The rooster crowed for the third time, and Amara threw her pillow at the window.
It missed—obviously—and hit her grandmother's prized calabash instead, sending it rolling across the dirt floor with a sound like thunder.
"Amara!" Grandma Ngozi's voice rang from the kitchen. "If you break my calabash, I will break YOU!"
"Sorry, Grandma!" Amara scrambled out of bed, her wrapper tangled around her legs. She caught the calabash just before it hit the wall and placed it carefully back on the shelf.
Twenty-four years old and still throwing things at roosters. Her life was truly glamorous.
She splashed water on her face from the bucket by the door and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Dark skin that glowed even without the expensive creams the women in town bought from traveling salesmen. Wide brown eyes that her grandmother said were "too curious for her own good." Natural hair that she'd braided herself last night while listening to Grandma tell stories about the old days.
"The old days when life was HARDER," Amara muttered to her reflection, "but somehow everyone was happier. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it."
"I heard that!" Grandma called from the kitchen.
Amara grinned and wrapped a fresh ankara cloth around her body—bright yellow with orange flowers. If she was going to teach thirty screaming children today, she might as well look cheerful doing it.
The smell of akara frying in palm oil made her stomach growl. She hurried to the kitchen where Grandma Ngozi stood over the stove, her gray hair wrapped in a purple headscarf, her hands moving with the efficiency of someone who'd been cooking for seventy-three years.
"You're late," Grandma said without turning around.
"School doesn't start for another hour—"
"Pastor Chike is coming to visit. THIS morning. You should have been awake an hour ago, braiding your hair properly, putting on something RESPECTABLE—" Grandma turned and saw Amara's outfit. "That is NOT respectable."
"This is my BEST wrapper!"
"It's bright enough to blind someone! Pastor Chike will think you're trying to seduce him!"
Amara choked on her water. "Pastor Chike is SEVENTY YEARS OLD!"
"Old men have eyes too!" Grandma pointed the frying spoon at her threateningly. "Go change. Now. Put on the blue one. The modest one."
"The blue one makes me look like I'm going to a funeral—"
"AMARA!"
"Fine! FINE!" Amara stomped back to her room, muttering under her breath about grandmothers and their obsession with modesty and how nobody cared what she wore in this village anyway because everyone had known her since she was born and—
A knock at the door stopped her mid-rant.
"I'll get it!" Grandma called.
Amara peeked out of her room and watched Grandma open the door.
Standing there, looking completely out of place in his expensive suit and polished shoes, was Chidi Okafor.
Amara's mouth fell open.
Chidi had left the village ten years ago—skinny, poor, wearing borrowed clothes to his scholarship interview. Now he stood there looking like he'd walked out of a magazine. Tailored navy suit. Gold watch. Shoes so shiny she could probably see her reflection in them.
"Mama Ngozi!" Chidi bent down and hugged Grandma, who immediately burst into tears of joy.
"Chidi! My son! You came back! Oh, the ancestors are smiling today!" Grandma grabbed his face and kissed both cheeks repeatedly. "Look at you! So handsome! So successful! Your mother would be so PROUD!"
"Thank you, Mama." Chidi's smile was warm. Then his eyes found Amara standing in the doorway in her "blinding" yellow wrapper.
"Amara?" He blinked. "Little Amara who used to chase goats?"
"I'm TWENTY-FOUR now, Chidi. I don't chase goats anymore." She walked over and hugged him. "Look at you! Mr. Big City Man! Did London make you forget how to dress for village heat? You're wearing a SUIT!"
Chidi laughed—that same booming laugh she remembered from when he used to tell them stories about his dreams of leaving. "I have a meeting in town later. Thought I'd stop by first."
"Meeting about what?" Grandma pulled him inside, already preparing a plate of food. "Sit, sit! You must eat! You look TOO thin!"
"Grandma, he literally looks healthier than everyone in this village—" Amara started.
"TOO THIN!" Grandma repeated firmly.
Chidi sat, still grinning. "Actually, Mama Ngozi, I came here for a specific reason."
"Oh?" Grandma's eyes lit up with the gleam of a matchmaker sensing opportunity. "A reason? What kind of reason?"
