The Ivory Rules: Excerpt 1

2008

RULE ONE

Family is the original secret society

Tell anyone and die

The bystander

March

Saluchi Itamuno was in the middle of it. In the middle of her parents’ cocktail hall. In the middle of the gathering of Lagos society all dressed in their Sunday best to eat and drink in her parents’ Ikoyi home. She drifted around the room, past ivory paneling, and chattering people. The soles of her nude Saint Laurent Bianca shoes touched subtle waterjet patterns on the marble floor, heading in no particular direction, ignoring the conversation around her, and the music, some new singer doing her best Fela impression.

All day yesterday, her mother had overseen the decorating to make sure it was done to her grandmother’s tastes. Lilies, peonies, and hydrangeas on every surface, filtered through the room to clash with the spicy food. Ivory, navy, wine and sky streamers, hung down light holders and Doric pillars. Ivory blackout curtains hid the daylight, chandeliers hid the difference.

The walls had carvings of the family shield and tribal soldiers. Gilded statues stood around the open space, eleven of them, her mother hated those. Saluchi scrunched her face at the strange figures, agreeing with her. They were a little tacky.

The ceiling was high above them all, a giant dome with a giant chandelier right in the middle. It dropped, plummeting, rattling its noisy chains and bulbs. She jerked her head up to watch it evaporate right over her, letting out a sharp breath. She always saw the particular chandelier crashing down on her.

Something about white walls reminded Saluchi of home. But when she opened her eyes for the first time that morning, the walls weren’t white. It was a normal day—once she ignored the things that weren’t normal about it—the last day of March, a cloudy Sunday. They were at the Lugard house. Her whole family was present at the same time—rare—and they were hosting the Lagos Brunch for the first time since she was six.

Her brother, TJ, stood with his friends by the buffet table across the room. She couldn’t spot the rest of her family in the almost crowded space, but she knew they were there, and their distant presence tethered her. She wanted to leave, to walk down the street till she reached Alfred Rewane, the wind in her face. Maybe she would run, so the wind could hit her hard, make her struggle to breathe.

Her own friends surrounded her, giggling, sipping apple juice when they’d rather have cocktails, talking about how nice her taffeta dress and platinum jewelry were when she wasn’t better dressed than any of them. But it was Sunday brunch, and she’d dressed better than usual. Last night, at the Governor’s daughter’s wedding dinner, she’d worn a denim dress and slip-ons. She hated drawing attention to herself. Her tangerine skin sought enough of it.

Ikena walked to her from across the room. They’d been together a month. She forced the widest smile. He reached her, took her hand in his, and leaned close to whisper in her ear. He didn’t need to. The playing jazz wasn’t loud enough to drown words.

“My parents want to talk to you,” he said. The rasp of his deepening voice should’ve excited her. It didn’t. He nudged her toward the north of the room. She sighed, allowing herself to be led while she looked around. Space and countless strangers buzzing like bees, fluttering like butterflies, and vast space between and around them all.

They walked past Tara standing with their father and men like him. In her little Ankara dress she’d brought with her from New York, she was a vision, something to stare at and wish upon. Time stood still for a moment, and Saluchi watched her sister talk, tipping her head back when she laughed, her deep laughter echoing, her hair extensions bouncing around her face. She wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but Tara looked like she was speaking with her peers. Saluchi saw herself in her sister’s place, shaking, stammering when someone asked about the global political climate, or how the stocks of major companies were doing this week, or even the weather today. Tara turned, and their eyes met. Tara puckered her lips, air-kissing Saluchi from afar.

Just say whatever pops in your head, one of Tara’s famous sayings. She smiled at Tara and faced forward again. The problem was nothing ever popped in her head in those situations.

Saluchi is one of my most favorite characters I have ever made up. What do you think of her so far?

Read the next post for Excerpt 2. Subscribe to my mailing list to receive a longer preview.

The Ivory Rules: Blurb

An ambitious PR executive in the commercial city of Lagos finds herself in an oppressive traditionalist society after her mother encourages her to agree to an arranged marriage. Lara spends the next two decades struggling to escape the Ekon Trust her family has belonged to for generations, and when it looks like she’s found a way out, her teenage daughter, Saluchi, is named head of the youth sect. To leave, she must abandon Saluchi.

This family saga spans seventy years, uncovering an uncanny pattern in the lives of five generations of Nigerian women. It is an escape into the conservative world of Nigerian high society, exploring social rules, traditions, alliances, and dynasties, all against a backdrop of Nigeria’s political history.

Read the next post for Excerpt 1. Subscribe to my mailing list to receive a longer preview.

One Eighty: Part 1

"The human mind has a primitive defense mechanism that negates all realities that produce too much stress for the brain to handle. It is called 'denial'."

Empty

Alone

Vast void in my heart

Know how I feel

Feel how I feel

Then maybe I would not feel so alone

I want to forget, yet I desperately want to remember

If I forget, you’ll be deader than you already are

Then I will be dead

I need to keep remembering you

I need others to know you

April

April makes art

That’s all she does

Something comes upon her

A spirit, and she makes art

That’s all she knows

And grief

April knows grief too

For a long time grief is all April has known

And now,

Grief is all she feels

It is the air she breaths

It flows through her being

Like oxygen, it pumps in her heart, in her blood

It feeds her brain

It emits with her carbon dioxide to form and mold her consciousness, her aura

It forms her spirit

Everything about her speaks of true, deep grief

Disconnected from what is real, her heart and soul have drifted away to find whatever it is that she has lost

They will not give up on their search, they maybe never will

I was April

I was April but now I am lost.

That time very long ago, I was very very happy

I had love

My eyes flip open.

It is daytime

The stream of blinding light in my face is not a surprise

It has been day time for a long time

Only, I did not want to admit it until the last possible minute when I cannot evade

the inevitability of being alive any longer

Lying in bed motionless is becoming impossible

The sheet is too rumpled from my incessant tossing and turning

The new mattress is hard

I have thrown out the old one because it had his smell all over it and thinking of

him was too hard

Irrational, I know

He is coming back.

It isn’t like he is gone forever!

But somehow, six months feels like a long time

I don’t want to spend it all thinking about him

And so I need to minimize my contact with anything that reminds me of him

Which is impossible anyway, since this entire house is stamped with his essence

His smell

His sound

I look around the room, and I see him move about, a towel wrapped around his lower body,

He is getting his clothes from the polished wooden dresser, his handwork, while swabbing another towel through his dark black hair

I can see distinctly the water escape in droplets from the ringlets of hair to fall to his slim, pronounced nose

I watch the drip drop trickle down to the floor from the tip of his nose as he listens attentively to me talking

Only, I am not talking anymore, I have stopped to watch him

I watch him as he moves

His presence, his being, commanding the space as he moves around in long, confident strides from one spot to another

My protector, my soldier

I feel strength in him

He turns abruptly to look at me

He has noticed I am not talking anymore

And he has stopped to watch me too

He moves his lips perhaps to ask why I had stopped or to tell me to continue

But no words come out

Or perhaps I just cannot hear as I am now lost in the depth of his pale, bottomless grey eyes

And then he is gone

Or I have woken up from a dream I am not aware I am dreaming

I blink

And I feel a fleeting need to wail

I look up to the ceiling, the wood panel stripes

He is gone

Chance

I jerk, opening my eyes suddenly, and sit up

It felt like an electric shock had just jolted me awake

Or like I was falling fast and suddenly wasn't falling anymore

Did I sleep without knowing and have just woken up again

Or did I dream what seems like the last few minutes

I rub my eyes roughly with the back of my palms

I am not looking forward to today.

Watch out for Part 2 next Sunday.