Kiss The Rain Anthology: Back to The Beginning

Back to The Beginning by Maranatha Abutu (Kiss The Rain Anthology)

BLURB

Efoneli finds something in her husband’s old shoebox and becomes enraged. Ufedo insists it is not what it looks like. On the verge of divorce, they take a trip to their village to visit her parents to cement their divorce.

Forced to make the trip back to Abuja in the same car, the floods from the heavy rain hinder their journey. While dealing with the setback, they meet a woman on a mission tied to their marriage.

DEDICATION

To all women, who work hard at their craft.

DEFINITIONS

1. Adawa

Definition: A person who is a deceased person’s incarnation or a reborn of someone who has returned to life.

Synonyms: rebirth, reincarnation.

Belief: It is believed that the soul of the reborn met a tragic end or has unfinished business from their first life. An adawa is born with a mark or symbol that points to the way that the incarnate passed. Sometimes they get sick, or something happens that causes the family to trace back the family tree to find a cause/solution in extreme cases.

2. Igberi

Definition [Igala]: A traditional three-stone fire for cooking by placing three stones on the ground to support a pot under which a fire is lit.

Synonyms: Balance, support, stability, togetherness.

Belief: A new, empty pot is placed on top of a three-stone set during the customary Igala land marriage rites. This arrangement signifies that a marriage has been established and is now in a state of balance. 

The three stones must be thrown away before a divorce may be finalised. Once this is completed, the marriage is irreversibly broken. The same set of stones must be found and rearranged if the couple hopes to get back together. The couple’s marriage cannot be re-established once the stones are lost. 

Previous Post: The Matchmaking Plan

PROLOGUE

Efoneli (Eleven years old)

We just got back from a funeral. 

Mama’s cries and sniffles have not reduced since we got the news two weeks ago. 

What I hate most about people dying is leaving the rest of us to deal with the consequences and the shock of their death. 

I pity the poor child who will not hear the father’s voice or know what it would feel like to be carried by him. 

Just look at Mama crying her eyes out. One of her relatives got a young girl pregnant, and now he has died. Why did he choose the day the girl was coming to meet the family to go and tap palm wine? Well, he was so excited, he wanted to tap fresh palm wine for his in-laws. Unfortunately, he fell, broke his neck, and died.

Some of our neighbours are sitting with my mother on the floor of our living room covered in a blue porcelain rug, comforting her.

I am tasked with running errands and washing the plates, while my older cousin is set to prepare Ọrọ́ and Ọ̀jẹ Abacha, ogbonno soup and swallow made from cassava flour.

I run from the kitchen in the backyard to the veranda, where my father is sitting with Ele, my elder brother, to collect five naira to go and buy Maggi because we forgot to buy it when my cousin and I went to the market.

“Go and come back quickly. Don’t talk to strangers or stand on the road talking to your classmates o,” Papa warns, handing me the note.

I pass by the kitchen to tell my cousin I have collected the money, and she says, “Don’t stay long, o. I have finished grinding the ogbonno.”

“Okay, ma,” I answer, walking away.

Our house is close to the market, so I decide to run. 

I reach the first store, but they don’t have fifty kobo change, so I cross the road to the other side. 

The seller ties the Maggi in a white plastic bag and hands it to me, alongside my change. 

I get to the express, and it looks like I’ll have to wait a long time to cross back because so many big trucks are going by. So I stand by the side of the road, waiting.

Growing impatient, I start to dash across, but a hand pulls me back. I stop, looking up with a frown, but she’s smiling at me. I try to slip my hand away, but she won’t let go. 

Just then, a trailer whooshes past, the sharp wind brushing my face. In that instant, I realise—I would not have made it to the other side alive. 

“Where are you rushing to? Do you want to die?” she asks.

I continue to pull my hand away, but my effort is useless. 

“Did you not just come back from a funeral?” she asks, and I stop to look at her again. 

“Ma, thank you for saving me, but my daddy said I should not talk to strangers. But how do you know about the funeral?”

She lets out a loud, throaty laughter that makes me look at her again. The same type of laughter my mother said is too loud. “Ei! Why do you laugh like me?” I query her. “We have the same the same type of laugh,” I say enthusiastically.

She smiles and guides me across the road. 

“Because we are family. Family members have certain traits in common.”

“Ehen, if we are family, why haven’t I seen you before?” I ask, my face scrunching in curiosity.

“I am your mother’s relative. Come, let me show you something.” She proceeds to show me the marks around her wrists. 

I have the same irregular-circular marks around both of my wrists. Hers looks fresh, but mine are black and faint.

My smile broadens. “I believe you now. Where have you been? Why haven’t I seen you in our house before.” 

“Because I travelled very far away,” she says, following me to the house. 

“My mother will be so happy to see you. What is your name, Aunty?” 

She does not answer.

We are on the street leading to my house and she stops. 

“I have to go back from here,” she says, smiling brightly.

“What do you mean?” I frown, tugging her, but her smile widens. 

“My journey is still far.” Then she smoothens my hair. “You are going to have the best people around you; you are going to do what you love, and your life will never be cut short like mine. Goodbye, my child. Go home now.”

I shake my head, confused. “What do you mean by cut short? So… You are not coming to our house?” I ask with sad eyes.

“No, my dear Efoneli. I am going home,” she says, urging me home. 

I walk away, sad. The moment I reach our gate and turn around, the space she was standing in is empty. I turn back to check the next street, and she isn’t there.

I enter the compound and run straight to the kitchen to drop the Maggi, before running to the living room. “Mama, I saw your sister in the market. She helped me to cross the road and escorted me home,” I announce cheerfully.

My mother, lying weakly on the floor, stands up abruptly. “Which sister?” she asks, wiping the dried tears from her face. 

My father and Ele rush into the living room, and they stare at me like I’m insane.

“Who did you say you saw at the market?” My father asks, his voice stern. I look at him, then my mother, and the visitors in our living room, confused. “I told you not to talk to strangers on the road. Your mother does not have any sisters. What did the person say?”

I narrate the entire story, and my mother walks away, returning with her echolac box. She takes out the old family picture album, and they force me to sit between them as we go through all the pictures. We find one from when my grandmother was young, standing beside a slightly older woman. 

“Yes, this is her,” I say, chirpy.

“O ọjọ́ mi, mú mi gbà, oh my God, please save me,” my mother exclaims, putting both hands on her head.

ONE

Efoneli 

It is only 10:00 a.m., but it seems like it is a hot afternoon. I forget how sunny it gets here. Sometimes, the morning sun in Ogugu feels like it’s out to get you for no reason. 

Once upon a time, this was the only home I knew. My friends and extended family were all here. I did all my preliminary schooling here until I got into Uni. I can’t lie—it holds a sense of familiarity that never gets old. 

I wipe the beads of sweat already forming on my forehead. “Why did I agree to make this trip with this man, anyway?” I mutter to myself.

“Did you say something?” Ufedo, my soon-to-be-divorced husband, asks, as if he cares.

I scoff. Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me a second time, then I have to be the biggest dunce in the entire world.

I hug my mother goodbye as she continues to thank him for being so kind. “God bless you, my son, for coming back.” 

“Mama, I don’t think you should call him your son anymore,” I say to her, but like the meeting we concluded two nights ago to dissolve the igberi, they do not behave like they understand a single thing I say. 

“Don’t worry. The devil that has taken a chair to your household will be defeated,” she completes her prayer.

I roll my eyes so hard they would have fallen off if they could. I know he saw me because his mouth turns in a small smile as he busies himself putting my luggage in the trunk of his car. 

His constant “amen ma, amen mummy,” is of course a deliberate act to further try to rile me.

He closes the trunk of the car, and sits in the car to give my parents and me some privacy.

“See what your stubbornness made him do, ehn. I know you hate what he did, but he is sorry now,” my mother says.

I roll my eyes, growing more impatient with this conversation.

“If he doesn’t care about you like you say, he wouldn’t have bothered to drive back, especially after he asked you to take the drive together.” Her face pinches in concentration.

“Mama, please,” I grumble. 

“Ọ̀mayi, this girl, listen to what she is saying. We agree that he did not behave well, but it’s been almost a full month since you left your matrimonial home, and he has continued to beg you. All he is asking for is a second chance, and he has promised that it will never happen again,” my father explains.

“I have heard what you said in the meeting, and I have made my decision. We will revisit this matter in two months, and if my stance on the divorce remains, we have to come back to throw the igberi stones away,” I reiterate. “Are you people not supposed to be on my side?” I ask, irritation lacing my voice.

“Ìye, woman, it is not a matter of picking sides. I am only saying forgive, just as Christ forgave us,” he says in a soft voice. 

“Well, I am not Christ, Papa,” I deadpan, adjusting the handbag on my shoulder.

Both of them sigh heavily. 

I hug my mother and head to the car.

We bid my parents a final goodbye as Ufedo steers the car out of the compound.

Immediately we leave my street behind, I turn to the window, ready to ignore him the entire five-hour drive back to Abuja. 

I hear him cough to get my attention, but I refuse to respond. “Babe… sorry.” He catches himself. “Efone, do you want to listen to any music?” 

I fumble in my handbag to get my Airpods. 

“I know your mind is already made up on ending our marriage, but please reconsider.” 

I adjust the chair to be more comfortable, ignoring him. 

“Fine, I’ll let you be,” he says and continues driving. 

The car is otherwise quiet, except for the few phone calls he receives from his mother and his assistant, Aminu. 

We drive for about an hour before I hear the song from the sound system waft over my music. It is our song, Overdose by Dunnie ft Oxlade. I kiss my teeth, the song transporting me to the night he proposed when I thought nothing could come between us.

He taps my shoulders shortly after, and I recoil involuntarily. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “We are in Ajaokuta, and I want to get fried yam and plantain.” 

He is already parking his car in front of their stalls even as he is explaining why we are making a stop. 

I sit up. “Do whatever you want. It’s your car, I am only a passenger,” I say as a matter of fact.

He chuckles as he gets out of the car. 

I watch him bargain with the pregnant seller he approaches.

As he waits for the food to be packed in plastic bags, his eyes dart to mine, he swallows and turns away. 

Suddenly, the irritation builds in my chest, but I also feel a flutter in my stomach. I know I have to fortify my walls to keep me from crumbling now. All I have to do is avoid him for two months, much like the first month.

I cannot decide which is most irritating—his indifference to my apparent disgust or his perpetual show of concern.

