And then he walked away.
The words stayed with her long after the SUVs disappeared.
The chief returned the following week. Then again the week after that.
At first, his visits to Bolanle’s stall seemed harmless. He bought tomatoes. Asked questions. Spoke gently about village life, struggle, and missed opportunities.
Then the tone changed.
“You are too intelligent for this place,” he told her one afternoon.
“You deserve more.”
No one had spoken to her that way before.
Not even Toby.
Soon he began bringing gifts. A silk scarf. Imported chocolate. A pair of fine shoes. Bolanle tried to refuse at first, but temptation is strongest when it comes dressed as possibility.
One evening, just before sunset, Chief Balogun said it plainly.
“You should visit Lagos.”
“Why?” Bolanle asked.
He smiled slowly.
“Because life can be very different there. A woman like you should not spend her life struggling.”
That night, while Toby and the girls slept, Bolanle lay awake staring at the ceiling.
For years, she had believed her life was already decided: poor husband, poor home, five daughters, endless hardship.
Now another life seemed to be whispering to her.
Comfort.
Status.
Escape.
And before dawn, she chose it.
The morning Bolanle left began like any other.
Roosters crowed before sunrise. A thin mist hung above the red earth roads. Women lit cooking fires. The smell of boiling cassava drifted through the air.
Toby woke first. He stood quietly over his sleeping daughters, smiling faintly at the sight of them. Then he stepped outside, splashed water on his face, and stretched his aching back.
A new day meant another chance. Maybe someone would need a table repaired. Maybe the school would approve the desk order he had been waiting for.
Inside, Bolanle was already awake, standing by the doorway, staring out at the road.
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