The good fortune dance (fiction) .... A short story

"We will be going to the village next weekend, Adekemi; you will dance before the King and the entire kingdom." My father sat me down, reminding me for the umpteenth time this time around, with my mom joining my dad for the lecture. My dad had been singing into my life for two years now the traditional dance my family was to present before the community members. It has been a long-standing tradition to have the first daughter of every family dance before the people just before she turns eighteen.

"And what if I do not want to dance, Daddy?" I asked with uncertain boldness, even though I knew my dad would not want to hear such a thing. My dad’s expression quickly turned to a frown. My mom shot me a harsh look, making me wonder if I had committed sacrilege by asking the question. My dad paused for a while, making me uncomfortable with his silence and awkward look.

"And do you want to end up barren like your aunt, who refused to have her bloom traditional dance right before she clocked 18? What about Adebola, daughter of Chief Badamosi, who ran mad for not observing the dance? You are coming with us to the village, and that is final!" My dad finally spoke with a stern tone and stumbled out of his bedroom, leaving my mom and me in the room. I knew he was not happy with my skepticism. All this time, my mom kept silent and only observed the discussion between father and daughter.

"Come here, Adekemi, my daughter." My mom beckoned with a weak smile. Whenever she called me by my full name, I knew she had a serious message to say. "Come, sit here." She instructed, tapping her right side of the mattress as I walked toward her, away from the entrance door where I stood earlier.

"I know you are not comfortable with the dance, but for the sake of your younger sister, who stands the risk of calamity if you do not perform the required dance, Please, my baby, reason with your father and honor the tradition; perhaps good fortune will emanate from there. Please Adekemi." My mom pleaded, and refusing her was going to be difficult, if not impossible.

Okay, mom, I’ll do the dance." I replied reluctantly. My mom’s expression brightened immediately, and she drew me closer to her for a hug. I returned her hug by wrapping my arms around her. My resemblance to my mom was striking; however, she had a more mature face, and her height was a bit taller than mine. Oftentimes, passersby called us sisters, and we never argued with them; rather, it was amusing to receive such compliments.
Immediately we got to the village, our house was full of visitors who had come to welcome my dad.

Apparently, none of us had visited the village for a couple of years. I was summoned to the Queen’s chamber, where I met other young and beautiful ladies. My assumption of them being part of the dancers for the Bloom Festival was correct afterwards, and we were briefed about the performance the following day. The other ladies were eight, and they looked like they were locals. I could not decipher the whispers or perhaps the gossip among them, of course, unless one fair-skinned lady kept to herself.

"My name is Ifeoluwa; I guess you are from the city?" The fair-skinned lady approached, and her diction was enough to convince me she must have been compelled here just like me. We exchanged pleasantries, and our common displeasure about the bloom dance was the reason for the beginning of our friendship. The following Saturday morning, which was Bloom Dance Day, Ifeoluwa and I linked up and shared many thoughts and experiences, further solidifying our friendship. We were both based in Lagos, about 4 hours’ drive away, and we promised to reconnect once we left the village for the city.

We headed for the rehearsal venue, and there we realized other ladies from the village had been practicing before now. I was least perturbed, and Ifeoluwa had a carefree attitude about everything around her. At some point, I wondered who hated the bloom dance more, Ifeoluwa or me. Dancing had never been a problem for me, but I needed to adjust to the rhythmic dance. I caught up really fast with the steps; however, I would still be spotted as a stranger among them.

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By dusk, the palace's front yard was full as many, out of excitement, sought to see the bloom dance. My fidgety fingers soon gave out, and my anxiety was worsened by the separation from Ifeoluwa by the dance instructor. We were dressed in native attire, however, in white. My skirt was locally woven and barely made its way to my knee. I was glad I was not the first to perform, and I used the opportunity to memorize and weigh the performances of others. This bloom dance was not a competition, nor did it have a reward for the winners. The applause I heard after my performance was overwhelming, even though I felt I fumbled a lot.

"You danced well; my name’s Ademola." A voice spoke from behind me, causing me to turn to look at him. He had a tall, well-built physique.

"I kind of thought it was awful, but thank you for your compliment. My name is Adekemi." I replied with a chuckle. Sure, Ademola was quite handsome and had a good command of English. Ifeoluwa joined us after her dance performance amidst cheers. It was getting really dark, and we had to disperse to our various homes. Ademola, Ifeoluwa, and myself walked down to Ifeoluwa’s house before Ademola and I headed to my house. My younger sister, mom, and dad got home before me, and I seemed lost by my mom’s reaction when he sighted Ademola and me.

“How did you get the crown prince to walk you to the house? My mom asked after Ademola left. It was at that point that I discovered Ademola was royalty, leaving me speechless about his humility. We left for Lagos the following day, even though I found myself missing my weekend experience. Ademola and Ifeoluwa didn’t cease to keep in touch with me, and I was glad to have made the bloom dance, especially with the new friends I made there. I never bothered to know the fate of those that didn't partake or believe in the bloom dance. I would rather live in its ignorance.