Chapter 3 - The Bargain Made During the Famine
"You knew?"
Olanma's voice was barely audible.
Bamidele stepped inside the forbidden room, carefully avoiding the clay bowls.
"I've known for years."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because my father warned me that interfering with the bargain could destroy everything this family owns."
Olanma stared at him with disbelief.
"You think I care about the wealth?"
Bamidele's expression hardened.
"Perhaps you should. Thousands of people depend on what Chief Akinwale has built."
"Thousands of people?"
She pointed toward the open book.
"And how many have suffered so that we could become rich?"
For the first time, Bamidele looked uncomfortable.
But he said nothing.
Olanma slowly lowered herself onto a wooden stool.
Her thoughts traveled back nearly forty years.
Back to the season when Agone had almost disappeared beneath hunger and despair.
At that time, Olanma was a young mother struggling to raise her only surviving son.
Akinwale was nine years old.
His father, Ayodele, had died during the famine.
The family had already sold nearly everything they possessed.
Their farmland had become dry and useless.
Their cattle were gone.
Their food store stood empty.
Every morning, Olanma walked from village to village begging for enough grain to keep her child alive.
But the entire kingdom was suffering.
Families who once shared their meals now struggled to feed themselves.
One evening, young Akinwale collapsed beside the cooking fire.
His breathing was shallow.
His skin burned with fever.
Olanma held him against her chest throughout the night.
"Mother," he whispered, "will there be food tomorrow?"
She kissed his forehead.
"Yes, my son."
It was a promise she had no idea how to keep.
The following morning, an elderly stranger appeared near the abandoned storehouse at the edge of the village.
He wore a weathered brown robe and carried a carved walking stick.
Although the surrounding earth was dry, his feet appeared wet.
Olanma had never seen him before.
Yet he addressed her by name.
"You have prayed for food," he said.
She stared at him.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who hears promises."
He gestured toward the abandoned building.
"Come inside."
Olanma hesitated.
But desperation overcame her fear.
Inside the building stood seven clay bowls and a large leather-bound book.
The stranger explained that the bowls represented the seven villages of Agone.
Then he offered her something no ordinary person could promise.
"Your son will survive. Your fields will flourish. His descendants will never know hunger."
Olanma fell to her knees.
"Please. Save him."
The stranger remained still.
"Every gift has a cost."
"What do you want?"
"Your descendants will gather extraordinary wealth. But prosperity gained beyond what the earth freely gives must come from somewhere."
Olanma frowned.
"I don't understand."
"When your family's fields overflow, the balance will be taken from other fields. When your cattle multiply, others will suffer losses. Your house will grow while neighboring houses struggle."
She stared at him in horror.
"No. I cannot agree to that."
The stranger turned toward the doorway.
"Then return to your son."
Olanma thought of Akinwale lying helpless beside the cold cooking fire.
She thought of his small voice asking whether food would come tomorrow.
"Wait!"
The stranger stopped.
"Is there another way?"
"There will always be a way to restore what is taken. But the debt must be acknowledged."
He opened the leather book.
"Until that day, your family's most precious future will stand as security."
Olanma looked at the empty page.
"What does that mean?"
"The first daughter born to your son's household will be called when she reaches her eighth year. If the debt remains unpaid, she will belong to the silence behind this door."
Olanma recoiled.
"No!"
"Then refuse."
The stranger closed the book.
Outside, thunder rolled across the empty sky.
Olanma imagined her son dying before sunrise.
Her mind became trapped between two unbearable possibilities.
A child she could save immediately.
And a child who did not yet exist.
She convinced herself that years of prosperity would give her time to undo the bargain.
She would share the wealth.
She would return what was borrowed.
She would find another way.
And so, in the most terrible moment of her life, she made a decision that would haunt generations.
"I agree," she whispered.
The stranger opened the book again.
"Remember this, Olanma. A closed door does not erase an unpaid promise."
She placed her thumb against the page.
The seven clay bowls trembled.
A sudden wind rushed through the building.
And somewhere in the distance, rain began falling.
By morning, Akinwale's fever had broken.
Within weeks, their farmland turned green.
Before the next planting season ended, their harvests exceeded anything the family had previously imagined.
Their prosperity grew year after year.
Olanma told herself the stranger had been a messenger of blessing.
But deep inside, she knew better.
Whenever a neighboring family lost its harvest, she remembered the seven bowls.
Whenever someone praised Akinwale's wealth, she remembered the book.
And when Olanike was born, she finally understood the full horror of what she had done.
Back in the forbidden room, Olanma covered her face.
"I thought I could find a way before her birthday."
Bamidele watched her silently.
"My father kept copies of the agreement," he finally said.
"Where are they?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Give them to me!"
He shook his head.
"Not until you understand something. If the agreement is broken carelessly, every field connected to your family's fortune could fail. People will starve."
Olanma rose.
"Then we must return what belongs to them."
Bamidele's eyes narrowed.
"Do you really believe Chief Akinwale will surrender everything?"
"He is a good man."
"A good man who has spent his entire life believing he earned what he owns."
Olanma moved toward the doorway.
"Then I will tell him the truth."
Bamidele stepped aside.
But before she could leave, another voice spoke from the passage.
"You won't have to."
Chief Akinwale stood outside the room.
His face was pale.
His hands trembled.
May you like
And the look in his eyes was unlike anything his mother had ever seen.
"Tell me one thing," he whispered. "Did you trade my daughter's life for our family's fortune?"
