BUKKY POV
Once the families agreed, the reality set in, this wasn't just a relationship anymore.
It was marriage.
Yoruba marriage doesn't belong to two people alone—it belongs to families, elders, uncles, aunties, and traditions older than memory.
Akanni's family wanted a full customary engagement, but I know this was his idea —completed with Ìdána (introduction), bride price negotiation, and traditional rites.
My family insisted on modesty.
"No unnecessary extravagance," my father said. "Respect first."
But Akanni's mother laughed. "Let us celebrate what God has done."
Tension brewed quietly.
How many items should be on the bride price list?
Should the engagement be small or elaborate?
Who pays for what?
Should the court wedding come before or after the traditional?
Meetings happened.
Voices rose.
Silence followed.
Akanni learned quickly that planning a wedding required more patience than running a company.Once both families finally found common ground, the next question came gently but firmly:
"When?"
Silence followed.
Then Akanni's father spoke, slow and deliberate.
"Let it be September."
September felt right. My birth month I instantly knew this was all Akanni's doing.
It wasn't rushed.
It allowed time—for planning, healing, alignment, and intention.
I liked that it wasn't tied to pressure or superstition. Akanni liked that it gave him room to prepare properly. Both families agreed.
The wedding was fixed for September.
Not whispered.
Not tentative.
Announced.
The months leading to September became a season of adjustment.
Busayo's Acceptance Deepens
Busayo's acceptance no longer stayed in quiet gestures—it became active.
She began to:
Call me directly instead of through Akanni
Ask about my opinion during family discussions
Correct anyone who compared me to Mira
Once, when a distant aunt said,
"Ah, Mira would have done it this way,"
Busayo replied calmly,
"But Bukky is the one marrying my brother."
That was final.
I noticed.
Akanni noticed.
Everyone did.