Bewaji's Ankara Adventures: A Novella (The Aso-Ebi Chronicles, Part 1)

  Chapter 2

  By the time Bewaji got home, she had more questions than answers plaguing her mind. Seun had asked her to investigate this case. Had she given him the impression that she was some kind of macho-woman or jobless person? Well, technically, she was semi-jobless. But, really, couldn’t he find someone else to do it? His younger brother - Seun had three - Gbolade would have been better suited for the task, or maybe even a trained policeman. Wasn't this sort of thing dangerous?

  "For whatever it is worth, I'll do it. I want to do it." That was it. Bewaji's mind was made up.

  Minutes after she entered the house, she regretted her decision. Not only was there a pile of dishes which her younger brother, Seye, had so generously left for her to wash, the house was also a mess! And her parents would be back from work at any moment.

  "This boy is spoilt. I can't imagine raising my children to neglect housework like this. Not even the boys," she muttered under her breath as she gathered the pillows strewn all over the floor as if a tornado had ripped through the house. She could not imagine what games he had played with his friends to leave the house in such disarray. Her parents would not hear any excuses if they saw the sitting room in that state. Since she was the eldest child, it was her job to make sure the house was clean. Simple. She knew instinctively that the same pressure would never be put on her for household chores if she was a man.

  With the gender inequality debate firing away in her head, she began to clear the sitting room. She did not even bother calling her brother to help her. He would just ignore her. As she worked across the room, she suddenly remembered that dinner was not yet cooked. So, she temporarily abandoned Operation Clean-Up-and-Shut-Up and dashed to the kitchen to put some rice and stew on the fire. She was still chopping up the onions and garlic to season the meat, when she heard a knock at the door. It was Arinola, one of her closest and dearest friends.

  Arin was a petite, confident woman who was the same age as Bewaji: 24. They had both met at a hair salon on campus a few years back and had remained good friends over the years. The duo had talked about being on each other's bridal train whenever either of them got married. Arin, who looked quiet was actually the more talkative of the two women.

  A few weeks ago, she had told Bewaji of her engagement to Bosun. However, Bewaji had rejected Arin's offer to be on her bridal train. Her excuse? Age. At 24, she felt that she was too old to be playing the role of a bridesmaid. Naturally, Arin had disagreed, citing countless examples of aunties, cousins and any woman she could think of, who were bridesmaids in their late 20s and even 30s. Bewaji did not budge. So, Arin took her vexing to the next level: she threatened to break off their friendship over the issue. Bewaji remained resolute and refused to change her mind. She stuck to her guns like the stubborn person that she was.

  It was Arin who finally gave in, and they both came to a consensus: Bewaji would be one of the Ore Iyawo (friends of the bride). That way, she could be part of the Arin's wedding without necessarily being a bridesmaid. However, being an Ore Iyawo automatically meant that she would have to buy the two separate Aso-Ebi (family cloth) fabrics for each ceremony: one fabric for the traditional wedding, and a different fabric for the white wedding.

  Although this new arrangement would be more expensive for Bewaji, she did not mind. As far as she was concerned, she was still better off than the bridesmaids who would, more than likely, never wear those "shiny" satin gowns again, once the wedding ceremony was over. She on the other hand would leave the wedding with two new outfits which she could wear everywhere, except to work.

  The common practice was for the bride-to-be to first pick her fabric of choice at the shop of the fabric seller. Afterwards, she would let the people who wanted to buy the fabric know which one she had chosen. Then, they would go the fabric seller's shop to pick and purchase the number of yards of fabric they required to make that spectacular outfit. Within the context of a wedding, the circle of people who formed the 'aso-ebi buyer's club' included relatives, friends of the bride, friends of the groom and unfortunately, anyone else who knew about the wedding. As bad as it sounds, it was quite common for complete strangers (mostly women) to randomly hear about an upcoming society wedding and invite themselves to the event. That, of course, meant that they would also go through the trouble of tracking down the seller of the aso-ebi, buy several yards of the fabric, give them to tailors to make elaborate outfits, and of course, show up for the wedding. Or birthday. Or any celebration, for that matter. Bewaji did not seem to mind such wedding crashers, but Arin did mind. In fact, she minded so much that she had devised a way to avoid falling victim to such chameleons, as she called them. Instead of giving out the name and address of the shop where she got her fabrics from, she pre-purchased many yards and hand-delivered them to each person who requested them in advance. Unbelievable! And that was what brought her to Bewaji's house that Tuesday evening.

