Inside Out, page 7
Both her hands hold onto the towel, covering her nakedness, while she tries to calm her rapid breathing and collect her composure.
“The wrong princess?” Queen Jesam asks quietly after using a second to cover up her shock at the appalling behaviour of her friend’s daughter. Nkoyo takes in the svelte woman with smooth dark skin, a regal carriage but dressed in yoga pants, a long cotton top and flip flops, with a very generic hair bonnet covering her hair. Is this another relative? She did possess some slight resemblance to the gorgeous – the man from earlier.
The woman is probably one of those relatives hanging around royalty, picking the crumbs. God knows, there are many of those back home. She recognises the type who exudes airs just because they consider themselves related to royalty. Straightening to her full height and extruding a more regal stance, Nkoyo looks down dismissively at the woman and asks her own question.
“And who are you to be asking me stupid questions?”
Jesam chokes in disbelief at her audacity. Asuquo and Affy weren’t exaggerating when they described their daughter’s attitude. She is precisely like Queen Uyai.
“I am Queen Jesam, the only wife to King Liman. We rule this torpid kingdom, as you so elegantly put,” Jesam says and is relieved to see some sort of regret in the girl’s eyes. At least she isn’t so far gone in arrogance that she doesn’t feel guilty for insulting a queen, albeit unknowingly, she thinks.
“Um…I didn’t realize,” Nkoyo mutters soberly. Still, it only lasts a second before her eyes flash defiantly at the queen again.
“I see that,” Jesam says calmly with a half-smile, treating Nkoyo like a child. Then, she moves into the room, depicting her status despite the very ordinary clothes.
“I also see that you didn’t apologize for all you’ve said.”
Nkoyo lifts her head obstinately. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I was telling the truth. I have actually suffered these inconveniences.”
“True, and I apologize for that. It was inconsiderate of me. But was your approach to complain, right?” Jesam asks, feeling like she was at a debate. Her gaze roams the untidy room littered with the princess’s clothes.
“I do not suffer mediocrity gladly and don’t have much patience,” Nkoyo retorts belligerently.
“But you should. Pardon me, but why do you think we harbour the wrong princess?” Jesam smiles curiously.
“I left my house, my palace, intending to visit another palace for lessons on leadership and ruling. Then I find myself here. I think this is a huge mistake. I think another palace, a befitting one, is missing my presence right now. And even though I haven’t had a cellular connection on my phone to reach out to my father, I believe I would be searched for soon.”
She is worse than her parents mentioned, Jesam decides. The queen had wondered how to manage the princess. Now she knows the princess will not require kid gloves treatment. She needs to be knocked down several pegs. One of her lessons is that her status as a noble person and her bloated self-importance can be rendered useless in a twinkle of an eye. Affy’s daughter needs to understand she is human despite her royal lineage.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, Nkoyo, but it has to be done,” Jesam expresses her regret.
Nkoyo frowns suspiciously at her too nice tone, “What do you mean?”
“It means that as queen if I don’t flex my royal muscle, as you have clearly done, I will be remiss in my duty. You have insulted not just me but my husband, the king, and the entire kingdom. What kind of punishment do you think that entails, hmm?” she asks pleasantly.
“You cannot do that to me. I am a princess!” Nkoyo declares heatedly.
“Oh, I can. You see, I am a queen.” Jesam chuckles at the incongruity of the situation.
“What are you going to do?” Nkoyo asks in trepidation, even though she valiantly tries to hide it.
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll think of something,” she replies breezily while moving towards the door.
“I don’t believe this,” the young woman mutters in disbelief, “My father, king Asuquo of Efik Kingdom, will not stand for this!”
“Do you want to bet on that?” Jesam asks her, the smile totally erased from her face.
Nkoyo looks confused and a bit deflated. Really thinking about it, the whole situation seems planned to her, beginning from when her parents refused to reveal her destination. Her own ego stopped her from seeing through their ruse.
