SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: ATINUKE (Chapter Eleven)

 

PROVERBS 18:24B 

The invite had read "a touch of Ankarafabulousness” a playful twist of words that made Bugo chuckle as she stood in front of her mirror, styling her hair with care. 

Her new look was a braided front that gave way to a lush Afro puff at the back, a fusion that felt both modern and rooted. She had asked the stylist at The Deloitte Hairs to thread two strands on each side of her face and decorate them with ancient-looking ivory beads, each bead catching the light as she moved, adding a playful, girlish charm that whispered of heritage and boldness. She loved her hair. It made her feel grounded, yet elevated. Regal, yet approachable.

As she patted her face with gentle dabs of setting powder, she took her time to apply her new matte lipstick, a rich terracotta shade that gave her lips a warm, earthy glow. She outlined carefully, then pressed her lips together and smiled. There was something sacred about using your own money for the first time in a while. The little things: lipstick, perfume, a good edge control, now carried a deeper meaning. Tonight, she wanted to look like how she felt inside: at peace.

The weeks leading to the hangout had been wrapped in unexpected peace. God’s Dwelling Herald Ministry, the church that had become home, had wrapped her in care, visits, prayers, and gentle laughter at her doorstep. Judi Fir Oyinbo pepper, Funbi, and Thambo had come too, like a rainbow of sisterhood bursting through her door, arms filled with food, drinks, and enough joy to last months. They didn’t just come bearing gifts; they brought healing in plastic bowls and rice sacks.

Madam Atinuke had become a fixture in the neighborhood, "Madam Tinu" as she was now fondly called. Her presence was calming, commanding, and motherly all at once, then there was Mama Thembe, chubby, energetic, and always in brightly colored boubous, Mama Thembe was the heartbeat of the prayer team. Her voice could call down heaven, and her laughter could fill an entire church hall.

 She had helped Bugo get an administrative role at the church office and, with sly innocence, introduced her to an endless stream of eligible bachelors from the ushering unit to the men’s prayer team. She always acted surprised when Bugo caught on.

“You know me, I just want everybody to find their destiny partner,” she would say, eyes twinkling with mischief and prayer.

As Bugo gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, she adjusted the coral earrings that dangled against her neck and grabbed her clutch. Her Ankara dress hugged her waist with grace, flaring into a pleated skirt that swayed as she walked. The fabric shimmered slightly, a mix of deep indigo and burnt orange patterns, and she felt beautiful, truly, deeply beautiful.

The hangout at Jumbo Garden and Outing was already in full swing by the time she arrived. At night, the garden transformed. Lanterns hung from the trees in soft loops, casting golden pools of light on the earth. Bamboo chairs and woven raffia tables dotted the lush open field, and the scent of grilled suya, jollof rice, and vibrant array of fruit juices, creamy smoothies, and carefully layered parfait mixes, courtesy of Madam Atinuke’s speciality, wafted through the air like incense.

The breeze had come to party too, rustling leaves, twirling gele headwraps, and kissing cheeks as it passed. Everywhere she looked, women shimmered in vibrant African prints. Some wore rich Adire with bold swirls of deep blue and white; others draped themselves in flamboyant Ankara patterns that clashed beautifully tribal reds with floral greens, gold-on-black, sunburst yellows stitched into fishtail gowns. 

Some wore gele as wide as royal crowns; others wore beaded headbands or cowrie-stitched scarves that told stories of tribes and grandmothers. Judi Fir, Oyinbo Pepper, was adorned in a neon pink kente-inspired jumpsuit with dramatic bell sleeves. Her braids were long and wine-colored, cascading down her back in waves that shimmered like silk. She had a laugh that could scatter clouds.

Funbi, the soft-spoken one with a permanent twinkle in her eyes, wore a flowing Adire maxi dress in calming shades of teal and cocoa. Her hair was styled in thick bantu knots, each one neat and proud, her ears adorned with chunky wooden hoops.

Thambo, tall and statuesque, was draped in a two-piece Ankara outfit that hugged her figure like a second skin. Her natural hair was pulled into an elegant puff, and her makeup was bold, gold eyeshadow with a deep wine lip. She looked like a walking poem.

Bugo felt alive, sitting among them, soaking in laughter and conversations about God, life, dreams, and food. She hadn’t known how much she needed this until now. Her eyes wandered and landed on a dark-skinned, slightly curved woman in African-printed slippers and a flowing burgundy and mustard gown. Her hair was braided tightly and adorned with tiny bamboo cuffs. She moved across the garden with ease, checking in with guests, adjusting lights, offering drinks, effortlessly hosting.

Bugo’s heart warmed. She rose, excusing herself from the table, and made her way to the woman.

“More grace, ma,” she said softly.

Atinuke turned, a radiant smile lighting up her face just before Bugo pulled her into a warm hug.

“Na God work,” she laughed.

“Come and rest small, abeg. Everything is going smoothly.”

Atinuke exhaled deeply, tucking a stray braid behind her ear as she finally took Bugo’s hand and allowed herself to be led toward the circle of women.

That night, as music danced through the air, as laughter wrapped around them like fabric, as prayers and stories poured freely, Bugo realized something she hadn't dared to admit:

She had found home.