He settles in the car, adjusts the centre console and drops the food. It has fish in it.

The scent wafts into my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles loudly. We both know he dislikes fish, so the stop was for me.

I only had a small piece of Ọ̀kpa when I set off to the motor park at 9:00 a.m. this morning, only to find out the vehicle had left me when I ventured into the market to get a few things for my friend, Jane. 

When I returned from the market, the driver had gotten a passenger to replace me, and my luggage was left behind.  

 I was too proud to call Ufedo after refusing his offer to drive back to Abuja together. I spent nearly an hour chasing down another driver’s directions to catch a bus at Ikeje, all in vain. In the end, I had to beg my mother to call him. I was going to meet him where he had gotten to, but he offered to come pick me up.

Who even travels on a Thursday? If we hadn’t both agreed to take three weeks off in August, how would we have found time for this auspicious journey?

My stomach growls again, and I know I must swallow my pride. I glance at him. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” he says and turns up the volume of the music a little.

When I finish eating, he passes me a box of tissues.

I wipe my hands, unplug my Airpods and open my Kindle to read Friendship Illusion. I am so full that I doze off almost immediately. 

I find myself in a dream where our car is submerged in water, and I’m desperately gasping for air.

I wake up with a jump, finding myself alone in the car, and I see a crowd around the vehicles and what seems to be heavy traffic in front of us.

I glance around for a signpost or something to hint where we are. I check my phone, and I recall in a heartbeat. 

It is already past 1:00 pm, and we have spent three hours on the road. So, this must be somewhere in Lokoja. It does not look like we are close to the checkpoint near the bridge. I wonder what the holdup is about.

I unlock the doors to step out of the car. There is a drizzle, so I sit back quickly.

I rummage through my bag for a scarf to secure my braids when I see Ufedo jogging back to me. 

“Good, you are awake. I didn’t want to wake you up. We can’t move any further because the water level is so high that no vehicle can make a pass,” he explains.

“How is that possible?” I ask, tying the scarf around my head and coming out of the car.

“I took a video to show you,” he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone. “The entire bridge is covered up, and the houses close to the bridge are all submerged. I believe people are already facing flooding, and many have been displaced across several parts of the country.” 

He hands me the phone; I hesitate to take it.

He withdraws his hand and hits play whilst holding the phone himself.

“Oh my God, this is crazy! We are not even as close to the bridge as I thought. I only heard this happened once before.”

“It happens every year, but it never gets this bad. It’s because of the seven days of rain that causes severe damage to the Cameroonian people every few years, so they release water from the Ladgo dam. I’m afraid we have to go back into the city until the flood goes down,” he says in deep thought as he types furiously on his phone.

I bite my lower lips. “Yeah, the rain this year has been a bit heavy. How long does it take?”

“Usually,” he continues to type away. “A few days to release the water pressure from the dam. I don’t know how many days it has been already, but I heard from some of the boys around here that the water level started to rise the day after we passed, which was four days ago.”

I log on to Twitter, and everyone is talking about the flood. “I thought the usual seven days of rain had stopped.”

He is looking at me now. “Yes, that was yesterday. But the water level going down is what I am not sure about. Aminu called to inform me earlier, but I assumed vehicles could still ply the bridge.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask, glowering at him. 

He stares at me for a few seconds, his face pinched, before looking at his phone.

“Fine, I get it.” I suck on my lower lip.

“Nobody is sure when this flood will go down. We have to stay here for some days to—” he glances at me, his gaze lowers to my lips, and he stops talking as if momentarily distracted.

Though we may have been married for only three years, I know this man. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

“Efo—” he starts, but the rain descends heavily in seconds, cutting him off. I open the door on my side, and he makes a run to the driver’s side. 

He is soaked, wetter than me. He wipes his body with a small towel. 

“Some vehicles are already turning back to Lokoja,” I remark, stretching to look behind us. I cannot believe we are stuck here because of the bloody flood.

“Do you want me to drop you at your brother’s?” he asks. 

“What about you?” I reply, without thinking it through.

His head snaps to me. And he is looking at me with wide eyes and mouth agape, in surprise. 

I shake my head, realising I may have just admitted that I still care about him. “No, I don’t want to stay with him. It might be an inconvenience, as they just entertained his mother-in-law for Omugwo. They need a break. Let’s look for a hotel,” I say, ignoring my blunder.

His response is swift. “Okay,” he says, putting the car in ignition to join the cohorts of vehicles trying to find a possible way to turn back into town. 

It takes us about forty-five minutes to get out of the gridlock into Lokoja, where our search for a hotel begins.

TWO

Ufedo (Five years ago).

My brain feels like it cannot process any more information—even my head feels too heavy for my neck to carry, and it doesn’t look like these men are ready to stop anytime soon.   

I excuse myself and leave the boardroom. I am in my car driving to the closest restaurant near me, according to Google, looking for a place to eat.

I check the clock on my dashboard. It is 3:00 p.m., and I have been cooped up from one meeting to another since my flight touched down in Abuja this morning. 

The plan right now is simple—find the closest restaurant and get myself a decent meal. Teas and snacks have never been my jam.  

I am learning quickly that Abuja offices love to serve this type of refreshments until the last phase of meetings. My stomach cannot handle another light meal. 

I drive for about five to ten minutes, glancing from side to side, when I see a small restaurant concealed between two large buildings. 

There is no parking space, so I park by the side of the road across the restaurant. 

I cross the road and make my way to the front door. My phone starts to ring as soon as I get to the door.

A glance shows it’s Aminu, my new assistant. Apparently, my bathroom break excuse has run its course.

I think to ignore the call, but it is too early to start on the wrong foot. 

“Hello, Mr Omadah,” he greets.

“Aminu, can the meeting be delayed for a few more minutes? Or better still, carry on without me. I will catch up,” I reply as the doorman pulls the door open for me.

The place has a decent crowd, and it looks neat enough. In my book, a reasonable number of customers typically suggests the food is not horrible. I would rather not eat than eat rubbish when I am already about to pass out from hunger.

“But sir, this is the budget section for the project,” Aminu tells me.

“Well, next time, tell your team to make appropriate provisions for proper food. I will not be returning until I have filled my stomach. Whatever you say to the board is your choice.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, sir. Lunch will be served after this section. Sir, I could have brought you lunch from the canteen downstairs,” he counters.

“Next time, lead with that, Aminu. See you in twenty,” I end the call before he says something else. 

They are looking for someone to kill, and that person cannot be me. 

I left my apartment in Lagos at 4:00 a.m. to catch my 6:00 a.m. flight. We’ve been having back-to-back meetings since 8:00 a.m. and they are feeding me apples, tea and toast. 

I tut-tut as I make my way to an empty table. 

A female server approaches my table as soon as I sit down.

“Good day, sir. What would you like to have?” she greets me enthusiastically.

“Good day. Can I have pounded yam and egusi soup, please?” 

“Sure, sir. What do you want for protein?”

“Beef. How sizable are they?”

“Ehm, not small or too big. Big enough,” she says, with a twist of her mouth which tells me she knows it’s small.

I smile. “Four beefs and a bottle of water, thank you.”

“Okay, sir. It will be ready in ten,” she says as she turns to leave.

I glance at my watch. “What can I do to make the food come to me in less time?”

She stops. “I will try to get it to you faster.” Then she rushes to the kitchen. 

I pick up my phone and notice a voice note from my father. It is almost three minutes long. I know what it would be about before I tap play. And I am right. 

The man is whining about how flippantly I excused myself from the boardroom. The board members do not believe I am taking them seriously, especially with the route I have chosen for the project execution.

I send one of my own in response. “Àtai ẹ́ chanẹ́ mẹ́ ooo, this man, you’ve started o. They couldn’t wait for the day to be over before tattling about me to you? I begged you to let one of your competent staff handle this takeover, but you refused. If they cannot give me the benefit of the doubt and accept my decisions, maybe they should sell their shares to me. They think I don’t have better things to do?”

I hit send and hear the sudden pounding of rain on the roof.  “Oh—oh,” I say aloud, thinking about how I will make the run to my car across the road.

I look up to see the server walking towards me with the food tray. I grin as she sets the food in front of me. My smile instantly turns sour as I focus on the large fish covering the soup bowl.

“What is this?” I ask, pointing at the food she has laid out in front of me.

“I am sorry, sir. There is no beef anymore, and instead of coming back to ask you to make another choice, I swapped it for fish since you seemed to be in a hurry.” Her face contorts in fear.

“Oh God!” I exclaim, placing my elbow on the table and resting my head on my fingers. “Can you get me another bowl of soup but without the fish? Turkey or chicken is fine,” I say.

She starts shuffling on her feet and clasps her hands together, a cloud of tears glistening in her eyes. “Please, sir, I beg you in the name of God. I cannot pay for this food, sir. The manager will deduct it from my salary,” she begs.

Taking out my wallet, I pass my debit card to her. “Charge the food here,” I say.

At that moment, my eyes catch a beautiful black lady with clear skin, the colour of cinnamon—walking through the door.

She appears hurried, as if she ran here to escape the severe rain.

Her blouse is a little wet, so the white cotton material presses against her skin. Her red lacy bra is visible through the material and her nipples are taut.

My goodness! I swallow hard. 

She slicks her long black hair back and shakes off the tiny drops of water from her hair.

In slow motion—her actions could easily be mistaken for a model promoting hair, skin, or beauty products. What a stunning woman! 

Her eyes wander across the hall before settling on the waitress before me.

The stunning woman starts moving to my table, and I sit straighter, adjusting the tie on my shirt that seems to have suddenly gone tighter.

She joins us, stirring my heart to pump faster. 

“Good day, sir,” she greets me. But just before I can respond, she turns to the server.  “Chiamaka, what is going on?” she queries.

“Ma, I—I messed up his order because there was no beef, and he wants to leave without eating it,” the waitress answers in a small voice. 

Miss Stunning—my automatic nickname for her—turns back to me. 

“We apologise for this mistake, sir. I promise you we are not usually like this. Please, do not leave without eating; we can make it up to you. Is there anything you would like us to switch this to?”

I glance at my phone again and frown. I have only ten minutes left, but I don’t even feel like returning to the office anymore. I want to stay here with this beautiful woman.

“Are you the manager?” I ask, eyebrows raised in question. 

“Oh no, sorry for not introducing myself. I am Chef Efoneli.” She beams at me.