“I didn’t think so,” Jesam says and flashes a smile again. “I’m expecting you for breakfast in ten minutes.”
“But I don’t have what to wear!” she screams in dismay.
“You are a smart girl. You’ll figure something out. Or if not, you could add to your unknown punishment. Your choice,” Jesam says and walks out, leaving Nkoyo stripped of her powers now, anyway.
I’m enjoying the shock on Nkoyo’s face. It’s blatant disbelief. Her mouth is open for a better part of a minute, speechless. No one, not even her parents, will dare to believe what just transpired. It totally makes my day to see princess Nkoyo bested. Ha! Now I wonder how Wofai is fairing after her scream debacle.
8
In the Efik palace, Queen Affy recovers quicker than anybody else who experienced Wofai’s strange behaviour. As a mother, she quickly notices the instant dismay and the tears in the girl’s eyes. So, she jerks into action, manoeuvring the stair smartly, despite her bulk, to get to the girl before she further embarrasses herself.
Affy dismisses all the workers the moment she steps into the front yard.
“Why are all of you gawking at her? Leave this moment! I have always warned that serving isn’t always about doing things for people. Sometimes, it is about not doing,” she admonishes while laying a comforting hand on Wofai’s shoulder and glaring at her workers until they all disappear.
The queen does not fail to notice the confusion on their faces.
Of course, it is expected, as they’ve never met a self-sufficient princess who is slighted if she isn’t allowed to do things herself. Then there is her strange reaction.
“No need for tears, dear,” Affy says while leading the girl into the house. “I do feel frustrated at times, too, when it seems I can’t boil water for myself without the cook worrying that she might be losing her job.”
Wofai heaves, and chuckles when she imagines the appalled cook’s expression at the queen's presence in the kitchen.
“Darling, our guest has arrived,” Affy announces unnecessarily to her approaching husband. Her hand remains on Wofai’s shoulder as though in silent support.
“Good afternoon, your majesty,” Wofai stammers, cowering as the impressively tall king makes his way into the magnificent sitting room. Everything in the Efik palace seems so much larger than life, and it isn’t helping Wofai’s complex one bit.
Asuquo notices the girl cringe from him, and he considerately stops several feet from her. His friends had not exaggerated about their daughter’s strangeness.
“Please, no majesties. Sir will just be fine, okay?” Asuquo asks kindly and watches her sigh and nod, but with an abashed expression.
“How was the journey over here?” Affy smiles while directing a worker to place the tray of water and juice on the coffee table.
“It was okay,” Wofai replies in a husky voice. As usual, her voice had gone hoarse as it did every time she screamed.
“Wow, I have to say you have a pair of lungs on you,” Asuquo comments jokingly.
Wofai flinches as though slapped. When she glances up, she discovers the king seems impressed by her. An unusual feeling of pride suffuses her for a second before her insecurities knock it down.
“I agree with you, darling. Tell me, Wofai, do you sing?” Affy asks pleasantly.
“Sometimes,” Wofai mutters.
“You should sing all the time. Your pitch is great.”
Asuquo chuckles at his wife’s comment while making himself comfortable on a seat, separate from the one his wife and guest sat. He gives Wofai a conspiratorial wink. “Let me assure you, my queen is probably envious of that pitch, she sings—”
“Darling!” Affy huffs in mock consternation, interrupting her husband, “No need to wash dirty linens.”
“Ah, nothing bad in what I said. Wofai is like family,” Asuquo says, gesturing to the girl who now has a slight smile growing on her face.
Affy shakes her head exasperatingly while she lifts the glass of water and hands it to Wofai.
“Thank you,” the princess croaks and wonders how the woman had known that she’d been incredibly parched. She finishes the glass of water and clears her throat. The queen collects the empty glass from her when she would have pulled out of her seat to drop it.
“Thank you,” she murmurs again, feeling out of place at the open friendliness of the monarchs. Monarchs are supposed to be scary and authoritative, well, except her parents. She didn’t think other monarchs could converse this casually.
