This was no ordinary beggar.
On the night before the wedding, Adama sat behind the house under the moon. Obina appeared again.
“I know this is not the life you wanted,” he said gently. “If after the wedding you want to leave, I won’t force you to stay.”
Adama stared at him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I am not here to punish you. I only wanted someone who could see beyond what is on the surface.”
She looked at him carefully. “Who are you really?”
He gave a faint smile. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
The wedding the next morning was small and joyless. No drums, no dancing, no celebration. Just a pastor, a table, a Bible, her cruel relatives, and the man the village believed was a crippled beggar.
When the pastor asked if she would take Obina as her husband, Adama looked into his eyes.
They were the only kind eyes in the room.
“I do,” she whispered.
Moments later, the ceremony was over.
No one hugged her. No one hurts her. She walked out of her uncle’s compound without a single tear.
She was done crying.
But then everything changed.
Instead of taking the bush path, Obina led her to a black SUV waiting under a tree. A uniformed driver stepped out and opened the door.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the man said respectfully.
Adama froze.
Inside the car, she sat in stunned silence. Air conditioning. Leather seats. A driver calling her husband “sir.”
She turned to him. “Tell me the truth. Who are you?”
Obina looked at her continuously. “My name is Obina Wuku.”
Her eyes widened. She knew that name.
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