Ugwu placed a plate down noisily and pretended as if he had not heard her. She came over and patted his shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, my son will find a good woman and he will not send you away after he marries.’
Perhaps agreeing with the woman would make her exhaust herself quicker and shut her mouth. ‘Yes, Mama,’ he said.
‘I know how hard my son worked to get where he is. All that is not to be wasted on a loose woman.’
‘No, Mama.’
‘I do not mind where the woman my son will marry comes from. I am not like those mothers who want to find wives for their sons only from their own hamlet. But I do not want a Wawa woman, and none of those Imo or Aro women, of course; their dialects are so strange I wonder who told them that we are all the same Igbo people.’
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