when I stuffed my few clothes into a bag and made the trip to Yaoundé.
Yaoundé with its vibrant people.
Yaoundé with its thrilling nightlife and street food that never ceases to make my mouth water.
Yaoundé, the city that brought me the love of my life, Dieudonné.
I met him one fine April afternoon at the Reunification Monument. After ascending the stairs and scribbling my name among many others on a block, I stopped to take a view. It was like seeing the whole of Cameroon at a glance. I stood, lost in that beauty until I heard a rich masculine voice beside me. “It takes my breath away every single time too.” I turned to see who spoke and, for the first time, I prayed to God for a man to ask for my phone number.
***
A door creaks open and I turn in the sound’s direction. It is Aunty Ekema and I am sure she is up early so she can get things ready for the day’s festivities. Since the day I returned, Aunty Ekema hasn’t stopped looking after my welfare and neither has Aunty Grace. And I love every bit of their attentiveness. Aunty Grace has taken my body measurements and is making some kaba dresses which she promised me. As for Aunty Ekema, she has taken one look at me the day I arrived before going into her kitchen and returning to place a bowl of fufu, njama njama, and kati kati in front of me.
Aunty Ekema has succeeded at stuffing me full of treats since that first day. Koki beans one day, roasted fish the next, ndole on another day, and I savour them all while ignoring the voice that tells me I may not fit into my wedding dress if I continue to eat so much. I hear someone praying in one room, but before I can guess whose room it is, large, powerful arms slip around my waist and a whiff of after-shave caresses my nostrils. A few seconds later, the arms loosen their grip and I mourn the loss of Dieudonné’s touch with a sigh.
“You are enjoying the quiet, mon amour,” he says before sitting beside me on the bench.
I nod and display a little smile before reaching for one of his hands and clasping it in mine. It’s a day of joy for me. Today, Dieudonné’s people are to come with their arms full of gifts to pay my bride price. I’ve been the one to insist that Dieudonné stays with me at my family house, though. There is a reassurance his presence always gives me and I need it today. I need to be certain that all will go well and this day will be as perfect as I have always imagined.
A few days after Dieudonné proposed to me, I asked him why he loved me. He was lying on the couch, flipping through a travel magazine while I sat with a hair mannequin between my thighs, trying to create a style I hoped would one day become an indigenous Cameroonian hairstyle. Dieudonné had put the magazine aside and sat up, his expression flicking from mild surprise at my question to a certain seriousness.
“Hmmm, let me try,” he said. “I love you because you are beautiful, Imbolo.”
He paused. “I love your quiet strength and confidence.”
I left off braiding the mannequin to sit beside him. He continued, “I love you because that day when I met you at the Monument, I felt…, I felt safe.”
He paused again before teasing me.
“Even though I was wondering why you couldn’t stop biting your nails,” He said, biting his like I would while I laughed. “I love you because you are Cameroonian. I love you, mon amour, because you are authentic and you give your best to everything that you do.”
“I love you so much. I can’t describe it in words. This is only an attempt,” he continued while I playfully wiped imaginary tears from my eyes.
Although Dieudonné didn’t ask me the same question, I know why I love him. He reminds me of my mother. My friend, Victorine, once smirked when I told her about this. It’s the truth, though. I love Dieudonné because he, like my mother, is full of warmth and kindness. And I love him because he always puts me first. I also love how he loves other people and how he loves our country. I love how he loves our different cultures and how much sacrifice he puts into his YouTube channel, even travelling for miles just to show the world our Cameroon. I love how he encourages me to be better and how I feel at peace when I am with him.
He and I sit in the morning silence. I am here with him yet a million thoughts are also racing through my mind.
Typical Imbolo.
My thoughts are soon cut off by the delightful sound of giggling women bursting through the gate. They are my friends.
“Oh, the bride isn’t dressed yet,” Victorine teases when she sees me.
“Still playing love with Monsieur Dieudonné, I see.” Her laughter-filled voice utters.
I wag my finger at her, the playful warning in my eyes meeting the quiet mischief in hers. She greets me with a hug and so does Chantelle and Muema.
“We’ll have to take you away now,” she says.
I kiss Dieudonné on one cheek as my friends squeal excitedly. One of my cousins is sweeping the compound and an aunty is bathing her toddler outside. Soon, there will be pounding of fufu and my aunties will make soup while my uncles will get drinks and fresh palm wine. I know my father has asked one of his friends to come with some seafood as well.
Dieudonné’s family and friends will arrive with goats, kola nut, fabric, firewood, and other requirements that accompany the bride price. During the ceremony, Dieudonné will try to identify me in a sea of veiled women and there’ll be cheering when he does. Something tells me that today will be just perfect. I only wish my mother was alive. I know she would have been pleased with my choice of a husband. I give Dieudonné one last loving look before allowing my friends to whisk me away to prepare for my traditional wedding.
Read – Kariakoo – A Short Story by Larry Matoyo, Tanzania
Read – Love in Twist – A Short Story by Ozokwelu Amara, Nigeria
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