Chapter 1: Goodbye to Okpoko Palace

When I left the palace in Okpoko, the Prince hand me one thousand bundles of new naira notes and ten plots of land as reward.

I still remember how the palace ground feel under my slippers, the way evening breeze carry the strong smell of jollof rice from kitchen, mix with sharp scent of dry harmattan dust. The Prince’s eyes no longer shine that soft light I sabi before—e just cold, like well water during harmattan.

His voice cold too, no trace of the tenderness wey dey before.

I for think say after all the years wey I serve, small soft talk for goodbye go dey, but nothing. Even palace guards just dey look front like say dem no know me again.

"The next Princess no dey tolerate even small mistake.

You fit go now.

But if after three or five years, you really no get anybody to lean on, I fit carry you come back."

His words na like say he dey dash me pity, but e still choke for my chest. Palace life, e no dey ever truly belong to you. E be like groundnut—once dem lick all the sugar, na just shell remain.

I just smile. "No wahala."

My smile na just form, inside me, water dey boil. I fit see the guards dey eye me, dem no sure whether to pity or fear. I turn, do quick small curtsy like say I still be princess, even though my heart dey drag for ground. For palace, if you no strong, dem go wash you carry go.

At the palace gate, I stop for one moment—my hand touch the cold wall, my eyes glance back at the compound wey used to be my whole world. My chest heavy, but I gather myself, wipe small tear from my eye, then face front.

But I no wait for am. That night, I waka go Makurdi, wey far reach one thousand miles.

Night bus, full of people wey dey run from their own wahala too. My face dey shadowed by scarf. For that journey, I tell myself—no look back, make wind carry your sorrow. Okpoko Palace be like yesterday’s dream, Makurdi na my tomorrow. But I no sabi say my past never finish with me.