  After exchanging pleasantries the way 20-something year olds are wont to do, rife with lots of accusations and counter-accusations of one person not calling the other often enough and the ensuing "forgiveness" session, Arin brought out one of the two aso-ebi fabrics she had chosen. She had run out of the red and gray Ankara fabric she had chosen for her traditional wedding. But, she had close to 10 yards of the blue and yellow ankara fabric she planned to use as aso-ebi for the white wedding. It was this ankara fabric that she pulled out from the black nylon bag she had brought with her. That single dramatic move drew out a series of gasps, followed in quick succession by typical insincere remarks like "Oh, it is so beautiful" and "Ore mi, you have fantastic taste!" Of course, Bewaji made these comments to praise her friend, even though she would never have picked that particular design by herself. She would have preferred that her friend used lace instead of ankara, but kept her opinions to herself. Regardless of Arin's taste or lack thereof, she would support her wedding by making use of the fabric she had chosen. It was the best thing to do at that point.

  The ankara fabric in question was one of those Holland Wax ones with a simple floral pattern. The pattern was simple: mostly blue background with a profusion of yellow flowers. But Bewaji felt uneasy. The problem however was not with the fabric. It was with Bewaji herself.

  In spite of the Aso-Ebi craze that was sweeping across the country, with ripple effects going to Nigerians in the diaspora who had also caught the Aso-Ebi bug, Bewaji detested the whole idea. You see, she prided herself on being unique and standing out in a good way. Aso-Ebi reminded her of ugly school uniforms and the even uglier boarding school house-wears. All three outfits had one thing in common: they were not special. To her, they were geared to make everyone look alike, and that was her beef with the trend: she wanted to stand out, not look like every other person.

  An array of friends had tried to convince her otherwise, citing all kinds of reasons. The most popular argument her friends raised was this one: "If you get a good tailor to sew a distinct style, then you'll stand out." But Bewaji refused to listen. They raised their arguments in vain.

  As a rule, she avoided buying or wearing aso-ebi to friends' weddings or other events. She usually chose another outfit for these special occasions. Even though she had agreed to be part of Arin's ore iyawo, she still felt conflicted: should she just throw aside her deeply-held beliefs and philosophy on the issue to comply with her friend's request or look for a quick excuse to avoid the obligation? With Arin looking so intently at her with those tiny, intelligent eyes that seemed to bore into Bewaji's soul, she decided to try a last-minute avoidance tactic. There were two separate courses of action. Plan A was to throw Arin a bait, that is, use the "I-have-no-money-for-aso-ebi" excuse, and see if Arin would fall for it. If that failed, then Plan B would kick in: she would insist that she could only buy 6 - 8 yards, which was enough for just one outfit. As it turned out, Arin had only brought the Ankara fabric for the white wedding, so it looked like Plan B would wor
k that day. However, being a methodical person, Bewaji decided to start with Plan A. She cleared her throat and began:

  "Arin, I know I promised to buy your aso-ebi, but I'm broke. You know the issue with my job now …"

  Arin did not even wait for Bewaji to finish. She was ready for her.

  "I knew you would use that as an excuse. That’s why I am giving you the aso-ebi free of charge. And since I seem to have run out of the aso-ebi for my traditional wedding, you can just fashi and make arrangements for just the white wedding. No hard feelings. I didn’t know if you wanted to tie gele with your outfit, so I added it just in case," Arin said coolly, as she showed the astonished Bewaji the royal blue head-tie she had chosen to match the ankara fabric. But she was not done.

  "If you want, I will pay for the tailor to sew your outfit too. All you need to do is show up for the wedding. The traditional wedding is the day before the white wedding. And of course, you know the shop of the tailor I normally use, Mr. Rasaq, abi? He'll be expecting you anytime this week. So you see," Arin said leaning back on the upholstered chair, a sly smile spreading across her face, "you have no excuses." Arin was clearly enjoying her momentary win for all it was worth.

  Bewaji was speechless. Although she knew her friend was generous and had a stable job at a local bank, she had not expected this level of generosity from her. She thanked Arinola profusely. The two women were discussing suitable styles to accentuate Bewaji's tall frame and sexy curves, when Bewaji's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bankole, walked into the room. They had arrived from work hungry and tired and in no mood for frivolous discussions.

  After greeting Bewaji's parents, Arin left. Bewaji hurried to her room with the blue and yellow ankara fabric that was now hers. As she ran her fingers across the patterns that wound seamlessly across the fabric, she allowed her mind to wander. What style would she end up with? Her mind settled on one, just as her mother called her to complete the cooking. But not before she asked Bewaji if she planned to starve them all to death before nightfall. Bewaji almost responded in the affirmative. Almost. But she didn’t.

  Chuckling to herself, Bewaji returned to the kitchen wondering how eventful one single day had been.