There is tension between Mrs. Njoku and her daughter Sochienne, who returns to Nigeria from America with values that clash with her mother’s love of tradition and appearances. Planning Sochienne’s wedding at their dilapidated family house, Amarachi, highlights their differences, as Sochienne favours simplicity and emotional significance while her mother struggles with societal expectations. On the wedding day, Mrs. Njoku is frustrated by her daughter’s unconventional choices but finally finds moments of connection through shared memories of Sochienne’s childhood and her late husband.
“The wedding planner knocked on her door moments later to say that the clouds were even darker now and that Sochienne had suggested a traditional rainholder. Mrs. Njoku thought this: a man preventing rainfall—a silly superstition. She said no. If the rain really started, then they would move indoors and even though it would be cramped, it was doable, since the verandas were roofed. But Sochienne came into her room without knocking and said with that tone that had begun to gravely irritate her mother, that rainholders were superstitious in the same way as Catholic rosaries, that faith was like a tin of Quality Street, she selected what to believe just as she chose only the nut-free chocolates, and her faith selections were: guardian ancestors, rain-holding, a happy God. Mrs. Njoku found this listing of her daughter’s beliefs disconcerting. It reminded her of her late husband, an agnostic who had nevertheless called his country house Amarachi: God’s Grace. But it was the image of Quality Street—the purple tin of sweets she and her husband had first bought their daughter when she was eight, giving it to her downstairs in this very house, watching as she pored through the different shiny-wrapped toffees—that made her send for a rainholder. The wizened man arrived and sat in the backyard tending a huge fire, drinking gin, and assuring everyone that there would be no rain.”