Diary of Adetutu:A Love Lost to War

June 3,1847

The village was alive with music, the air rich with the scent of roasting corn and palm wine. Under the glow of the new moon, you held my hand for the first time. I remember how your fingers trembled slightly, how your voice was steady despite the nervousness in your eyes.

"Adetutu," you whispered, "when the moon is full again, I will ask for your hand."

I laughed, hiding my face behind my gele, but my heart raced like the bata drums. The moon bore witness to our promise that night, and I believed nothing could stand in our way.

June 21,1847

The morning you left, the sky was painted in shades of sorrow. The town crier's voice had echoed through the village before dawn—war had come. Our men, our warriors, were to march before the next full moon. You stood before my father, head high, speaking words of duty and honor. My mother clutched my hand tightly, as if willing me to silence, but I could not hold back my tears.

"Adebayo, you promised..."

You cupped my face in your hands. "I will return, Adetutu. The gods will bring me back to you."

I wanted to believe you. I needed to believe you.

July 5,1847

The full moon came and went, but you were not there to keep your promise. Each evening, I walked to the river, hoping for news, for a messenger, for a sign. The other women whispered as they filled their calabashes, their eyes filled with pity.

"A warrior's wife must be patient," they said.

But I was not yet a wife. I was a girl waiting for a love that had been taken by war.

One evening, I placed a white cloth by the riverbank, as the elders said it would guide a lost lover home. The wind carried my prayer across the water.

"Come back to me, Adebayo."

July 19,1847

They call me the warrior’s wife. They say I should be proud, that your name is sung in praise. Yet, what is honor to a woman who only wishes to hear her beloved whisper her name once more? I watch the young women dance at the festival, their laughter filling the night. Once, I was like them. Once, you held my hands beneath the new moon.But the moon tonight is old and weary, and I am a woman waiting for a shadow.

August 2,1847

Adebayo… Adebayo… my love, my sun, my moon. The news came today. You will not return.The town crier spoke your name among the fallen. The warrior whose blade shone like the morning sun, whose courage knew no fear. I did not weep before them—I carried my sorrow home. But now, as I sit beneath the twisted iroko tree, my tears fall freely.

They say a man’s spirit visits before it journeys to the ancestors. Have you come, Adebayo? Are you here, watching me as I write these words? If you are, know this—I will love you beyond this life. When the drums call me to the other world, I will seek you among the ancestors.

"Ojo kan, a o pade l’ese orita." One day, we shall meet at the crossroads.

Goodbye, my warrior

Adetutu.