“I apologize about my attire. I should have—” the queen interrupts her stammered excuse.
“No, honey, your attire is just fine,” Affy says, wishing her daughter would deign to dress like her age occasionally.
“Don’t mind our attire at the moment,” Asuquo adds because he sees her speculative look on their elaborate clothing. “We were on our way out when you arrived.”
Wofai accepts their explanation with a nod. Not wanting the silence to get awkward, the queen offers to take her to her room. The room is as magnificent as the rest of the palace. The Efiks are true to their reputation. They don’t do things minutely.
The queen shows her the bell's location on the wall if she needs anything from the staff. Anything at all, she assures before leaving to attend an occasion with her husband.
Wofai is left alone in the mighty room with the scent of peaches in the air. It doesn’t smell like an air freshener. It smells like perfume. When she opens the wardrobe and finds it filled with an unholy amount of clothes, she realises that this is someone’s room, their daughter, possibly.
All the clothes are regal and fancy. Nothing casual hangs in there.
Goodness, does the Efik princess attend parties daily? Wondering, Wofai’s eyes bulge at the array of expensive fabrics made into elaborate designs. She also speculates about the location of the room’s owner at this moment.
With nothing else to do, she lifts her case onto the bed and proceeds to neatly unpack her clothes. She realises there is no space to store her clothes in the wardrobe, so she puts them back in the bag, looks around and decides to use the writing table as the stand. Then she leaves the zip open to easily get anything she wants from it.
It is against Wofai’s nature to stay idle, but she tries, fiddling with her phone and wondering if she should call her parents. She decides not to. She is served dinner in the room, and she sleeps soundly throughout the night.
This morning though, is different. There is no way she’ll be cooped up in the room, doing nothing. Wofai is awake at five am. She takes her bath and dresses in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. With her hair still in a bonnet, she wears flip-flops and leaves the room searching for what to do.
It is an adventure to her as she retraces her steps and tries to find the kitchen. She roams for about fifteen minutes. First, she locates the dining room and the throne room, which are extremely impressive. She finally stumbles into the expansive kitchen after walking through other magnificently-furnished areas that she can’t fathom their uses.
The kitchen is a dream. It boasts of all the appliances a kitchen should have. Not that her home didn’t own these appliances, but theirs weren’t as fancy as the ones here.
“Good morning,” she greets the robust woman who has her back to her as she enters the kitchen.
The woman starts and turns.
“Oh my, you startled me…good morning, princess,” she says with a broad welcoming smile.
“I’m sorry for startling you,” Wofai apologises quite sincerely while moving into the kitchen and looking around, in the process missing the confused look on the cook’s face who didn’t expect the apology.
“Are…are you lost?” the cook asks, immediately wiping her wet hands, preparing to show her out if that is the case.
Wofai returns her gaze to the woman.
“No, I’m not lost; I was actually looking for the kitchen. What are you preparing?” she asks with interest and moves towards the woman’s workstation.
The cook seems unsure how to act with the visiting princess. She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, especially after hearing about her strange behaviour the previous day. With a deep breath, she gestures to the fresh fish she’d been gutting.
“That is one big fish,” Wofai exclaims in wonder, her eyes widening. The fish has the length of a rolled yoga mat. “Is it for breakfast?”
Cook shakes her head. “It’s for lunch. I just want to prepare it now,” she says and is glad when the kettle whistles, signalling that the boiling water is ready. She turns, picks up the kettle, and pours the hot water over the fish.
Wofai watches in fascination as the woman works. She waits until she completely submerges the fish in boiling water before asking why.
“This species of fresh fish is slippery. The hot water cleans off that slippery layer,” the cook explains freely, beginning to feel less threatened by the princess. She is still on guard, though, because with these royalties, one can never tell. Princess Nkoyo had inspired only terror the few times she’d ventured into the kitchen.