I sit back, peering at her, trying the darndest to keep my eyes on her face. “Ah… Your name… Are you Igala?”

I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. I don’t usually come across women from my place.

She steps back, standing straighter, drawing my attention to her chest. I steal a glance at her nipples and swallow again.

     “Yes, I am,” she says, the smile no longer on her face. “As I was saying, we just made fresh ogbonno. Would you prefer that instead?”

I open my mouth to say no, but my phone flashes with another call from Aminu and my stomach rumbles again.

I take the call. “Aminu, something came up. I need another ten minutes.” I disconnect the call. 

I turn to Miss Stunning and the waitress. “Go ahead. And please, chicken or turkey.”

“Sure,” Miss Stunning answers. She turns to the waitress, “Chiamaka, return his card and serve him the soup with chicken.” 

The waitress dashes out.

“Oh, and sir,” she beams at me again. Only this time, her smile is professional. “Your meal is on the house. I hope it is enough to make up for wasting your time.”

“You don’t need to pay for me; I can cover my meals,” I smirk. “But, to make it up to me, how about I give you my business card? I’ll be expecting your call at the end of business today.” I confidently pull a business card from my wallet.

She sighs, but it sounds more like a humph because her lips are pursed. “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot take your card. If you insist, I’ll take it, but I won’t call you,” she says, expressionless.

Something flutters in my stomach. It may be hunger, but I know it is also excitement. With a tinge of amusement, I lower the card on the table and slide it towards her. “Take it, don’t take it, it’s your choice. If it takes me coming down here every day to ask for you, I will do that,” I say, stepping up to the challenge.

She regards me for a few seconds, folding her hands across her chest. “I have a boyfriend. A serious boyfriend,” she says with a smug smile.

I chuckle. “I didn’t ask if you had one. I only said to call me tonight.”

She gives me a contemplative look, obviously weighing her choices. Just then, the waitress breaks the moment as she starts to set the meal on the table.

“I can decide not to answer when you come to the restaurant,” Miss Stunning says, defiance blazing in her eyes.

I smile again before looking at my food. I wash my hands and swallow the first morsel. My taste buds love it. 

“I do not doubt that you can refuse to call or respond when I visit, but it won’t stop me from coming.”

She exhales a frustrated sigh and picks up the card. “Enjoy your meal,” she says, walking away.

I eat the food as quickly as I can manage, pay for my meal and dash out of the restaurant. Thankfully, the rain has become a drizzle.

I drive into the office building and meet Aminu waiting downstairs. He informs me the board members moved up lunch. 

We could use the rest of the two hours to wrap up today’s agenda. I step into the meeting happier. 

“Gentlemen,” I say, grinning. “I’m sorry that my lunch break took longer than intended. Everyone has had lunch too, correct?”

They all respond affirmatively.   

“Great! So, we can carry on, right?” 

 When they all give me the go-ahead, I sit at the head of the table. 

To my surprise, they all laugh—a far cry from the distrustful looks they had been sending my way all day.  

The rest of the meeting goes by so smoothly that the prospect of my moving to Abuja is beginning to look promising.

THREE

Ufedo

I unlock the door of my one-bedroom short-let apartment and dial my brother’s phone number. “Bro, I swear, I have found my wife.” I declare, sinking into the comfortable couch in the living room, a grin on my face. 

“Abeggi, baba, we don hear that one before. How many wives have you found before this one?” my brother, Joseph, teases.

“Why you dey talk like this now? You know it didn’t work out because we were both AS,” I counter.

“Bros, who dey talk about Uju? The others nko?” he asks.

“Your point being?” I say, my voice defensive. To be fair, I had proposed to two women in the past. And well, it didn’t work due to no fault of mine, if I might add. The first was interested in anything with a human dick, and Uju was a genotype incompatibility.

“Nothing o. I am reminding you as your future best man to look well before you declare all your intentions to another woman, especially when you are still playing ball with Uju,” he warns.

“How do you know that? You and your father are now spying on me, right?”

“Come off it. I don’t want to ever get in the middle of you two again. If you like, burn the company to the ground. After all, it is your inheritance. He done kuku disown me. As for me o, I am going to push this music thing this year with everything I’ve got.”

It shocked my dad when Joseph suddenly quit the company as a director two years ago to focus on making music. I guess my father has not been able to move past the hurt. 

“I believe in you, man; it will pay off soon, bro,” I say.

“Thank you, big bro. Before I forget, are you still banging Uju?”

“I thought you said you knew about it.” 

“No, I didn’t say that. I took a wild guess when I went to drop off your car from the mechanic and saw feminine products in your bathroom.”

“Look man, she just showed up, and I couldn’t turn her down,” I say in my defence.

“I am not judging you. No be say me sef na saint. I am only pointing out that you cannot find a wife you love when there is one occupying that space. So, bro, no start wetin you no go fit finish.” He sings the last line.

I know he is right. But I also know there is something extraordinary about the woman I met today. 

“By the way, congratulations on your first day. I hear good things already,” he says, cutting through my thoughts.

“I knew Dad couldn’t wait to gossip about me with you. This one na disown for mouth,” I say in mock annoyance, and he laughs. “Whatever! Goodnight, man.”

“Goodnight, bros,” he says, and I end the phone call.  

I reminisce on everything before and after I met her, and I swear, the air in the boardroom was different. At first, I thought it was hunger, but the change in demeanour was too drastic. It was almost as if the universe was assuring me that I had truly met my wife. 

It’s only 8:00 p.m., so I shower and nap in the short-let apartment, as my flight back to Lagos is at 11:45 p.m.

My alarm wakes me up at 11:00 p.m. and I book a ride on Uber. Thankfully, a car is close by. I grab my small bag, lock up the apartment and head to the airport.

I arrive at the airport ten minutes before departure.

I enter my apartment in Lagos, by 1:00 a.m., praying that by some miracle Miss Stunning calls me.

I wake up at 6:00 a.m., and check my phone for missed calls and messages. There were two texts from my friends—rants about last night’s Arsenal football game, a missed call from my dad, and another from Aminu. However, there is none from Miss Stunning—the woman whose image is now constantly on my mind.  

Maybe she truly is in a serious relationship, I think as I brush my teeth.

I microwave a plate of rice Uju made before she left, promising myself that this is the last time. 

The ride from my apartment in VGC to our office in V.I. takes an hour. Due to gridlock at the tollgate, I arrive early, only by a few minutes. I sit beside my father as we listen to pitches and ideas on the execution of the project we just won from the Federal Government. 

Our role is to ensure that every vehicle imported into the country is properly verified and documented: the project for which the Abuja office was established.

I go through the motions—listen, work, and make decisions with my dad, but my mind is unsettled. 

Even my father suspects something is wrong when I skip lunch. 

After returning home from work, I shower, eat dinner, and head straight to the bedroom. I am picking up the TV remote on the console to watch a Premier League game between West Ham and Crystal Palace when my phone vibrates in my trouser pocket. 

My heartbeat skedaddles, seeing the new number. I drop the remote on the TV console—ready to miss the football match.

I pick up the call. “Hello, this is Ufedo speaking,” I say, my mood completely lifting.

“Here I thought you would read me the entire title—Dr. Eng. Ufedo Omadah.” Her voice fills my ears.

I chuckle, knowing she has done a Google search on me. “Hi, Efoneli, have I told you I like your name yet?”

“Not yet, but I didn’t call to hear that.”

I sit on my bed and adjust the temperature of the air-conditioning to eighteen degrees. “Okay… So, you’re not just calling like I asked? Interesting. Go ahead, then.”

“Do you make it a habit to lie to people you meet?”

“What?” I squint, confused.

“You said you would show up every day if I didn’t call you.”

“Oh…” I grin. “Trust me, I did not forget. I had to make a quick dash to Lagos last night. I will be back in the morning, and I would have camped at the restaurant until you gave me an audience if you hadn’t called.” 

“Ehen?” 

“I was thinking about you when you called, as if you read my mind,” I confess, glad that she reached out despite her protests yesterday. “After the way you told me off, I wasn’t sure you would call.”

“Did I?” she asks.

“You did. You were smiling at me until I asked about your tribe. What was that about?”

“I still have a serious boyfriend, just so you know.”

I laugh. “I would be surprised if you didn’t. So, what was it about your tribe that made you apprehensive?”

“Two things. People tell me I either don’t look like I’m from Kogi or they hope I am not as stubborn as people from there. Then they also tell me about all the weird things about jazz and all sorts of balderdash. It’s off-putting.”

I throw my head back and guffaw. “C’mon. Kogi people aren’t that bad. I should know, I am from there too. Don’t let people’s ignorant opinions get to you.”

She chuckles. “I know, but as for you, that remains to be seen.”

I cackle.

A brief silence ensues, and my pulse begins to pound against my temple. I want to tell her how I feel, but I’m afraid it will scare her away. 

“So… what are you doing tonight?” I ask, my heart beating faster against my chest.

She groans. “I have— “

“A serious boyfriend,” I complete, groaning inwardly. “Where is your serious boyfriend right now?”

“Not your business,” she says.

I smile. “See? Stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn. Just not offering information.”

“I hear you.”

Another moment of silence passes between us and stretches a bit. “I have to go. I… I called because I was worried when you didn’t show up at the restaurant. This is just a courtesy call.”

“Okay, got it. Thank you for your concern… and for calling. Can I call you sometime?”

“Let me think about it…” She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and all I can hear is her gentle breath that soothes my body. 

“I’ll take this as a yes. See you tomorrow.”

“No— that’s not what my silence means. I—” She starts to explain.

“Have a good night,” I say, and end the call.

FOUR

Efoneli

“How can finding a hotel be this difficult?” I complain for the umpteenth time.

 We have been checking hotels, and it’s either the hotel has no available room or the available rooms look infested.

The most annoying part is that Ufedo is being so casual about it all as if he isn’t bothered by the situation. “Why are you so calm?”

He shrugs. “I am worried too, but it doesn’t help whenever both of us are bothered about a situation. I have to stay calm for both of us.

I kiss my teeth. “You still think there is a both of us?” I air quote the last part.

He opens his mouth as if to respond, but then closes it again like he has changed his mind.  

He drives silently for a few seconds before parking by the side of the road. “Efoneli, tell me what to do to make this go away. I love you and I don’t want to lose you,” he says, staring into my eyes.

“Well, you should have thought about that before…” I deadpan, turning away from him. 

