Not So Happily Married …. Episode Nine

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It felt like when we were dating. There I was getting flowers, smelling several bouquets, trying to get a perfect blend of Tulips and Roses, just the way she liked her flowers. When was the last time I gave her flowers? I thought, a pang of guilt coursing through my veins. Flowers, chocolates and every other silly thing that women love; It was close to a year. I had stopped being who I was right after the abortion issue. A part of me reassured me it wasn’t really my fault but the part that loves Omoboye unconditionally faulted me. It told me I was wrong to stop being me. Love forgives all.

By the time I was done shopping, I had three goody bags filled to the brim. One look at me and Omoboye’s mum would know we had been fighting. I thought chuckling. Since I was supposed to be coming back from a trip, I decided to add two loaves of bread to my load. I went home after I was done, there was five more hours before night fall.

****

“No, Boladale. You did not!”

“Tell me I am wrong. Tell me right now. Tell me it’s not who I am thinking.”

“Omoboye, please calm down.” She whimpered.

“I should calm down?” I saw through the corner of my eyes that we had an audience and I almost imagined the security of the eatery throwing us out any moment.

“Boladale, I will calm down because I need you to start from the very beginning. I need you to tell me that I am wrong, that it is not Dapo that you are pregnant for. So I am going to calm down right now, I am going to sit down and you will do the same and we will have a very calm discussion, just make sure you tell me it’s not Dapo.”

That was when she broke down in tears. Frantically drawing out her handkerchief, she blew her nose and I turned up my face in disgust. I hated her so much at that moment. There was no denying it, I had to be right. It must be Dapo or why else would she feel this much guilt. I thought.

“Omoboye, I didn’t plan for this to happen at all. He is not someone I would want to have anything to do with given the history between you two and the fact that he is married.”

“Wait, Boladale.” I said as calmly as I could.

“Are you saying Dapo is the father of your unborn baby?”

She nodded.

“Babe, I don’t want you to nod. I want you to say it. I need to hear his name on your lips.”

“Yes, Boye. It’s Dapo.” She said choking on her tears.

“It’s Dapo.” I repeated placing my head in my palms.

“Boye, you don’t have friends.” I told myself. Why would this girl do this to me? She knew what Dapo put me through, she knew how much he maltreated me, she knows how much I hate him, she knows everything that ever happened between us and how I hate to hear his name mentioned.

“So you are pregnant for Dapo?” I said after raising my head up. “It’s okay. Now I want to hear exactly how that “mistake” happened. The whole story mind you.”

She then started a story that could qualify for a full episode of a “Why do hoes fall so quick” series. (If someone ever decides to do such)

I didn’t interrupt, it was too sweet a story to spoil with comments or questions. Here is how she told it;

“We were just having fun as we usually do at work and that day someone brought up the topic of married men and single ladies. The married women on my desk said it’s totally wrong for a single girl to date a married man. They went on and on about how stupid it was and how shameless such girls were and how nemesis will catch up with them when they also marry.”

Boladale then said although she agreed with them, she decided to play the devil’s advocate and side with the guys. I didn’t ask why she did that but she said it all the same. She said the ladies were too full of themselves, that they saw their being married as a trophy of some sort and looked down on single girls like her. She said she told them she saw nothing wrong in a married man dating a single girl because it doesn’t matter to a single girl whether the man that can fulfil her physical and emotional needs is single or married especially when the single ones are not forthcoming.

“The guys hailed me” she said. “They called me a “correct girl”  but the ladies shot me looks of disdain and went on to give several reasons why they believed I was very wrong. Boye, I stood my ground and kept defending my point even though I didn’t really believe it.”

I wanted to smile at that point, and the part of me that was still a diehard fan of Boladale wanted to give her a thumb up. That was vintage Bola; she never backed down in any argument even when she was wrong.

But still I didn’t interrupt; no words, no smile, no thumbs up and she continued.

“After a while, we moved on to other things. Later that day a male colleague told me since it was Friday night, they wanted to go to a Karaoke bar and restaurant that just opened on Ligali Ayorinde Street, they asked if I would like to come and I felt it was okay given that it wasn’t so far from my house. So I followed them.”

