In the quiet village of Otorho, two women—Awele, 31, and Omonigho, 30—were known for two things: their bright wrappers and their brighter envy. Every morning, they tied their wrappers high and tight, knotted with pride as they walked to the village square. And every morning, they eyed each other like rival hens watching the same grain. The cause of their silent battle was Okiemute, the rich palm-oil merchant whose new red motorcycle glimmered like fresh blood under the sun. His laughter alone could make half the village women adjust their wrappers. Awele believed she was the rightful choice; after all, she was older and had once given Okiemute directions to the stream. Omonigho believed she deserved him; after all, she once sold him pepper at “discount,” even though she added two rotten ones at the bottom. One afternoon, Awele tied her wrapper in double layers, letting it swing like a festival costume. She marched past Omonigho with pride. Omonigho hissed loud enough to chase a goat. She tightened her own wrapper, lifted her chin, and walked by with an exaggerated sway. Just then, Okiemute rode into the square, dust swirling around him. Both girls froze, smiles instantly painted on their faces. “Good afternoon, Okiemute,” they chorused, each trying to out-sweeten the other. Okiemute looked at them, confused. “Why are the two of you tying wrappers like wrestlers preparing for a match? Neither answered. He laughed, shaking his head. “I only came to ask if either of you knows someone who can help me cook for my mother’s birthday. I’m not looking for a wife yet. Awele and Omonigho glanced at each other, their smiles fading. For the first time ever, they sighed at the same time. As Okiemute rode away, they stood side by side, wrappers still tight, envy slowly melting into embarrassment. Awele muttered, “So all this competition was for nothing? Omonigho nodded, adjusting her wrapper. “Next time, let’s just mind our own business. But as they walked home, each secretly whispered in her heart, “When he’s finally ready, I must shine pass this girl. And the rivalry continued quietly, wrapped in bright village cloth