His grip on the steering tightens. “I swear, it happened before we were married,” he shouts.

“And that is okay, because?”

He exhales. “I am sorry.” His voice is softer.

I cackle deliriously. “Why did you keep the phone even after three years of being married to me?” I turn to face him.

“Babe, I am sorry. It happened one time. I promise you that I immediately regretted it. I was too scared to tell you. Please forgive me,” he pleads, his breathing laboured.

“You took the decision from me.” I shake my head.

“Baby, please, don’t throw away the beautiful life we’ve built together the last three years…” he begs, conveniently disregarding the two years we dated. Or isn’t that phase part of the life we were building?

I hold back tears. “Was there anything about me that you didn’t discuss with her?”

“Efoneli, I—” he begins.

I raise my hand to stop him. “Don’t answer that.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. It wasn’t out of spite.” 

“I know we argued a lot, but of all the people in the world you could have gotten counsel from, her?”

“I am so sorry,” he repeats.

“Why did you marry me then? Did you propose to me because of the pregnancy?” I sniffle to hold back the tears.

I see his shoulders sag, his eyes glisten with tears.

 “I married you because I love you. It is you I love,” he says.

“All you have done in the past month is offer me apologies. You offer me no explanation other than your declaration of love. How can I trust that even that is true?”

He glances at me, his eyes bloodshot. “Because there is nothing I will say that would justify how I’ve made you feel. No excuse can take away the hurt.”

I rub my nape to dull the ache that is starting to form.

We sit quietly for a few minutes, both of us looking ahead.

He clears his throat and turns to me. “I got a hotel location from Aminu. It looks decent from what I see on Google…” He looks away, his tone hesitant. 

Which makes me wonder what the issue is. “But…?” I ask.

“The hotel has only one presidential suite available,” he replies.

“Not happening. I am not sharing a hotel room with you.” I vehemently shake my head.

I glance at Ufedo and wonder how I will stay in the same space as him without my body betraying me. 

I swallow hard, trying to push back the memories of his arms around me and my body writhing from the pleasure of his tongue and body tangled with mine only a month ago.

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. Staying in the same hotel room would be too tempting when I don’t know if I can trust him again.

“It’s either this or we take rooms that look infested. You have to decide. Edge Hotel or not?” he laments. “Moreover, it’s a suite. I can take the couch, and we can have schedules to avoid running into each other.”

I consider it. “Fine, we can go check it out.”

He heaves a sigh of relief, then starts the car to follow the directions on the map. 

In less than twenty minutes, we arrive at the hotel and check into our suite. 

I glance around the suite, taking in the modern-style décor of the room as Ufedo settles on a chair in the dining area, taking out his MacBook. 

The window design is a full-length contemporary glass window with a fantastic view of the mountain, draped with cream-coloured curtains, and modern furniture in brown and cream. The walls are covered in minimalistic patterns and lovely art pieces. Not bad at all.

Since he is preoccupied, I use this opportunity to dash into the bathroom to finally return the missed calls from my parents and Jane.

I call my mum first, explaining the situation with the Lagdo dam and our being forced to stay in Lokoja.

In the background, I hear my dad say, “Why didn’t either of you pick up your calls?”

“Hope you people were not fighting on the road?” Mum cuts in.

She is spot on. I noticed the call when we were talking in the car. “No,” I let the half-lie flow easily. “We were looking for a hotel,” I say.

“Call your brother back. We think he is expecting you two. He says he wants to talk to you about this ìgberí you want us to scatter,” my dad says.

I place the phone on hands-free and turn on the faucet to wash my hands. “I will call him after this call,” I agree, leaving the restroom.

Seeing Ufedo in navy blue shorts, a white round-neck and a face cap makes my steps falter. I stop mid-way, admiring his athletic frame.

He is standing with one hand in his pocket and tapping on his phone with the other.

I’m immediately transported to the first time we went on a casual movie date.

We had been speaking for almost three months, and I was sceptical about dating wealthy men because I had many reservations about them. I wasn’t sure my life was at a place where I could add that sort of drama to it. 

Despite lying to him about being in a committed relationship, he never stopped texting me on iMessage every morning and calling me late at night.  

We talked about work, family, and friends, and shared daily titbits about our lives. It always seemed like there was an unspoken rule – he never asked about my serious boyfriend, and I never asked about his relationship status. 

He came into the restaurant where I worked as a chef for lunch one day in a foul mood. When I asked what was going on, he told me that one of his app testers had made a bad call with an app they were developing, and it was setting the developers three weeks back in their schedule.

He looked so stressed that when he said he wanted to go back to Lagos that night to relax a bit, I offered to take him out for a treat.

The offer came out of nowhere, shocking the both of us. I had never been so forthright with a man. And based on his facial expression, I assumed that he, too, did not expect the offer.  

I chuckled uncomfortably. “It’s just to make you feel better. Not a date,” I said in an attempt to shift our focus. 

To my relief, he responded with a laugh.

“What about your serious boyfriend? Hope he won’t mind me spending time with you. I am usually greedy,” he said, holding my gaze.

I knew the implication of what his words convey, but I played it cool. “Haven’t you heard the phrase, You can take the horse to the river, but you cannot force it to drink water?” I retorted.

He held his left ear in warning, “Aka má gbọn ch’ukwu imọ̀tọ, a child that refuses to listen to his elders will deal with the repercussion of the fallout…”

The end of the proverb also says an elder who refuses to correct a child will perish. “Are you calling me a child, old man?” I snickered.

He chuckled. “Never. For all I know, we are the same age, or you are even older.”

“Wait, are you saying I look old?” I gasped in mock anger.

He shook his head. “Women and not wanting to look old. I would ask your age, but I hear it’s rude to ask a lady her age. I’m thirty-three, so I’m not that old, either.”

“Wow,” I said, wide-eyed. “You are really a kid. You are my younger brother,” I said teasingly. But truthfully, he was three years older than I was.

He guffawed. And I loved that he was able to forget about work in that instant.  

Ufedo was fine, gentlemanly, and thoughtful. Despite having this air of pride that often comes from men of his calibre, he was kind. A stark contrast to the Igala men I had seen growing up, which made me resolve never to date them again. Especially after my first and last relationship with an Igala man had been an epic failure.

That evening, he came to pick me up for a movie date, rejecting my brunch idea.

When I saw him leaning on the car and scrolling on his phone outside my building, I felt a lightness in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a long time. 

He was dressed just as he is right now but without the face cap. He wore a white T-shirt, orange shorts, and brown Pam slippers.

The look gave him this boyish billionaire look. 

Warmth spread through my entire body. I lost myself staring at him unabashedly.  

When he registered my presence, he put both hands in his pocket, walked to me, leaned towards my ears and whispered, “Careful, or that serious boyfriend of yours will think you have it bad for me.” 

I hit his shoulders, playfully pushing him away. He laughed and gave me his hand. I was blushing. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face.

When we settled in the car, he said, “You are so beautiful. It almost feels like you are unreal sometimes.”

I grinned. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, taking in his gorgeous look again.

He smiled broadly. 

“I bet you assumed I was coming here in a suit, right?” he asked, casting a sidelong glance my way before turning back to the road as he expertly navigated the traffic on our way to the cinema. 

“I swear to God, I thought about it,” I said enthusiastically.

With a hearty laugh, he declared, “Ah, I must admit, I’m a creature of habit when it comes to my daily attire. But for you, I took a chance and stepped out of my comfort zone. I’m delighted to see that my efforts paid off, and you approve.”

“You look amazing in formal clothing, but this…” I trailed off, still awed at how fantastic he looked. 

“Say it,” he encouraged. 

“Sexy,” I said, looking away. 

“Should we have car sex?” he asked, his face serious, and my eyes popped open in shock. 

“I’m joking, it’s a bad joke,” he quickly added, and I rolled my eyes. 

He rented out a private viewing just for the both of us. We had food, drinks and snacks. We watched a Hollywood action-comedy and then an epic Yoruba indigenous film. 

As he leaned in for a goodnight hug, I caught a whiff of his perfume, and I inhaled deeply. 

“Have a wonderful night, Miss Stunning,” he said in a husky voice. “I didn’t mention this before, but you smell so nice that I want to stay between your neck, breathing you in.”

I grinned. “Uhm…” I stammered, lost for words. I thought they said our men weren’t romantic. I was swooned by this man. 

I felt a shiver run through my body and a flutter in my lower abdomen. 

Before I had a chance to collect myself, he placed a kiss on my forehead and turned his back to me, walking to his car, his steps measured and self-assured.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face and the flutters in my stomach as I waved him goodbye.

I walk to the couch that he just vacated and sit down. 

“This attire he is wearing is going to be the end of me,” I murmur.

He finally looks up from his phone. “I was waiting to tell you I am going for a stroll. Do you need anything?”

Eyeroll. “No, thank you,” I busy myself scrolling through social media on my phone as he leaves the hotel suite. 

I return my brother’s call. Before he even starts to speak, I know what he would say. 

“No man is perfect. You have to have a forgiving spirit. I am not proud of it, but my wife forgave me too, and I am a better man for it.” Yada yada yada.

Ele and I are twelve years apart, so we barely argued or disagreed about anything while growing up. I always saw him as an elder brother with wise counsel, and he never tried to impose his suggestions on me. Our dynamic works because he is my protector and always uses his mistakes as a teachable lesson for me. In this case, however, I won’t budge. 

 “I am sorry I don’t agree with you,” I say in response to his earlier remark, telling me to forgive my husband. “It’s not as easy as you make it seem. I need to do it on my own time. If I ever can.” 

“Efoneli, listen to me…” he starts.

“Maybe you changed as a function of your newly found faith in God. If you are not a devout Christian now, would you have been able to tame your wild side?” I cut in. 

Ele was wild when we were growing up. He never stuck to one girlfriend at a time. Ladies were fighting over him very frequently. A year into his marriage, he had sex with a woman in his office that blew up in his face when said woman started to blackmail him with threats of pregnancy. He came home from work one day to an empty house with a note from his wife wishing him well with his new family. He almost ran mad. 

She didn’t ask for a divorce but expected one from him. Ele saw that as a window for forgiveness. Realising that he could have lost his wife because of his inability to keep it in his pants, he started seeking the face of God. After a year of being separated, she finally forgave him when she saw the new changes. Even I thought he was only pretending to have found God to get his wife back.  