She paused at that point and swallowed hard. Go on Bitch, I wanted to say. At least they didn’t rape you or did they? Go on bitchy Boladale, let’s hear how you slept with your friend’s married ex.

“We had fun  and then the other guys started pairing up with girls, every one of them except Dapo. At a point, we were the only ones left at the table. I really don’t know what happened, but I am pretty sure I wasn’t drugged because I didn’t leave my seat at all and I opened all my drinks myself. But somehow the atmosphere changed. Perhaps it was due to the fact that I have been celibate for over Eight months.

Mstcheww, perhaps it’s due to the fact that you are just an unrepentant hoe! I wanted to say but I didn’t interrupt her and so she continued.

“Suddenly, Dapo’s perfume felt like the sweetest thing I ever smelled and I could feel myself getting moist just looking at him. He must have felt something too because we just kept looking at each other. Boye, do you know that place? Da Real? If you know it, perhaps you would understand. They have these enclaves that are dimly lit, cozy, cool and so romantic. Perhaps that was part of what affected me. But before long, Dapo got all feely touchy and I didn’t stop him. I knew I should have but I didn’t.

Of course I didn’t know Da Real and I didn’t understand how a cozy enclave could make a woman lose her senses, maybe I am just biased but I didn’t answer her yet again. I just stayed mute listening.

“And then, we were walking and I somehow hoped we were going outside where I could breathe fresh air and get over the lust. I knew I won’t be able to say no if he decided to kiss me or do more than kiss.  I  followed him when he entered one of the back rooms. You know those rooms they keep in anticipation of such things. Looking back, I think Dapo must have booked it earlier because I can’t remember him booking a room. I didn’t allow myself to think, I was afraid common sense will tell me to flee. Not even when his lips sought mine, not when my clothes started dropping like onion peels. It wasn’t until I felt the first wild thrust that my brain started warming up. It was at that point that I started murmuring. Oh no, we didn’t do this. No I didn’t do this. He didn’t say a word in reply Omoboye, he didn’t say a word. Not shhhh, not “don’t worry” not even “yes Bola, we are doing this”. Nothing Boye, he just kept thrusting in and out. He never paused, not until he was done. Boye, I didn’t even enjoy it, I could not. The first thing I did when he got up was confirm that he had used a condom and then I put on my clothes hurriedly and without a word ran back to my car.

I was crying by the time she was done. We were both sobbing, my tears were silent; hers were a bit noisy. A part of me felt sorry for her, that part of me wanted to console her. I knew very well, the kind of man that Dapo was and I felt sad he hadn’t changed. I knew I should forgive Boladale but I couldn’t stop thinking of Dapo’s wife, her angelic and sweet face kept coming to my mind.

“How will she feel if she knows you are pregnant?” I said aloud.

“Boye, that’s my greatest nightmare right now but I can’t abort. I can’t afford to.” Bola said amidst the tears. I didn’t fail to see the determination in her eyes.

I had no intention of advising her to abort her baby; I didn’t even want to say anything more to her. At least not yet so I wiped my face clean, picked my bag and walked out. I didn’t glance back but I could feel her watery eyes trailing me as I walked out.

****

I still can’t decide which was better between that night and our first night in Zanzibar. It was beyond beautiful for want of a better adjective to use. The very sane part of me kept wondering if our relationship was that type that was only sweet when misunderstandings and making up are mixed in the right blends.

I got to the house about Eight pm and Omoboye gave me a very warm hug. The hug was warm but her eyes were not and I knew the hug was just for her Mom’s benefit. We could still go home if we wanted to but I understood that it was important for Omoboye’s ego that she stayed that night just as she had said when we spoke on phone. Her Mom was watchful and kept trying to see if there was any awkwardness between us. We both had enough experience in keeping up appearances so I think we succeeded in fooling her.

My mother in law went to bed few minutes to Nine pm and bade us good night after ensuring there was an extra cover cloth for me in Omoboye’s room. My wife however took it to the guest room immediately her mom went to bed reminding me she had said we were not going to sleep in the same room.

