The Bride Price of Love

In the small town of Oko-Irese, nestled between the emerald hills of Kwara State, love was not always about the heart. It was measured in yam tubers, goats, bottles of schnapps, kegs of palm oil, and wads of naira. And for the beautiful and intelligent Aderonke, it weighed in on secrets.

Aderonke, the only daughter of Chief Adewuyi, had just returned from Lagos after completing her university education. She was the kind of woman whose presence turned heads and stilled conversations—tall, graceful, with eyes that seemed to see into your soul. Suitors came in droves, but her heart was tethered to only one man: Damilare.

Damilare was no chief's son. He was the son of a local palm wine tapper, a humble, hardworking young man with dreams bigger than the town that raised him. He taught at the community school while saving to pursue a Master’s degree in Ibadan. His love for Aderonke was pure—untouched by pride or greed—but that love was forbidden.

Chief Adewuyi had made it clear: his daughter would marry into wealth and prestige, not poverty. "A princess cannot marry a servant," he declared the day Damilare dared to express his intentions. That night, Aderonke wept into her pillow, heart torn between loyalty to her family and the man she loved.

Word soon spread that Chief Adewuyi had chosen Alhaji Mustapha—a wealthy, middle-aged cocoa merchant from Ilorin—as Aderonke’s suitor. The bride price? Lavish. Unthinkable. Fifty cows, five hundred thousand naira in cash, gold jewelry, and a promise to sponsor a borehole project in the village.

The engagement was to happen in a month. Invitations were sent. Celebrations began. But Aderonke remained silent. Her eyes were dull, her smiles rehearsed. And Damilare? He vanished.

Rumours flew. Some said he had travelled to Ibadan. Others said he had drowned himself in the River Awon. No one knew the truth.

Days before the traditional engagement, Aderonke fell ill. Her mother blamed the weather, the elders blamed anxiety, but her body told a different story. She was pregnant.

Panic gripped the Adewuyi household. Alhaji Mustapha could not marry a woman carrying another man’s child. Chief Adewuyi roared like a wounded lion, demanding the name of the man who had defiled his daughter. But Aderonke held her silence.

In secret, her mother begged her to speak. And Aderonke, trembling, whispered, “It is Damilare’s.”

Chief Adewuyi was livid. “That boy has mocked my name! He will face the wrath of the gods!”

But before any action could be taken, something unexpected happened.

At dawn, a black Prado SUV drove into the Adewuyi compound. Out stepped Damilare, looking like a prince. He was dressed in a rich agbada, flanked by three men in suits and two elders. The villagers gathered, whispering.

He knelt before Chief Adewuyi. "I have come to pay the bride price."

The Chief sneered. “With what? Your father’s raffia rope or your mother’s cooking pot?”

Damilare’s companions opened the SUV trunk. Inside were bundles of cash, bottles of vintage wine, bolts of lace, and the full list of bride price requirements—and more. The village gasped. Even the Chief staggered back.

“I received a scholarship to study in Canada,” Damilare said calmly. “I leave in two weeks. But I will not go without my wife.”

The silence was deafening.

Then the Chief chuckled bitterly. “So now you think money can buy my daughter?”

“No,” Damilare replied, “but love can. And love made me work for this day.”

Aderonke stepped forward, tears in her eyes. “Papa, you said no poor man would marry me. Damilare is no longer poor. But even when he had nothing, he gave me everything.”

The village elders stepped in. They spoke of love, of destiny, of the foolishness of pride. The Chief turned away, his eyes glistening.

Later that evening, the engagement ceremony took place—not with Alhaji Mustapha, but with Damilare.

As the drums played and the villagers danced under the setting sun, whispers spread of a new kind of bride price—not one measured in wealth, but in sacrifice, patience, and true love.

And so, in the town of Oko-Irese, where traditions once held hearts captive, a new story was born—a story of a man who bought his love not with riches, but with persistence… and a bride price of love.