Ele is quiet on the call. He shares many similarities with our father now, especially as he is getting closer to fifty. He has a habit of thinking long and considering his words before speaking.

“You have a point,” he breathes. “Being a Christian has helped me find my way in life. If Ufedo asks you what you think he should do to make things better between you two, tell him to seek God.” 

I burst into laughter. Ufedo isn’t an atheist, so he believes in God already. Telling him to find religion won’t make any difference.

 “Okay,” I reply instead when my laughter dies down.

I extend my regards to his wife and children and end the call. 

I leave the couch and head for the bathroom. I need to shower. Maybe after that, I can relax and finish the romance book I started earlier on Kindle. 

I get out of the shower and shoot a text to Jane. She must be wondering why we haven’t spoken all day. 

I wasn’t ready to talk about this with her yesterday and sure as hell, I am not ready now. 

All her texts have been bordering on harassment. 

Sometimes, I wonder if Ufedo fed my friends and family something in their dreams because this level of loyalty from all of them, even from my best friend—I just don’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jane didn’t think twice when she broke up with her boyfriend of five years after catching him pants down with another woman in her house. 

But you didn’t catch Ufedo that way though, did you? A voice whispers to me

Tsk-tsk. I open my Kindle and continue the book.  

FIVE

Ufedo

When I decided to go for a walk, I didn’t have anywhere in mind. I only wanted to give her some space.

I put my phone on airplane mode and walk outside the hotel. 

This side of Lokoja almost makes it feel like a decent place to live, with its tarred roads and beautiful infrastructure. It’s far more appealing than the rest of the town. 

I stroll down the street and grin as I remember the admiration in her eyes when she saw me at the door. She may be hurting, but she still loves me.

The smile on my face brightens again, reminiscing on our first date at the cinema. She couldn’t stop stealing glances at me. In fairness, I noticed because I was also doing the same thing.      

I didn’t want to come off as disrespectful, especially because she offered to cheer me up even though she said she had a serious boyfriend.

By the end of the following month, I moved out of my apartment in Lagos and paid a two-year lease for a three-bedroom apartment in Maitama in Abuja. 

As Efoneli and I continued to spend more time together, I couldn’t help falling completely in love with her. I knew she at least liked me, but she always held back. That completely changed when I kissed her for the first time.  

I chuckle, instinctively touching my cheeks. 

We had been hanging out at least twice a week, but anytime I asked if she wanted to see my apartment or if I could see hers, she turned me down.

I had just come back from meeting some investors in California and desperately needed to tell her how I felt. So, I requested her services as a chef for home service. It took a lot of lying and begging.

I lied that I would be back that night, leaving instructions with my security man to say the same.

I hid upstairs nearly an hour after she arrived, waiting for the perfect time to surprise her in the kitchen.

When she eventually got over the hurt of my deceit, we started talking, and I asked about the progress of opening her restaurant. 

She got so excited talking animatedly about it, telling me about a location she had her eyes on and some equipment she was trying to ship in.

While listening, my heart started pounding faster, and I felt a physical pull to her. I didn’t realise when I had moved from the kitchen counter until I was standing right in front of her at the other side. 

Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and kissed her gently on her lips.

She kissed me back briefly before catching herself and landing a slap across my face. 

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her face contorted in anger. 

“But you kissed me back, ” I replied.

She moved further away from me, standing in front of the refrigerator. “That’s not the point. You should get consent before the action,” she said, straight-faced.

She moved towards the end of the kitchen counter, removed her apron, and hastily began packing her belongings into her tote sitting on a kitchen stool, moving with an air of anger.

Suddenly anxious that she’d leave, I blurted out, “I love you.”

She froze, her gaze focused on me.

“I love you,” I repeated. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, especially because you said you’re seeing someone. That was disrespectful to you and him, but I can’t help it.”

She looked away but didn’t say anything. So, I carried on talking, hoping to get my feelings off my chest. “Even though something tells me you can’t have a serious man in your life. What kind of man would let you spend so much time with another man or speak to him so late at night?” 

“What do you mean, let me?” she thundered, looking at me now.

“I don’t mean it that way. What I mean is that he isn’t that serious about you if he is unavailable. Maybe you should break up with him.”

I waited for her to say something but got nothing still. She didn’t walk out on me, which was a plus. 

“You can’t deny that there isn’t something happening between us,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “Plus, you don’t strike me as the type of woman who would do something crazy like lead a man on—while you are with another.”

Her mouth twitched, but she resumed gathering her things. Still, she didn’t offer any response. 

Releasing a determined sigh, I walked closer to her, turning her to face me. “Okay, look at me and tell me you don’t like me, Efoneli. Tell me and I promise I will back off.”

Efoneli turned to me and whispered, “I agree there is something here, but…” she started to say.

“Shhh,” I quickly held her face firm, staring into her eyes. “There is no but. Whatever your reservations are, we will conquer them, I promise.”

She sighed, and I waited with my heart in my mouth, hoping she wouldn’t turn me down.   

“Okay… Let’s explore these feelings and see where they lead us.“

The knot on my chest loosened, and my face broke into a grin. Thrilled, I pulled her into a passionate kiss.

The blaring of a horn pulls me from my trip to the past, back to the present. 

God, it has been six years since the day I told my brother I had found a wife. 

And it was true; I married Efoneli, just as I had hoped.

Yes, we had some disagreements, but looking back, many of them were trivial—typical relationship spats. My refusal to cook meals, for example. I couldn’t cook to save my life, and I thought, since she was a chef anyway, why would she expect me to cook? I didn’t make any effort.

She also claimed I was untidy, which, to be fair, was somewhat true. I wonder why my pride was hurt.

Once, she was so upset that I didn’t rinse the soap suds off the wall after my shower that she sulked for days, and I foolishly texted Uju about the things she nagged me about. This was the beginning of my disrespect for her and what we shared.

A smile crosses my lips as I remember when I asked her what she thought about us getting married.

It was a year after we started dating, and we were in the car on our way to dinner when I jokingly asked her how she would feel if I proposed, and she said she would never marry me until I cleaned up my act.

I remember being so stunned. But her response forced me to get my act together.

I sigh, looking into the sky. The sun is already setting.

We haven’t spent a day in the same space since this entire thing blew up in my face a month ago. 

We worked on our relationship, and we’ve had three years of marital bliss that almost feels like we were both on a constant high, eager to spend time together every day, no matter how busy our work schedules were. We spent at least two hours every day in each other’s arms, with no screen time or TV, simply eating dinner on the living room floor and talking about our day, sharing our feelings, dreams and plans. Even when I travel for work, which is usually for a week or less, we must speak every night before bed. 

Everything was wonderful between us until it all came crashing down.

I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. 

I persuaded Efoneli to go on a much-needed trip, since we hadn’t gone on any trip together since our honeymoon.

After convincing her to take a break from her restaurant, we were ready to book a trip to Rwanda.

She went looking for a document two weeks before our trip when she discovered my old shoebox on top of the wardrobe in our bedroom.

I will never be able to erase the image of her in tears and the look of betrayal as she confronted me with the phone she found inside the box when I walked into our bedroom that evening. 

“How could you?” she asked, her voice breaking.

I became frozen to the spot, my heart-shattering. All I could do was offer apologies. She held the proof of my betrayal, and I was without any defence.

“Baby, baby, please. I can explain…. I am sorry.” I rushed towards her devastated form on the bed as soon as I could move my lips and legs.

“What are you sorry for, Ufedo?” Efoneli screamed.

That was the second sign I was in deep shit. She never called me by my name. It was babe, U, or Ámï.

I opened my big mouth and said, “Baby, please listen to me. Whatever is in there is my past. I promise you that I have never gone back to her or even conceived the idea ever again.”

She looked at me with a fury I had never seen before. She threw the phone at me and stormed out of the bedroom. 

I followed her, begging to give me a chance to explain, but I knew it was over. 

She was already pulling a packed suitcase downstairs and rushing out the door. 

“Babe, babe, please,” I pleaded, blocking her path.” Please, forgive me. Please, let’s talk about this. I promise I can explain.”

“Let me go so you can go back to her. For all I know, you still harbour a torch for her!” she yelled.

“Go?” I repeated, holding her tighter. “Go where, babe? Your home is here with me. Babe, I swear to God, it was one time, and after that, I was done.”

When I noticed she wasn’t budging and my security man and the domestic staff were witnessing the chaos, I let her go. I watched her get into her car and speed out of our home.

Another fucking mistake. Pride. The same pride that landed me in Uju’s arms in the first place. 

I walked back to the house, my heartbreaking into a thousand tiny pieces because I knew whatever I was going through, it was worse for her.

I went to her restaurant the next day and every day for a full week, and all my pleas fell on deaf ears. She even threatened to return the investment I made on the restaurant if I didn’t stop showing up.

I realised then that I could lose her.

I couldn’t function at work, I couldn’t eat. I fell sick and took time off. She wouldn’t take my calls, or reply my messages for two weeks. Nothing I said changed her mind until she told me one evening that she wanted a divorce.

I collapsed right in the middle of my sitting room when she handed me the divorce papers.

When I woke up at the hospital, I called my mum. I’d been too ashamed to tell my friends or even involve my family, so I’d held it all in. 

My mum was the one who spoke to her mum and convinced her to travel home with me to see her parents.

I return to the hotel suite and Efoneli is nowhere to be found. Her suitcase is also gone. 

My heart drumming heavily against my chest, I take my phone off airplane mode and dial her number.

“Babe, where are you?”

“Didn’t you get my text?” she says, her voice calm.

“No, what does the text say?” 

“I called the reception. There’s a vacant suite, so I took that instead.” 

My grip on the phone tightens. There goes my plan of wooing her back.

“What is the number of your suite? Can I come see you right away?”

She is silent, I sense her hesitation. “Baby, please,” I beg, desperate.

“Maybe tomorrow. I am a little tired,” she says.

I cover the mouthpiece and groan. “Okay, how about dinner? I thought to make a dinner reservation.”

“I already ordered room service,” she says. “I have to go. I am getting a call from my sous chef.” She ends the call abruptly without waiting for my response.

I punch the bed several times to let out the frustration.

I take in deep breaths, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. 

After several minutes, I finally feel calm enough to request room service. 

The food arrives shortly after. Even though it is my first meal for the day, I only eat about half of the jollof rice.

