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“They’re…beautiful and historic,” I answered. Though part of me wondered why I was allowing him to just whisk me away. Why was I standing with him? Why I was still holding on to his hand. And part of me knew the answer as to why I didn’t ask these questions. I feared that he’d just vanish if I did…and I’d be alone again.
“Beautiful and historic,” he whispered with a smirk before he led me forward again. “Once upon a time they were neither beautiful nor horrid but simply a representation, a mirror, of the person they were created for…it was their way of taking photographs. And now they are here and deemed great simply because they survived throughout history.”
“You don’t think they are worthy of being great?” I asked softly. No one else was around, with the exception of a few guards, and I didn’t want my voice to echo.
“There were much better sculptures in ancient Greece…and Rome.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, in one of your past lives you were a sculptor?”
“Exactly.” He grinned down at me.
“Well, your work should have survived,” I teased. “They might not be as great as the ones of ancient Rome or Greece. But who’s going to know? Among all of the art back then, they survived and now the world only looks to them because we can’t appreciate something that isn’t there…so survival in itself is greatness.”
“And those who survive without wanting to?” He looked down at me as we crossed over toward the African Art exhibits.
“They are great twice over. Could you imagine a car that doesn’t want to have fuel in it? And just as it’s on its very last drop of oil, the tank automatically refills itself. Everyone in the world would want the car.”
“Everyone but Mother Nature.” He frowned and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Seriously, how can you still be so negative?”
“It’s a gift.” He shrugged.
“Some gift alright!” I muttered as I paused to shift my gown and take off my heels, but I’d forgotten that they were strapped to my ankle and was forced to let go of him. But before I could bend down he dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” I dropped my dress quickly. Then joked. “Sorry I’m not ready for marriage—”
“Your feet hurt. I got it. Lift.”
“You don’t have to be bossy. And don’t comment on my feet either.” Urgh! I felt so embarrassed as his hands softly touched the back of my calf as he undid the buckle around my ankle and allowed me to slip my foot out and onto the bare ground before he worked on the other.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I was glad that he didn’t say anything, he just stood back up and held my shoes in his hands. I took them from him and held them to my side. I wanted to say…to ask him what was going on, but again fear stopped me because I knew I was dreaming and I didn’t want to wake up. So when he offered his arm I took it once more. We walked towards the exhibit and paused at the first one—a pair of long black ivory masks and I thought of a question I could ask.
“Obinna the Great and his love, Adaeze? I knew nothing about them other than the fact that they were African royalty who led an army that defeated the English.”
He stopped and looked up at the African painted shield which had been woven together as if it were one giant shield that hung over our heads.
“Rumm…bahk…rumah…bacokka…rumm…”
Looking down from the shields as he whispered—no, chanted—softly up at then. His face was determined but void of emotion. Just by simply closing his eyes and opening them he relaxed, though didn’t smile nor did he look down.
“Most men, throughout history, who were given the title of the greatness, earned it through the ability of conquest. Whether it was Alexander the Great or Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, history remembers them as kings who expanded their empires to touch the corners of the known world and still they wanted more.”
“What then made Obinna great if he wasn’t a king or didn’t conquer anything?” I asked and he finally looked to me, with pain in his eyes. “If it hurts you too much to talk about it, you don’t—”
“Obinna the Great was not a king, but the son of a goat farmer and as such…”
His voice drifted off as he glanced around at the artifacts. I let go of his arm and he looked down at me confused for a moment until I sat down on the bench.
“Even in my dreams I’m too lazy to stand.” I smiled as I tucked my feet under me and sat in a very unladylike manner on the bench.
“You think you’re dreaming?”
“Shh…” I put my finger over my lips. “I don’t want to think. I can’t be positive if I think too much nowadays. If I start thinking I’ll wonder, why you’re here. Even if you got an invitation you’ve always gotten one and never came. So why now? I’ll end up going down a rabbit hole of questions and I’ll lose out on hearing about the love story of an African princess and a goat farmer.”
He fixed his gaze on me as
