In a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Lagos, the air smelled of frying beans cake—a scent that hung over the small, tin-roofed home of Nnenna Okafor. Nnenna was a single mother whose life had been riddled with hardship, yet she carried herself with the determination of a lioness. Each day began before dawn, her hands working tirelessly to prepare her akara (beans cake), the only source of livelihood she had to feed her daughter, Ada, and keep her in school.
“Ego, hold on,” Nnenna called to her neighbor and best friend, Ego, as she wiped her hands on her tattered wrapper. Ego had just arrived, her bright yellow blouse a stark contrast to Nnenna’s faded clothing.
“Ah, Nnenna, you’re always busy,” Ego said with a chuckle, sitting on the wooden bench by the akara stand.
Ego was the one person Nnenna trusted with her thoughts and fears. Every day after the morning rush, they would sit together, sipping pap, and Nnenna would recount her worries about Ada’s future.
“She’s my only hope,” Nnenna said with a wistful smile. “I know Ada will make me proud one day. All this suffering won’t be in vain.”
Ego nodded, but something flickered in her eyes, something Nnenna never noticed—a quiet unease that brewed each time Nnenna spoke of her daughter’s potential.
Ada, a sharp and beautiful young woman, was the jewel of Nnenna’s life. Despite their poverty, Ada excelled in her studies, often staying up late into the night with a candle stub to prepare for exams. Nnenna would sit by her side, watching her with a mixture of pride and longing.
“I must finish school, Mama,” Ada often said. “When I graduate, you’ll never have to fry akara again.”
Those words were the balm to Nnenna’s weary soul. She believed them with every fiber of her being, even as she battled the relentless grip of poverty.
But one evening, as Nnenna sat with Ego outside their home, frying the last batch of akara for the day, a man approached the stall. He was tall, well-dressed, and exuded an aura of wealth that immediately set him apart.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice smooth. “I’m looking for Ada.”
Nnenna blinked in surprise. “You’re looking for my daughter? What for?”
The man smiled. “My name is Chidi. I’ve been... seeing her at the university. She’s quite brilliant. I wanted to speak with you, ma’am.”
Ego’s eyes widened as she exchanged a quick glance with Nnenna. Chidi continued, explaining his admiration for Ada’s intelligence and determination. It was clear he was not just a passing admirer—he was smitten.
When Ada returned home that night, her mother shared the encounter, and her daughter’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Mama, he’s just a friend,” Ada insisted, though her eyes betrayed a spark of excitement.
Ego, however, seemed unusually quiet that evening. As Nnenna walked her back to her house, she couldn’t help but notice her friend’s forced smile.
“You’re lucky, Nnenna,” Ego said suddenly. “Ada is a good girl. But be careful, hmm? These rich men don’t always mean well.”
Nnenna laughed lightly. “Ego, you worry too much. My Ada knows what she’s doing.”
But as she lay in bed that night, a gnawing unease crept into her thoughts. Could Ego be right?
To be continued..
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