Restless, I move back into the sitting room and settle on the sofa. I stay awake sharing her favourite reels to her Instagram DM, hoping she would watch them and smile.

Although I notice she is viewing them, she is not responding. This darkens my mood a little more.

Mulling over our past, I doze off on the couch. 

SIX

Ufedo

I wake up to a knock on my door. I rush to the door, hoping it is Efoneli only to see housekeeping. 

I exhale a sigh, disappointment weighing heavily on my chest, but I let them in to do their job. 

It is 7:00 a.m. so I send a text to Efoneli, hoping I can spend time with her today.

Good morning, babe, hope you slept okay.  Let’s have breakfast together and plan what we can do together here. We could travel to Lagos or anywhere else you like…

The message delivers. She reads it, but doesn’t reply. I stare at the phone, my heart racing, praying that she responds.

Good morning Ufedo, thanks for the offer but, I am spending the day at my brother’s. 

I read it, quickly sending another.

Can I come with?

This time, her response is fast; No.

I sit back, dejected. I close my eyes, reminiscing about how we couldn’t stay apart from each other for more than half a day, even when we argued. Well, I mean apart from the one time I caught a flight to Lagos in a fury and ended up in Uju’s apartment. The repercussion for which my marriage is on the rocks.

My phone vibrates beside me. “Good morning, Mum,” I greet as soon as I take the call. 

“Ufedo, how are you? Are you okay?” she asks.

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” I say.

“I got a call from Efoneli’s mother yesterday telling me her mind is made up, but her mother assures me she still loves you, and you should give her time.”

I know that too, but I know for Efoneli, love and trust are synonymous. I didn’t tell her when it happened. “Can she trust me again?”

“Well, it is for you to earn her trust back. I could tell you how much you made a big mess of things and how disappointed we are in you, but I know you already chastise yourself— “

“Iye, you still said it. There is no need to flog a man who is already on the floor,” my father interjects, his voice bellowing from somewhere in the background.

“I only said I could have said it, meaning I didn’t say it,” I hear her defend.

“By not saying it, you said it anyway,” my father argues.

I shake my head. “You two, please,” I say, cutting off another retort I was sure was coming. “Did you call me to tell me how in love you both are or to help me with my situation?”

They both chuckle. “Just hang in there, don’t give up. I know she will come around,” my father says.

We talk a little about work and then end the call.

Since I’m alone in the suite, I decide to do some work. I sit down on the sofa and pick up my laptop. As I wait for it to power on, I glance at my phone screen.  

All my texts and calls to Efoneli have gone unanswered. I call her brother, who confirms she is spending the night with them.

I sigh heavily. I miss my wife.

SEVEN

Efoneli

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windowpane and the hum of the air-conditioning.

I am lying in my suite, exhausted, after joining my Uni course mates to hike Mount Patti. The last time I went on that trail was over eight years ago. I was surprised when I called Shimi to stop by her house on my way from Ele’s to say hello, and she went on and on about how I must come. Shimi was my best friend in Uni and our class captain. Our alumni group had put together a summer hangout, and one of the activities was relieving our experience on that trail.

I exited the class group a few months after school because conversations on the group chat were always exhausting. They endlessly revolved around who was doing what, who got married to whom, or who bought what. I also made Shimi promise never to tell me anything about our class.

I hadn’t seen much of anyone from school, and if I spent the day at the hotel, I probably would have had to deal with Ufedo.

I chose Mount Patti.

Mount Patti is a lush vegetation hike. The trail starts with gentle terrain and tall trees, then becomes steep and twisting. Like everyone else, I complained through the sharp hairpin bends and long trail but was amongst the first set of people who perused the historical touchstones and breathtaking views of the beautiful site.

It was a good turnout. For a class of ninety-three students, over fifty showed up.

I try to get to the phone on the dressing table to order room service, and the pain in my thighs makes me scream. I wince, moving slowly till I get to the phone. I order croaker fish and spaghetti.

I kiss my teeth, wondering if the result matches the thrill of the hike as I try to lie flat on my back, still in pain.

The food arrives, and it takes me five minutes to drag my ass from the bed and walk across the room.

Meanwhile, the group still had dinner scheduled for tonight in a luxury hotel. Somebody who cannot even move her legs, how will I dance or mingle? I know I at least made the best decision when I declined that one.

I eat quickly and take a pain reliever, praying that by morning, the pain would have dulled.

Despite the pain, I smile. It was a good day.

I pick up my phone and notice a text on iMessage from Micheal, and my smile widens.

I still cannot believe some people travelled to town just for this. Even Micheal.

Micheal was something closely related to a boyfriend. We were in 200 Level and casually dating. We wanted to make things official when he suddenly had to travel out, courtesy of his older brother in South Africa.

I am still smiling, thinking about Micheal as I fall asleep.

I am standing in the middle of a T-junction barefoot. I see two vehicles driving at full speed towards me. I turn to run to the street across from me and see a third vehicle. Confused, I squat, covering my face with my arms, ready for the impact that is sure to happen anytime now.

Suddenly, everywhere is quiet. I peep from under my arms. The vehicles are gone, and the air is thick with only the sound of winds whispering. 

In the distance, I see a figure walking towards me, with a faint glow around her. As the figure draws closer, my heartbeat skedaddles, then my eyes glint.

She looks almost the same as the last time I saw her. She is still as young and beautiful, and her eyes twinkle with the same mischief and joy I remember.

“Auntie,” I whisper, smiling at her.

She laughs in her usual buoyancy. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me if I came any other way,” she says.

“It’s so good to see you again,” I rush towards her and hug her tightly.

She laughs, embracing me back. I feel the warmth of familiarity cloak me.

“Efoneli, I wish this was just a courtesy call, but I must warn you.”

I pull back. “Warn me?” I frown.

“Yes, my child. You stand at a crossroads, a pivotal moment in your journey. You must tread with care and wisdom.”

I take a step back involuntarily, searching her eyes.

She steps closer to me. “The man you slept off thinking about is not the same young, innocent man you once knew. He has darkness in him now. Violence that grows when it is fed.”

A chill runs down my spine. “You mean Micheal?” My heart sinks, remembering the promise in the text to have lunch tomorrow. “But I wasn’t thinking of…” I trail.

She chuckles. “You forget that I know you. I am you, Efoneli. And you are me. We are tied through time and spirit.”

I let out shaky breaths.

She takes my hands in hers. “Look forward to the beautiful life that is already mapped out for you.”

She touches my stomach, and I instinctively hold her hands there. I feel a surge of warmth and lightness fill me as I let go of the pain of Ufedo’s betrayal.

She smiles at me and nods gently. 

My eyes fill with tears, and I pull her into a hug, but she is already fading, her form dissolving into the soft light of dawn.

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest.

I am in my hotel suite, and the rain is now a gentle patter on the roof. I touch my face, feeling the wetness of my tears, and hold my stomach again, rubbing it.

I pick up my phone and block Micheal’s number. 

I notice a text from Oyewole confirming the time for service and dash to the bathroom. Surprisingly, the pain on my thighs is dull, almost non-existent.

Out of the shower, already dressed, I am styling my braids when I receive another text from Oyewole confirming he is downstairs. I grab my purse and throw in a few items—wallet, airpods, handkerchief, lip gloss, a small note pad, and a pen. 

I am walking out to the lobby when I notice a text from Ufedo:

Should we go to church? His text says.

I am already headed to one close by with someone. I text back, smiling.

EIGHT

Ufedo

Today is Sunday and it’s been three days since I caught a glimpse of Efoneli.

Although, I received a text from her yesterday telling me she was going hiking with some friends.

Hiking? I texted back.

Yeah, I used to enjoy it when I went to Uni here. You are not the only one who has secrets after all.

I slam my mouth shut. She’s not making this easy for me at all.

This morning on the news, it was reported that the bridge is now safe for motorists to ply. I hope that I can convince her to stay two more days so I can work out a plan to get my wife back. One of which is trying to spend more time with her to remind her of how much we love each other.

If I miss this opportunity, and we go back to Abuja, her two-month deadline to travel again to destroy the igberi will go by quickly and I may not be able to see her at all.

Since it’s Sunday and I know she came into the hotel after her hike last night, church comes to mind.

 Should we go to church? I text her.

I am already headed to one close by with someone. She texts back.

‘Which one?’ I want to type, but I hold myself back.

‘Someone or a friend’ usually means a man-friend. I’m crestfallen; the idea of her spending time with another man makes me sick.

Feeling low in spirit after the text exchange with Efoneli, I ask the hotel staff for a Resurrection church closest to the hotel. There is one about ten minutes away.

I resolve to drive to at least three other Resurrection churches close to the hotel until I find the one she’s in.

I get ready and drive down to the church. The parish is small but beautifully decorated with several rows of wooden pews and a stunning altar made of marble. 

I get in late but can’t concentrate on the sermon as I scan the congregation until I see her sitting three rows to my left.

She is smiling—no, grinning at her ‘someone’ as he whispers in her ear.

Anger and jealousy bubbles within me as he attempts to dislodge her tangled earring from her hair.

He rubs her shoulders, exposed by her yellow off-shoulder gown.  

My body feels too hot all of a sudden, and I bolt out of the church.

I drive without a destination in mind until I see the bridge ahead of me.

The flooding has reduced and vehicles are currently crossing the bridge.

I park close to the military checkpoint and kill the engine. “What was I thinking, tracking her to church?” I ask myself.

What was she doing, allowing another man to touch her like that in public, for Christ’s sake, when she hasn’t let me touch her in a month?

Maybe she is done with me, I think.

I close my eyes, unsure of what to do.

I am still thinking when a woman knocks on my car window.

I roll down my windows. She is wearing a blouse and tying a wrapper. Her hair is threaded and held up in a shuku style. She looks to be in her sixties. “Good…” I check my wrist, “…morning, ma.”

“Good morning, my son,” she greets in Igala. Then she asks if I understand.

“I understand you well. Good morning, ma,” I respond entirely in Igala.

She smiles, looking more at ease. “Sorry to disturb you, o. Are you crossing the bridge or returning to Lokoja?” she asks.

“I am going back to Lokoja,” I say.

She smiles and relaxes her gait.

“Can you help me? I am going to Ganaja junction,” she says.

“Of course, ma.” I unlock my doors.

As soon as she sits down, a chill passes through my body.

Weird.

I put the car in reverse to find a suitable point to change to the other lane. I turn on the radio, but the frequency is warped. I try to connect my phone and that doesn’t work either.