I didn’t mind, I had guessed she wasn’t going to back down anyway. We didn’t speak after her mom left and she even ignored my enquiries about how she was doing and when we were going to have the discussion. She kept her eyes glued to the television watching a program where women found themselves in labour without any prior knowledge of being pregnant. The program seemed drab and un-real to me. How could you possibly tell me someone was pregnant for nine months without knowing? But above all, It was quite depressing to see Omoboye was still neck deep in her Somatization and pregnancy obsessions.

I left the sitting room after watching the program for about twenty minutes. I walked up to her as I was about leaving and slipped the note I wrote earlier in the day into her bra.

_

I must have been so tired to not have heard when the door opened, but I opened my eyes immediately she entered the room. It was her scent that alerted me; the scent of Frederico Mahora’s Pheromone that had become permanently registered in my brain.

She was on the bed before I could say a word, lying on my chest. I hugged her hard and kissed her lips. We didn’t speak, we just held each other at first and then I splayed my hands on her rear. It was smooth despite the fact that I was touching it through her sleep wear. The kind of smooth that makes you realize she was wearing nothing under. We didn’t speak; I never even opened my eyes throughout. I just made love to her with my eyes closed. My hands were familiar with every part of her and her soft little moans told me where exactly she wanted me to linger.

It was like our best ever, perhaps because we knew her Mom was just down the hallway and we couldn’t afford to make animal noises or maybe it was because we both channelled the unresolved issues between us into a sexual energy of some sorts or maybe it was because we didn’t allow each other to come fully. She kept vibrating in my arms for a long time after we stopped, grinding her body against mine. I smiled a smile of contentment certain she was going to follow me home the next morning.

*****

How could I say no when he asked if I would go home with him the next day. First I knew Mom would ask what the problem was if I didn’t but I could have explained that away so it was more like I followed him because I wanted to. It was hard to fight with him after the explosive night we spent together. It was as if Mom knew too because I caught something that looked like a wink in her eyes when she asked me what I thought my husband would like to eat.

We left after breakfast. I carried the flowers that Jite brought the previous night. They were well preserved. I am a sucker for Roses and Tulips and I think I temporarily forgot every bitterness I felt the moment he walked into my Mom’s house with the flowers in his arms.

We were not going home. Since it was a weekend, I suggested that we go to a resort outside Lagos to unwind and he had agreed readily. I told him I would prefer if we discussed on a neutral ground, somewhere different from our house.

We had stopped at a supermarket to get some toiletries when a car parked in front of ours and a woman stepped out from it. I frroze. It was Skipper in real life. She is even more beautiful than her photos I thought disappointment clouding my eyes. I had hoped for a blemish, but I could see none from where I stood.

Jite stood rooted to a spot, he looked angry.

Bastard! I thought, he never expected his mistress to trail us and reveal herself this way.

“Wow, you must be Boye.” Skipper said excitedly.

I didn’t answer; I just gazed at her stomach as she removed the shawl draped around her upper body. She was sporting an unmistakable bump. I was sure it was pregnancy; it was the only thing I knew that could curve a woman’s stomach that way.

She is pregnant I wanted to say but the words didn’t come out. I just looked from her excited face to Jite’s angry face trying to decide if I should scream or run.

“Boye, I am so glad to meet you. This man here is so desperate to hide me.” Skipper said smiling and revealing deep and beautiful dimples.

So she also has dimples too.

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Not So Happily Married ……Episode Eight

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Some questions are not meant to be answered and most times the questioner knows the one who is being questioned does not have to answer. Some other questions however are meant to be answered and most times both the questioner and the one being questioned knows it. The latter were usually the hardest questions to answer; the type of questions whose answers stuck to the roof of one’s mouth; hard to spit out, yet harder to hold in.

Omoboye’s question had to be answered, she also expected it to be answered only I couldn’t answer not because I didn’t know the answer but because the question both enraged and hurt me. It told me in clear terms that I was neither forgiven nor trusted.  To be fair, it was only natural. I shouldn’t expect to be trusted and forgiven just like that. Omoboye wasn’t God, was she? Even God has to be beseeched to not remember one’s sins. My only wish was that she would talk to me about the bitterness or pain that might be left in her heart but it was as though there was a wall; a very thick one that stood between us.

It is funny how our roles became reversed in such a short while. I thought. Just some few weeks before, I had been the one who refused to forgive and just when I let go of my resentment and anger, Omoboye brought her own issues to fore.

