I was married to my father's friend.

You know how at 12 years old, you already had prophesied everything that was going to happen in your life. Like how you'd become a doctor, marry a fine rich white man and have beautiful kids with him. Even, you'd go abroad and carry your family alongside. Well, just like every other Nigerian Child, I had prophesied into my life.

Then I reached the peak of puberty — that stage where you were fully a woman. They called it 'menstruation'. My parents were the happiest that day, they even celebrated it. Unknown to me that I had just clocked that period every Oloko First Female Child in the 80's feared to reach.

One night, my cousin's came over. I think I was 18 that time and I had just been offered an admission to a University in my state then. My cousins were quite older than me though but they didn't treat me that way, they vibed with me like their mate. Of course, they were just two and three years older. As we sat on the ground, eating together in one plate, just like we loved to do, my eldest cousin made a joke. She said, "Jasmine, you know if it were to be those days, you'd have been married to an old man by now." I immediately rebuked it.

Me ke? Married to an old man? God forbid abeg. That was not my portion.

If I wasn't getting married to any white man, then I was going to get married to a Nigerian man I loved.

As usual, we made a comedy out of the Oloko Tradition and moved on. I mean, the world had moved, isn't it?

Then I turned 24 and my mother had added another child to me - a girl. Everyone was so happy. In fact, it was a double celebration in my house that day because I had finished my University, done my NYSC and though I hadn't told them, I was seeing a nice man and I had the hunch he was going to ask for my hand in marriage.

Everything was still going as planned. I was very happy.

Just at about 7 AM in the morning, my mother came to wake me up. Her face was straight, her eyes filled with so much emotions. Ah, I became worried. She sat down on my bed and maybe I should've sent her out of my room that minute to stop her from saying what I dreaded to hear but I encouraged her, begging her to tell me what the matter was.

"You know Uncle Dagbe," she asked me, a fainted smile on her face.

My heart skipped instantly. Uncle Dagbe was my father's friend and from what I learnt recently, he was critically ill. "Don't tell me he's dead oh!"

"Dead ke? Na you wan kill am?" My mother scoffed, shaking her head. "It's always funny how the first thing that comes out from you Gen Z children's mouth is death,"

I swallowed my saliva, just staring at her. We all know how African mother's can be if you talked back.

Then she sighed heavily and what she said next had me laughing like a maniac for minutes. She said, "He's coming to pay your dowry tomorrow. Your father has given his blessing too,"

Ehn!

The Nigerian slang to follow such reaction was, 'My head wan blow', because for real, my head really been wan blow.

"I won't marry Uncle Dagbe, mummy. I have a man I'm seeing,"

Immediately, my mother's eyes grew wide open. "Ah Jasmine! You're no longer a virgin?" She screamed so loud, my father heard and rushed in.

"What's the commotion about?" He asked, looking between us.

My mother pointed at me to tell him. Already, I had gotten the hint that going with this fabricated story my mother had come up with would likely save me, so I lied along. "I am no longer a virgin, papa. How can you marry your own first child to an old man!"

My father stood with his eyes wide open in shock. He didn't utter any word for a long while. Inside, I was already jubilating. I had won.

Until he spoke. "Well, Mama Jasmine, that is not a problem. That is what this modern days world has taught our female children. Dagbe would still marry her,"

The initial letter will appear large and bold as a decorative drop cap...

The initial letter will appear large and bold as a decorative drop cap...

"Are you sure, Papa Jasmine. I don't want my daughter to be unfortunate and unlucky oh!" My mother cried.

I was devasted. I watched them with so much disbelief, my head spinning with all manner of questions.

"Are these my real parents?"

"Do these people even value me at all?"

I had gone back to bed that morning in bewilderment, hoping it'd be a dream when I woke up next.

Unlucky me, it wasn't a dream.

Uncle Dagbe had really come for my hand in marriage.

Me, Jasmine! The 001 of faculty of Mass Communication in my state University?

God forbid.

.... To be continued.