Cook works quickly and with precision. After the hot water, the fish is cleaned like any ordinary fish. Wofai doesn’t have questions since she knows how to do that already.
“So, what’s for breakfast?” she asks after Cook cuts, seasons, and places the fresh fish on the gas.
Cook sighs in exasperation, “Princess….”
“My name is Wofai,” she says in a way that suggests her name should be used. She notices the cook’s apprehensive attitude around her, and it isn’t helping her insecurities at all. Even while she suggests her name, she feels the undeniable stirrings of annoyance in the pit of her stomach.
The cook looks flustered and uncertain.
“Wofai,” she breathes, “The queen will not be happy to find you here. I think you should leave…I don’t want to lose my job.”
Wofai stands back at her words, and the familiar upset in her belly unfurls to its full strength. Her face twists, and her breath picks up speed.
The cook instantly sees her mistake, but she is witless as to how to rectify it. She watches as the princess grasps the table and takes deep breaths, obviously trying to control her temper, but it doesn’t seem to be working. A groan escapes her throat as though she is in pain.
“Oh, there you are!” the queen exclaims and breezes into the kitchen in her nightgown and frilly housecoat.
Wofai thinks she looks like a fairy godmother, and the idea has a calming effect on the simmering in her stomach.
“Good morning, majesty,” cook immediately greets. The relief on her face is noticeable.
Affy smiles at Cook and moves to place a comforting hand on Wofai’s shoulder, “I hope you slept well.”
“Yes, majesty, I did,” Wofai croaks, still experiencing dismay at what she almost did. She looks apologetically at Cook before lowering her head and looking defeated.
Cook’s eyes catch that of the queen in mutual understanding. The child needs a lot of help and moulding.
“What are you up this early?” Affy asks, watching the young woman’s uncertainty about what to say.
“Oh, the princess is just about to help me with breakfast,” Cook quickly intervenes in a jittery voice.
Wofai flashes a shocked but grateful look, and cook nods, confirming her reply to the queen.
“So, you’ll allow Wofai in here to help but not me?” Affy scoffs, touching her chest with a smile. “Anyway, today, you’ll have to deal with two for the price of one.”
Cook chuckles. “I appreciate all the help I can get, majesty.”
She bustles around, amassing all the ingredients for breakfast.
Wofai’s breathing normalises. The women are striving to make her comfortable, and she appreciates it. She joins their camaraderie, helping with breakfast and sincerely hoping she’ll not have to use her scream ever again.
Well, don’t hold your breath. That last wish is a long shot.
***
Onen doesn’t consider himself a daydreamer or someone easily susceptible to seduction or obsession with the memory of it.
He has proof of this assumption.
When he was in the UK, one of the women in his class had been into him. She had a figure that could melt a man’s heart and hadn’t hidden her interest in him, although he hadn’t reciprocated it. Once at a house party, she’d tried to force the issue by giving him a strip tease. Even if he were not to be in love with his girlfriend then, which he’d been, the woman’s nakedness wouldn’t have done anything for him. He’d just not been into her. And as expected, she’d failed to understand this and had called him gay.
Shaking his head tiredly, he pulls off his shoe.
So, if the naked former classmate did nothing for him, why then couldn’t he stop thinking of the lady he saw in Wofai’s room?
The whole scenario couldn’t have lasted a minute. Everything ended in seconds. However, the picture of her in the awkward position refuses to leave his brain.
Even more shocking was the precise detail in his mind, like the pebble of a nipple peeking through the soft cotton of the sleeveless gown.
Onen groans quite loudly at the image. He is disgusted with himself for feeling this way.
“Are you okay, honey?” his mother asks from the doorway of his room, and he turns with a start to watch her manoeuvre a tray of food and close the door as softly as she’d opened it.
“I’m fine, Ma,” Onen grumbles while busily pulling off his shirt from the waist of his trousers and pointedly avoiding his mother’s searching gaze.
