Ọmọ Ọba

The King’s Daughter

Hey guys,

This is developing into a fictional series, so, if you haven’t read previous chapters, please click on the link and follow through for more depth and understanding of the characters 💕

LET’S DIVE IN, SHALL WE?

---

True to his word, a contract was delivered to the house at 9am.

Hard copy, polished and professional. I half expected to receive it via email but on the right corner of the first page, it read, "something to hold on to" subtly giving away glimpses of his personality.

I could never really explain why I accepted Kayode's offer. It wasn't even about the money, the money was just a "thank you for your effort". A contingency plan, something to put in a trust for the rainy days.

The offer, it was something more.

My father and everyone else seemed to have an agenda, he offered his house on the Island the moment he heard I said yes. "Omo mi, take the one with the view of the ocean, I know you like the quiet."

He put the house in "our name" for the six-month duration, winking to the lawyer that he "trusts" Kayode.

I'm not silly, I knew I was walking into a sinking sand with eyes open, I just couldn't figure out why.

Kayode had the charisma. He also had the air of someone carrying a burden, a war bigger than him.

Two minutes into the conversation and anyone paying attention could smell the desperation on him. The skill to deflect, to poke holes, searching for gaps, the need to be wanted. Accepted.

I don't pick up strays. So this wasn't an attempt to show him to light or worse, to fix him. Ew.

But this haze revolved around me. My name. My hand. And I wanted to find out why.

Why was Baba mixing me into his affairs? He never did that, not like this. He has made decisions that changed the course of my life before, yes, but they were always distant, calculated from afar. Always in a way to put me in control, like a guardian angel or even God.

But this one felt personal, close.

And maybe it started long before the contract, maybe it started the day he found me.

---

You see, I met Baba when I was six.

I was sitting by the bus stop at Iwo Road, clutching a creased picture of him with his phone number written at the back and a sack bag that sagged on one side.

My rubber slippers didn’t match. One blue, the other pink, and the left one kept slipping off. My hair was stiff with dust, and the sun beat down so hard it felt like it wanted to split my skull.

My mother had died of tuberculosis in Jos and as a dying wish, she begged our neighbour, Ladi, the woman who sold kunu, to put me on a bus to Ibadan.

I wasn't able to kiss her goodbye or massage her feet the way she liked. One minute I was in her room, watching her chest rise and fall. The next, I was on a cracked bus seat with a note pinned inside my pocket, and whispered promises of a better life with a big man I had never met.

"Tiaraoluwa?" He said my name like a question, squatting to meet my eyes. I spat at him.

I expected him to scream, to match my rage, to grab me and display the hate in his eyes. But he just wiped his face with a cloth, chuckled, and said,

"Ọmọ baba rẹ gidi ni e. You're truly your father’s daughter."

I didn’t know what to make of that. Or of him.

So for the next few days, I shadowed him from a distance, watching his habits, his silence, the way he always stood still for a few seconds before opening the front door like he was walking into a memory.

On the third day, during breakfast, he lifted his head and asked,

“Have you found what you’ve been searching for?”

I didn’t have a response, so I just kept eating.

"Omo mi, when I ask you a question, you respond" he said, brows lifted questionably and eyes staring holes into my head.

I thought about it for a minute. This man, with the big house, red Volkswagen, and an outfit 3 times his size, so much that he had to repeatedly lift his hands to adjust it perfectly on his shoulders.

What was I searching for? Resemblance?

I dropped the oversized metal spoon on the "fine china" as he earlier called it, and lifted my eyes to match his gaze,

"You say you're my father, why haven't I met you before? Aunty Ladi said you're a rich man, everyone greets you lying down or kneeling, but my mother died coughing.

I paused.

“ I spat on you and you laughed at me. Why am I here? Why would she send me to a man who never came to see me?"

He smiled, seemingly proud of my questions.

Baba was an odd man, you could never really predict his reaction, and a part of me admired that.

I barely knew him at the time, but in some ways, I wanted to be like him.

He took a sip of his water and responded,

"You see, I didn't say anything to you because I wasn't sure how I was going to make you understand. But I was wrong, you're a smart girl, my Ariyike. You will understand".

"Ariyike?" I questioned, confused by the name change, "who is that?"

It's you. Your other name”, he responded, "It means, the one who is worthy of being cherished. I gave you that name the day you were born".

He let this revelation hang in the air and before I could speak, he continued talking.

“The time you were born, there was chaos,” he said slowly. “The brotherhood was falling apart from the inside. Men who once sat at the same table were turning on each other. Friends became threats. If they couldn’t ruin you, they went after your family.”

He paused, staring into a memory I couldn’t see. “Your mother was scared. Bumi, her closest friend, had just died. She wanted to run. I told her I’d fix it.”

His eyes were distant and his forehead was tight. He lifted his cup for a sip of water but didn’t drink. "I didn't know who was behind the betrayals, not yet, but I had a plan. I knew someone who that could make it end. One last deal to protect what was mine."

He chuckled, darkly this time. "The plan worked. But by the time I got back, your mother was gone. She had left with you that afternoon. No trace, as though she disappeared.

I was glued to my seat and locked into this story so much that I didn't notice him leaving the room. His chair scraped the rug covered floor, announcing his entrance and bringing me down from my thoughts.

He came back with an envelope.

"You haven't met me because I didn't know where to find you, where to find her." Jos?", He whispered, "who did she know there?" He questioned, slipping briefly into his thoughts.

"Is the war over?" I asked.

He looked at me, held my gaze. “Yes.”

The air between us was thick, sharp with unspoken words.

"How did it end?" I pressed further. He stared at me, searching my eyes for proof to convince himself to stop talking. So I met his gaze, matching its intensity and edging him on.

"I killed him".

He slid an envelope across the table and sighed, “It’s me and you Ariyike. I’ll protect you and show you what it means to be the daughter of a king. Ọmọ Ọba.”

The envelope contained a picture of him carrying me as a baby and a letter from my mother.

I respected him, in absolute awe of the man that is my father.

Baba Adeyemi.

He is a man of his word and all these years later, I’m a testament to it.

So whatever this thing was, this thing with Kayode, it aged me. And it was laced with something bigger: words, honour, loyalty, obligation.

I was going to find out what it was.

---

I had just zipped up my final box when Kayode’s car pulled into the compound.

It was 6 p.m.

---

Let’s Talk

What did you think about this chapter? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments section.

Support my work 💕