“My son, you look worried. What is the problem?” she asks.

“Nothing, ma,” I reply. “Are you visiting your family in Lokoja, or do you live here?” I try to make small talk.

“Ehm, I came to see my family to repair something,” she replies.

“Okay,” I say, not sure what she means by that.

She raises her hand to touch the vent of the air conditioner, and my eyes catch the mark on her wrist.

“What does this do?” she asks, interrupting my thought. She points at so many things in the car excitedly and asks about their use, and I explain. 

She laughs, “See me acting like a village woman who has never seen a car before.”

Her laughter gives me pause. There’s something familiar about it.

She stops and gives me a look. “Is there something you want to ask me?”

“No,” I say, then sigh. “I mean … yes. You laugh like someone I know. And— “ I pause, looking at her wrist again. “The mark on your wrist looks familiar, too.”

“The person I remind you of … is she a bad woman?”

“No, she is not. We—“ I halt, realising I hadn’t specified the gender of the person I mentioned. Although it’s natural to assume it’s a woman, considering that the stranger is one. I still find it too direct.

After another glance at her, I refocus on the road and halt in the traffic jam at the junction.

She laughs throatily. “I asked you before if something was wrong, and you said no.”

“Who are you? How could you possibly know that I was talking about a woman or that I am bothered about something?” I ask, peering at her.

She doesn’t respond to my question. Instead, she points to a street. “You can park here.”

“You said Ganaja junction,” I remind her, confused. This is nowhere near where she asked me to drop her off. 

“I changed my mind.” She starts to tug at the seat belt.

“What about what you said you wanted to repair?” I reach out to help her take off the seatbelt.

She smiles, grabbing my right hand. I freeze, the hairs on my neck stand, and the same strange quiver I had before passes over my body.

“I am repairing it,” she responds, her face suddenly stern. “You look at that woman and tell her the truth. Tell her everything and why you did it. Don’t make me make this journey again.” Something scary passes across her face.

“What are you talking about? What journey? What woman?” I try to remove my hand from her grip, but she is surprisingly stronger, and I can’t. My heart is hammering in my chest.

“Listen to me,” she releases my hand, and it leaves red marks from the force of her grip. “Tell her she did good by learning to become patient every time she crosses the road.”

“Her, who?” I ask again, looking at my hand. Confused, I unlock the car instinctually.

But before I can get answers from her, she disappears as if into thin air. Eyes wide in panic, I glance around for her. The seat beside me is empty, and she is nowhere in sight.

I feel like I’ve been doused in ice. I sit immobilised, unable to move for a few seconds.

Still in shock, I run out of the car, looking around the streets along the adjacent roads, and there is no sign of her.

Stupefied, I get into the car and immediately dial Efoneli’s number. She doesn’t answer. I dial two more times before she picks.

“I am in the middle of some—“ 

“Babe, we need to talk now.” I cut through what she is saying.

“Okay,” she says.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“I am back at the hotel,” she answers.

“Okay, see you soon.” I end the call.

NINE

Efoneli

My cousin, Oyewole, is standing by his car, ready to head off, when I see Ufedo walking towards us.

He says, “Hello,” to Oyewole very casually.

I suppress a grunt. Ufedo can fool anyone but not me. 

Throughout the discussion between the two men, his jaw is clenched. He is clearly unhappy to see me with another man.

Deciding not to be petty and let him believe I’m with a love interest, I gesture to the light-skinned man standing by the black Toyota. 

“This is Dr Oyewole, my cousin. He just returned from Germany. I ran into him the day before yesterday at my brother’s. He came to seek Ele’s guidance on marriage rites,” I say.

Ufedo’s body relaxes, and he offers a handshake to Oyewole. His smile is less tight. “Congratulations and welcome home,” he says.

“Congratulations to you too. I have been begging your wife for forgiveness all day for missing your wedding,” Oyewole replies.

Ufedo glances at me briefly. “I am sure you will find the right words,” he says.

“Yeah, I went to church today after ten years as part of my penance, and I have promised to invest in her first child,” Oyewole smirks, tapping Ufedo’s shoulder. 

Ufedo sharply inhales but holds my eyes. 

“Let me not keep you guys. I have to see some people before I leave for the village tonight. It was nice meeting you, Ufedo, and double congratulations.” Oyewole says, entering his car.

Ufedo scrunches his face in confusion as he watches him enter his car. He turns and faces me. “What is your cousin talking about? Why is he congratulating us? Is there something you—?”

We wave goodbye to Oyewole as his vehicle speeds away from the hotel’s parking area. 

I stop smiling, not ready to answer his question. Instead, I want to know why he called me urgently. “What happened before you called me? You sounded unusual.”

He sighs heavily, his eyes distant. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?”

“Sure,” I lead the way to his hotel suite.

I sit in the two-person dining room. He takes the seat opposite me. 

“So, what’s going on?” I ask.

“You will not believe what happened to—” he stops mid-sentence, and I see a shiver run through his body.

“What is going on?” I ask. He looks shaken by whatever happened, and now I am scared.

“Efoneli,” he releases a shuddering breath, shaking his head in confession. “I was awful to you, and… and I hurt you. But I assure you, I am no longer that man.”

I turn away from him, my fingers curling into fists as I prepare to rise and walk away. “If all you offer are hollow apologies, save your breath,” I say coldly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stops me with a soft touch on my arm. He looks at me with gentle eyes. “No, that’s not what I am doing.” He lifts his hand slightly. “Please baby, please, let me get it off my chest, and when I finish, you can speak.”

I nod.

He swallows nervously, rubbing his palms against each other. “The first time I reached out to Uju was when we had that fight about pride and self-centeredness.”

I drag in air, but I say nothing. 

“I asked Uju if I ever did anything that hinted that I was any of the things you said I was. After our conversation, I realised that we’re all different, and it was already a flawed experiment to begin with. Uju didn’t demand much from me because she didn’t expect much. But you… I love how you demanded more from me. I’m glad you pushed me, and I’m a better man because of you.”

His hand seeks mine across the table, and I move my hands away.

“It was wrong for me to take our arguments to a third party, more so my ex. I am sorry I disrespected you like that.” 

I release a shaky breath, glad to hear him take responsibility for his first sin.

“When I started talking to her, I…uhm didn’t realise what I was doing.” He is staring at the table now.

“You didn’t know talking about your girlfriend with your ex as a way of comparison is bad?” I ask.

He lifts his head to look at me. “At the time, I genuinely was asking for a performance rating, not a comparison. But it ended up that way because my pride was hurt. Your words were harsh.”

I adjust on the chair and his eyes shoot up at me. He probably thinks I want to leave.  “What?” I scoff. “I am not going anywhere.”

He exhales slowly. “Uju and I fell into a comfortable chatting space of checking up on each other and ending the chats with an open-ended question, so that the next morning, one of us had to carry on the conversation. It wasn’t anything serious, but it gave me comfort referring to Uju as a friend.”

“Sure,” I roll my eyes.

He ignores me. “Until I found you with the thing,” he says, glancing at me. “I came in early from work to surprise you, and you were moaning to a dildo in between your legs.”

“It’s a rose toy, sir,” I correct, like it would make a difference what sex toy I was using. My face is burning with mild embarrassment remembering that day.

“Yeah, well, we had already said we were going to have a good time that night, so seeing you in that state with your eyes rolled to the back made me feel inadequate—insecure, like you needed to get yourself going before I joined you.”

“Baby…” I call out, feeling sorry that I did not tell him I had a sex toy before he caught me with it. “But I told you it wasn’t about you not being good in bed.”

“You did, but I didn’t believe you. I was in shock, confused and hurt. I asked why you never told me about it when we had been dating for about five months, and you said you tried to make me go down on you, and I refused.”

“Right.” I sigh, rubbing my temple to dull the ache. “I am sorry. I should have told you.”

He glances at me, nodding slightly. “It’s okay. I didn’t handle that well either,” he says. “When I left the house in a fury, I headed straight to the airport. And because I and Uju already had that comfortable friendship, I sent her a text as soon as my plane landed in Lagos.” 

I place a hand under my jaw; here comes the second sin.

“I went to her place. We ate, drank so much alcohol, talked, watched music videos, and one thing led to another… I woke up—” he looks at me, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and I turn away.

He heaves a deep breath, rubbing both hands over his head. “That was the reason I asked for the break. I didn’t ask for the break because I wanted to spend time with her, I asked because I was too ashamed to face you. And I knew what that would—could do to us if I confessed to cheating on you.”

I shake my head, annoyed all over again about his disloyalty, but I toned down to hear it all.

“When I came to see you a few days later, I was remorseful about how I acted when I raised my voice at you and stormed out. However, I was fighting tears because I broke my promises to you. Babe, I swore that day never to do anything like that again. I love you. I have loved you from the moment I saw you across the restaurant hall with raindrops on your body. And I never stopped loving you, I cannot stop loving you,” he completes, going down on his knees, knee-walking towards me.

The tight knot in my chest loosens and I feel a sense of calm wash over me. “Why did you keep the phone?” I ask with shaky breaths.

“That was the action of a foolish man. I meant to transfer some things from that phone and never got around to doing it.” 

“A very foolish act indeed,” I reply, letting him hug me around the waist.

“So, you haven’t texted Uju since then?” 

“Babe, you can go through my phone, I don’t have her number anymore,” he says, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

“You could have deleted your texts nau. So going through your phone can’t be that much of a proof,” I retort.

He looks at me open-mouthed. “I asked you to check my phone the first day too.”

“Whatever.” I wave my hand dismissively.

“Not whatever, babe. Say you will forgive me, and please come back home.” He holds my hands, gazing up at me. 

I sigh. 

“Babe, please, I don’t care how long it takes me to earn your trust again, but please come back home with me. I can’t do life without you,” he pleads.

I smile, causing him to peer at me. “You are smiling, have you—“ He shakes his head. “Does this mean you no longer find me disgusting?”

My smile broadens as I shake my head. “We forgive you, and we would like to be wherever you are,” I say.

He hugs me tightly, burying his face in my thigh. 

“I promise you that I will never do anything that will make you cry ever again,” he pledges. “Wait a minute,” he says, standing up and pulling me up with him. “Did you say we?”

“Yes, and we accept,” I say, cheerfully. “I miss you too dearly,” I add.

He is standing still, his head tilts to the side. I see the question in his eyes, but his lips are too scared to ask.

