‘Criminal!’ I hissed after the flashy vehicle. Was it his dirty money that had constructed the road?

Ola and I had done this journey between her house and mine several times before. It was best enjoyed in the late evening – when there were fewer cars on the road, when the ill-tempered sun was taking its leave, when a fresh breeze was fanning the skin. Walking with Ola was magical. We would take slow steps and talk about everything – our dreams, our fears, what happened to us during the day, how we had spent our time. Usually, I did most of the serious talking. But once in a while, she raised some heavy issues.

‘My mother was asking me some things about you today,’ she said sometime towards the end of my stay in school.

‘Oh, really? What did she want to know?’

‘She was asking how I was sure that you would still be interested in marrying me when you finished school and got a good job in an oil company.’

I laughed. Ola’s laughter was much smaller.

‘She was going on about how she wasted her life trying to please my father, only for him to leave her for someone else.’

I stopped laughing. It had been a painful experience for them. Following the birth of the first two girls, Ola’s father had made it quite clear to their mother that what he now wanted was a boy. Three girls later, he began his coalition with another woman, who agreed to bring forth sons only if he married her. Without informing his existing family, Ola’s father paid the woman’s bride price, arranged a traditional marriage ceremony, and moved in with her. So far, the newer bride had popped out two bouncing baby girls.

‘How can she think I’m so fickle?’ I asked indignantly. ‘She obviously doesn’t know how much you mean to me.’

‘That’s what I told her,’ Ola smiled, and squeezed my hand.

But there was still something else on her mind. It came after a few paces of silence.

‘Kings, but how come you haven’t given me a ring?’ she asked.