Amara suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.
"I came to talk to Amara," Chidi said, his expression turning serious. "About a proposal."
The room went silent.
Grandma dropped the spoon.
Amara's heart started pounding. "What kind of proposal?"
"A marriage proposal."
"MARRIAGE!" Grandma shrieked so loudly that three chickens outside started squawking in panic. "Oh, the ANCESTORS! They HEARD my prayers! Chidi, you want to marry our Amara?!"
"No, Mama Ngozi—" Chidi held up his hands quickly. "Not ME. My friend. In London."
The silence was somehow even louder this time.
"Your... friend," Amara said slowly. "In London."
"Yes. His name is Leo Whitmore. He's British. He's a CEO of a hotel company—very successful, very wealthy. And he needs a wife."
Amara stared at him. "And you thought of ME?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Chidi leaned forward, his expression earnest. "Because Leo needs someone REAL, Amara. Not these fake London women who only care about money and status. He needs someone with a good heart. Someone honest. Someone who knows what family means."
"So he wants a village girl he can control," Amara said flatly.
"No! That's not—" Chidi stopped, choosing his words carefully. "Leo's grandmother is dying. Her last wish is to see him married to a good woman. Not a socialite. Not someone fake. A GOOD woman. I told him about you."
"You told a STRANGER about me?!"
"He's not a stranger, he's my best friend from university! And Amara—" Chidi pulled out his phone (which looked newer and shinier than anything Amara had ever seen). "He's willing to pay bride price. A very generous bride price. Enough to..."
He glanced at Grandma Ngozi.
Grandma, who needed medicine that cost more than they made in six months. Grandma, whose hands shook sometimes from pain she wouldn't talk about. Grandma, who'd raised Amara alone after her parents died.
Amara's throat tightened. "Enough to what?"
"Enough to take care of your grandmother. To pay for her medicine. To make sure she's comfortable. To—"
"How much?"
Chidi named a number.
Amara sat down before her legs gave out.
That amount of money could change everything. Grandma could see real doctors. They could fix the roof that leaked every rainy season. Her cousin could finish school. The whole village could—
"No," Amara said.
"WHAT?!" Grandma and Chidi said simultaneously.
"I said NO." Amara stood up, shaking. "I'm not marrying some British man I've never met just because he's rich and wants a 'good village girl' to show off to his dying grandmother!"
"Amara—" Grandma started.
"No, Grandma! This is CRAZY! He doesn't know me! I don't know HIM! Marriage isn't a business transaction!"
"Actually," Chidi said quietly, "in many cultures, it is exactly that. And Amara—" He stood up, meeting her eyes. "I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it could work. Leo is a good man. Reserved, yes. Serious, definitely. But GOOD. He won't hurt you. He won't disrespect you. And—" He smiled slightly. "I think you'd be good for him. Shake up his boring, controlled life."
"I don't WANT to shake up anyone's life! I want to teach my students and take care of my grandmother and live my NORMAL life!"
"Amara." Grandma's voice was soft now. Gentle. The voice she used when Amara was little and scared. "Just meet him. One video call. If you hate him, you say no. Simple."
"It's not simple—"
"One call," Chidi pressed. "What's the harm? If you don't like him, I'll never mention it again."
Amara looked between them—Grandma's hopeful face, Chidi's earnest expression.
She thought about Grandma's medicine bottles. The leaking roof. The way Grandma sometimes skipped meals to make sure Amara had enough.
"One call," she heard herself say. "But if he's horrible, I'm saying no. I don't care how much money he has."
"Deal." Chidi pulled out his phone. "I'll set it up for tonight. 7 PM your time. That's noon in London."
"TONIGHT?!"
"No time like the present!" Chidi grinned. "Trust me, Amara. This could be the best thing that ever happened to you."
As he left, promising to return with his laptop and good internet connection, Amara stood in the doorway watching him go.
"The best thing that ever happened to me," she muttered. "Or the WORST."
Grandma came up beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "The ancestors are guiding you, child. Trust them."
"The ancestors better know what they're doing," Amara said.
"They always do."
Amara wasn't so sure.
But at 7 PM that night, she would find out.