Risi was sure she had died and gone to heaven. The opulence of the Sangani palace was nothing short of spectacular. Even the toilet seat cover was made with gold. She secured the sash to her fluffy white robe and stepped onto the balcony. The private suite she now called home overlooked the Moroccan mountains.
“My lady, breakfast is served,” one of her female servants said.
Risi walked over to the corner where the spread was laid out. Her brown eyes brightened at the variety exhibited before her. Her voluminous hips didn’t need the extra calories but her stomach begged to differ. The aroma of the khobz Moroccan bread tickled her nostrils. She tore a piece and dipped it in the olive oil. She closed her eyes while her taste buds danced with joy.
She lowered herself into the chair and watched as another servant proceeded to fix her plate. He poured her some Moroccan tea made with sage she had come to love and laced her plate with khili and eggs, sausages and potatoes
“Thank you,” Risi said.
Left alone, Risi bowed her head to say grace. With the way things were working out, she resolved never to miss a single opportunity to pray. She was a witness, it worked. She sipped on her tea when up the side stairs, the object of her affection appeared—Zabor Kaheem II. Risi’s breath caught as a wide smile made her dimples sink in.
The early morning sun brought out the rich milk chocolate color of his skin. Even in the distance his sexiness mesmerized her. His six feet four frame complimented hers. There was something she found thrilling about having to stand at the tip of her toes when he kissed her. His white linen trousers and an expensive looking pink shirt swayed to the effect of the wind coming from the ocean beneath. His shoulder length, black, wavy hair—which was a tell-tale sign of his mixed blood—shaped his perfectly chiseled face. He was a pretty man. An adjective he hated.
“Aha my love you are awake,” Zabor said in his deep baritone voice. His dark green eyes fixed on her.
“Yes, my prince.” Risi lowered her eyes.
She and Zabor had met in South Africa a month ago. Her telecommunication job sent her on a three day conference which happened to be hosted by one of Zabor’s numerous companies. It was love at first sight. After the conference, he took her on a whirlwind romantic getaway. His private jet was their preferred mode of transportation as they visited the most exotic locations in the world. The lovebirds spent two days in Maui, Tahiti, Bora Bora, and finally Paris where proposed to her.
Risi couldn’t wait for the day to break in Nigeria when she called Mr. Moluko. He owned the chemist near her parent’s home and often let them use his cell phone since they didn’t have one of their own. Her parents listened attentively to her news. Once they heard the words “marriage”, “prince” and “rich” and her mother broke out into a worship song. She was sure they didn’t hear anything else.
Then out of the blue her mother began chanting. “Our status don change o. Who is it again that said my thirty year old daughter no go marry? My enemies have failed. Ha my God is good.”
Risi and Zabor were on their way to Ogbode, her hometown to perform the traditional marriage rights when he got a call from his father—the king. They had to tie up some unfinished business with another merger. Things took an unexpected turn causing them to stay in Morocco longer than expected. Since they won’t be going to Nigeria soon they decided to get married.
“Have I told you today how much I love you?” He lowered his head as his lips sought hers.
She closed her eyes, swallowed her response and mentally prepared for the earth shattering onslaught to come.
“Risi, Risi,Risi.” The voice of her best friend, Mgbeke transported her back to the reality. “Which kain yeye sleep you dey sleep?”
Risi slowly opened her eyes and looked around. She frowned as she noticed people sitting like pools of misery fenced in by elbows and shopping bags. The stench of the bus filled her nostrils; she coughed and wiped the edges of her mouth. She placed her book mark in her latest romantic read.
“We’re there,”Mgbeke said.
It was Tuesday. Every week for an hour they meet in the church for the “Operation Find Your Rib Singles Meeting.” Risi peered out the window as the bus came to a halt. The line was longer than usual, ladies of different shapes and sizes expecting their miracle. This was her third year of membership and hopefully her last. Today when it was her turn to recite the qualities she wanted in a husband, it would be those of the man that dared invade her dreams.
© Unoma Nwankwor 2014
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