21/04/2025
Title: The Last Harmattan
Nneoma had the kind of smile that made people forget the harshness of the Harmattan wind. She lived with her mother and younger brother in a small bungalow surrounded by mango trees. Her life was simpleāshe sold fruits at Ogige Market and dreamed of becoming a teacher.
Then came Chuka.
He was the new NYSC corps member, posted from Lagos to teach English at the local secondary school. Tall, dark, and filled with city energy, he wore glasses that made him look like he read too much, and he spoke Igbo with a deep Lagos accent that made Nneoma laugh.
Their first real conversation happened when he bought oranges from her stall.
"You added extra. Is this how you run your business?"
"And you, corper, is this how you flirt?" she teased.
From then on, their lives intertwined like the red and white beads of traditional love charms.
They shared roasted corn by the roadside, danced at village weddings, and stayed up late talking about dreams under the moonlight. Chuka promised her the worldāa life beyond Nsukka, where the dust didnāt settle on dreams. He said he would come back after his service year and marry her.
And she believed him.
**Two years later....
The Harmattan had returned, dry and cold, but Chuka hadn't.
Nneoma still walked the same dusty paths, her smile dimmed. He stopped answering her calls. She heard from a mutual friend that he now worked with a tech firm in Victoria Islandāand was engaged to someone "from a good family."
Heartbroken but proud, Nneoma never reached out again. She refused to be anyoneās village story.
One evening, during a school outreach she had volunteered forānow a qualified teacher herselfāshe saw him.
He looked the same, maybe more polished, but there was something in his eyes when he saw her standing confidently before a group of children.
"Hi, Nneoma."
"Hello, Chuka."
Silence.
āIāI thought about you often.ā
She smiled gently. āThen why did you disappear like smoke in Harmattan?ā
He lowered his eyes.
āIām sorry.ā
āI forgave you a long time ago,ā she said, then walked away, her head held high.
Because sometimes love doesnāt end with a kiss. Sometimes, it ends with dignity.
Favour's Corner