“Baby…” he lets out a puff of air through parted lips. “Do you mean what I think you mean?” he asks, his voice low.  

I bob my head. “I found out the day I found the phone. That was why I asked you to come home to an early dinner.”

He closes his eyes and exhales. “Oh my God! That is what your cousin was saying earlier. I’m so sorry, babe. I really am sorry for making you cry and doing this first month of pregnancy by yourself.” He pulls me into a tight embrace, sniffing after some time. I try to look at him, but his hold is tighter.

“Are you crying?” I ask. 

He sniffles and presses his forehead to mine. “Yes, but it’s tears of joy.” He answers. “After our miscarriage, I never thought this could happen for us. Thank God.”

He proposed to me a few weeks after we found out I was pregnant. But shortly after the proposal, I had a miscarriage. When we got married a year later, we tried not to discuss it, but I bugged him until we visited a fertility specialist. He always echoes the doctor’s words anytime I start to worry about not getting pregnant. “We are fine. Babies will come. But before that, we need to keep living our lives to the fullest.“

He holds my face in his hands, his eyes shiny with tears. He kisses my forehead, my eyes, and my cheeks, and then he places a tentative one on my lips. 

He looks at me, his gaze intensifies, and I feel it all the way to my centre, instinctively squeezing my thighs together. 

The next kiss isn’t as gentle. Our lips meet in a frenzy. He nudges my mouth open and slips his tongue into my mouth. My body hums from the warmth it has missed in a month.

I feel his growing hardness on my belly and smile into the kiss. 

He chuckles. “Can you blame me for having a hard-on?” 

I laugh. 

“My body and everything that I am belongs to you.” He catches my lower lip with his teeth, sweeping his tongue across it. 

I let out a moan, eliciting a groan from him. Heat surges between us, and before I can catch my breath, my gown is sliding down, our hands are roaming over each other’s bodies and our hips are grinding as we move from the dining area to the bedroom.

He nudges me to sit on the queen-sized bed, then pushes me slowly to lie on my back.

His eyes wander over my body in my underwear, his look intense; the lust apparent in his eyes.

He moves closer to the bed, and kneels on the ottoman, pulling me closer to the foot of the bed. He places a kiss at the top of my centre, sending a shiver down my entire body and starts to pull down my pants.

He spreads my legs and his eyes move up to meet mine. I smirk, raising my head and pulling him up. “Not right now,” I whisper.

He takes the hint, coming up on top of me. I adjust, moving higher to the bed’s headboard.

The rapid rise and fall of my chest mirror his erratic breathing.

He turns me sideways and angles himself beside me. One heated look is the only warning I get as he slowly drives into me to the hilt.

He curses twice, seeking my lips in a slow kiss. It takes him a few seconds to find a rhythm.

In no time, I start to shiver, moan and buckle in a cry. 

He curses after a few minutes and pulls my leg over his waist as he starts to breathe faster, his thrust quicker. With a hoarse groan, he shoots his load into me. 

Our breathing slows down, and he leaves more trails of kisses from my face to my neck. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?” I chuckle.

“For loving me, for accepting me, and for making me a father,” he says, staring into my eyes. 

“You are not a father yet,” I reply, but deep in my heart I know this one will stay. 

“Don’t say that.” His look is stern. 

“Fine,” I say. “You are welcome. Thank you for choosing us every day, too.” 

“Who would I choose if not you?”

I laugh throatily, and he jolts upright as if suddenly remembering something. 

“What is it?” I ask. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m mad, but I have to tell you something.” He pulls me up and into his arms. 

“Okay, tell me.” I smile at him. “I promise, I won’t think you’re mad.”

He exhales, scratching his beard. “I carried a woman to Ganaja junction, and she disappeared right in front of my eyes, babe,” he says, his eyes bulging.

“Disappeared?” My eyes widen in shock and my voice is an octave higher. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean disappeared. As in poof! Gone! Into thin air! That is the only explanation, because how do I explain that she was holding me one second and the next, her seat is vacant?”

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, sitting upright to face him.

“And she knew some things about me, about you, too.” He glances at me.

“Ehn? Like what?”

“Well,” he says. “She knew we had marital problems and urged me to fix it.” He looks pensive for several moments then says, “She came out of nowhere, knocked on my car window and told me to drop her at Ganaja. Then she mentioned going to fix something.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, fear lacing my voice.

“Exactly what I just said. The woman really disappeared.” He runs a hand across his temple. “I felt chills, and the car suddenly got colder the entire time she was with me.” 

I bite my lips to contain my fear.

“And there’s more,” he leans forward and lowers his voice. “She had this same mark on her wrist.” He holds my wrist up. “And laughs like you.” 

“Oh!” I say, eyes wide as it suddenly dawns on me. I know exactly what he’s talking about. “I know the woman.”

“You do? How?” He looks at me with shock on his face. 

I suck my lower lip. “Yes. I do. But I’ll tell you in a bit. What else did she say?”

He ponders on my question for a few seconds. “She said to tell you ‘well done for learning to be patient when crossing the road’ or something like that. You know what is weird? Although she never mentioned your name, I knew she was talking about you.”

I sigh. “The person you carried isn’t alive anymore,” I say. 

“What?” He exclaims, jumping out of the bed.

“She was my great-grand-aunt. I am her adawa, reincarnation, actually. She came to me once when I was eleven.”

He gasps. “What? This is unbelievable. So, she’s a ghost?”

“Yes, I know it sounds strange, but it’s true.” I lie down and pull the duvet to my chest to cover myself from the AC’s chill. “So, she came to you too,” I mutter to myself.

“Wow. I’m still shocked. So, I carried and interacted with a ghost?” Fear laces his voice.

“More or less,” I say. 

He scratches his head, absentmindedly. “I don’t know how to feel about this. Should we call someone in the village about it?” he asks. “Maybe to get clarity on why she came.”

“I don’t think that is necessary, but I will tell my mum about it. Her ghost visits whenever she wants to pass a message. She came when I was eleven to tell me never to make a decision in a hurry and to stay alive. She came to me last night in a dream too. So, I think she came to you because she wanted us to work on our marriage.” I give him a pointed look and smile. “This means she approves of you.”

“How would you know that?” 

I hold his eyes, ready to tell him the horror story that led to my Adawa’s death.

“A rich man from another village sought her hand in marriage. Her parents complained that they were not familiar with anyone from his village and that she should be patient and wait for them to send someone to investigate him and his family.” I look at Ufedo, and he is listening to me with rapt attention. 

“Against all advice, even her friends who complained that he acted strangely sometimes, she got married to the man.  However, a few months in, she confided in her sister that whenever he got angry, he would tie or chain her to a metal bed depending on his mood. They begged her to leave him, but she refused because she was in love. On this particular day, he said she didn’t cook his local meal the right way so he flogged her. Because she wouldn’t stop crying, and he was having guests, he took her to the bush behind the house and tied her wrists to a tree.”

“Jesus Christ!” Ufedo exclaims. “Did her family do anything?”

“They couldn’t prove anything, especially because when her elder brother came to return what he gave them for bride price, she denied that her husband ever maltreated or physically abused her.”

“Shit,” he exclaims.

 “The family washed their hands off her after the disgrace. They only heard from the neighbours that her husband had tied her to a tree in the forest overnight. Something must have bitten her because by the time they got to her, she was already dead.”

“Oh God. Such a sad way to die for love,” Ufedo laments.

“It is. So that explains the mark on her hands. I pray that she can finally find peace.”

He smiles. “I hope so, too. She seemed happy and at peace when I saw her today, except for when she was warning me to do the right thing. Maybe also because she agrees you made the right choice in choosing me as your husband.” Ufedo wriggles his eyebrows at me.

I roll my eyes. “Abeggi! Who is this one, please?“ I joke, rolling my eyes again for effect.

“Your darling husband that you love and cherish so much and whose world you rule,” he teases, pulling me into him and plastering each word as a kiss on my face.

I try to keep a stern face but fail terribly. I grin hard.

What started as a joke ended up with us a tangle of bodies and a mix of bodily fluids.

“Is your plan to impregnate me with another baby on top of this one?” I babble in between moans and orgasms.

“Allow me to do my duty, woman,” he says, his breathing laboured. “I haven’t gardened in a full month.”

I cackle, my body vibrating with another release on the horizon.

I finally leave the shower after turning down his offer to scrub me clean knowing it will never be ‘just’ a shower. 

I come out of the bathroom to see that our suitcases are packed. “U… What’s going on? How did my suitcase get here?” I ask.

He grins, pulls me closer and squeezes my butt. “I’m your husband, that’s how,” he says proudly.

“Okay, Mr Husband.” My smile widens as he kisses me.

“So—what do you think about sleeping in our bed tonight?” he asks me, nuzzling my neck.

“Of course, I’d like to. But is the flooding over?”

I turn my head towards the window to look outside, but he holds my head in place to keep me staring into his eyes. 

“Water is under the bridge. The flood is not our concern anymore, and now is a great time to drive over the bridge into the sunset with my darling wife. And in two and a half hours, we will be home.” 

“Why the rush? We can leave tomorrow,” I say.

He steps away from me, mock horror etched on his face. “My darling wife, I cannot believe you just asked me that,” he jokes, grabbing my ass. “I can’t wait to drive back to our home again. I miss you, the house misses you, and our staff miss you too. We need you to return life to us again.”

I have a grin on my face. “Fine. I can’t wait to get home too.” 

In a quick motion, he places a kiss on my forehead, takes off his boxer shorts and begins pulling me towards the bathroom. “We’ll be quick, babe.”

I vehemently shake my head, protesting. I hold the bed frame to keep me from moving. “No, no, no babe. I just had a shower.”

“And you can have another one again with your husband.” he grins, picking me up bridal style. 

“Baby nau,” I say, pouting.

He turns me to straddle him and seeks my mouth in a passionate kiss as he walks towards the bathroom.

I shake my head but kiss him back ardently. “Are you sure we are going to make it back to Abuja tonight?”

He smiles into the kiss. “I promise, we’ll be quick, except you get greedy.”

I laugh loudly, but I am a willing participant eagerly pushing the bathroom door open, eager to get lost in his warmth again.

---

About the Author

More from the Author

Leila Khalid

At Eight

Friendship Illusion

Anthology

• Love and Friendship in Roses Aren’t Red
• Shades of Right in The Aftermath

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