She didn’t repeat the question. She didn’t even say her usual “have a nice day” when I dropped her off.

As I drove away, something told me she might have taken my silence as “Yes” and I felt like racing back to tell her the answer was no but I didn’t instead I thought of another way to answer her question. It seemed easier.

****

He didn’t answer my question.  Bisade must be pregnant. That was what I kept thinking as I walked into my make up studio. There was work to be done. My students were there waiting. They were supposed to have a practical session but I rescheduled it and locked myself up in my tiny office.

Anger coursed through my veins, I wanted so desperately to call him, vent all the anger that I felt. I wanted to curse Bisade to her face but I didn’t even know where she lived; I didn’t know where she worked. I knew next to nothing about her. I decided I could go home and rummage through some stuff and see if I would find the information I needed somewhere.

I didn’t know what exactly it was that I was looking for but I knew Jite had a box filled with papers on the top of our wardrobe. I decided to start my search from there.

The box was filled with letters, printed e-mails, photo albums, greeting cards and some notebooks.  I told myself I had a right to go through my husband’s stuff and so I began to read the letters.  The letters evoked several emotions in me and I forgot the pain I felt and the real reason for the search. Some of them made me laugh, some made me turn up my face in disgust and going through some, I felt pangs of jealousy. There were too many girls, some of them were familiar names but majority were names I had never heard of.  Jite and I had had  shared stories about exes while we were dating. He had told me there were too many to talk about but had mentioned the name of the notable ones.

I had what could pass for fun until I reached a Blue coloured envelope that had the word that had been giving me nightmares written on it in Jite’s handwriting. “SKIPPER”

I sat up immediately I saw it and began to open the envelope with shaky hands. It was filled with pictures taken in several cities of the world. Whoever you are Skipper; you are one heck of an Ajala the traveler. I murmured going over pictures with backgrounds like the Burj Al Arab, the Eiffel Tower, the statue of liberty….there were about sixteen pictures in all and Skipper looked exquisite in all of them. The pictures all had an inscription on the far right corner; “Love. Skipper”

“Who is Skipper?” I asked for what was could very well be the thousandth time?

“Why not ask Jite?” I thought

“Why ask him?”

“For your peace of mind, for your sanity, is it not better and easier to ask?”

“No, I don’t think I want to know. But still, I want to know.” I told myself sighing.

Skipper is beautiful; I had to admit that even though it was painful to admit it.  I stared at the one she took in Paris, in front of the Eiffel tower wondering why anyone could be that beautiful and why Jite had never mentioned her. Was she that special? She must be. He had even created a different envelope for her pictures. I stared at the pictures for another fifteen minutes trying to find a flaw – a crooked or broken teeth? K- leg?  dark spots?. I found nothing. There must be a flaw somewhere I concluded. No one could be this perfect.

I didn’t stop looking for faults until the words of the text message I read in Zanzibar and its implication jumped into my mind. Skipper was in Lagos and she didn’t know Jite was married, she hadn’t wished him a happy married life. I obsessed over that for a while before other thoughts set in. Those calls that he took in private and which always turned out to be from Skipper. Could it be they were already meeting? She must have told him she called and sent a message, how come he didn’t ask why they went missing on his phone? What does Skipper want from my man?

*****

Sweets,

Bisade is not pregnant, at least not for me. Like I told you earlier, we used protection. That’s not the only reason I know though. I have spoken to her after we came back from Zanzibar. I know I promised not to have anything to do with her again, but I felt like I needed to see her, I felt I needed to know there were no problems. I know how much it would hurt you if it turns out she was pregnant. I also needed to apologize to her because I feel like I used her. In case, you are wondering, we didn’t do more than talk.

She assured me I was forgiven and she wasn’t pregnant. Once again, I am sorry for this mess we are in. it was all my fault. If only I had forgiven you in the very beginning. My behavior was inexcusable. Omoboye I am sorry and I love you. Even in all this madness, I still love you. I must also add that I meant it when I said we should slow down on the pregnancy thing. I want you first before any other thing, and I mean it when I say it won’t matter if we never have children. I would still love you. We would adopt fifteen kids or whichever number you wish. Just don’t lose yourself in this mess. Let’s be happy babe.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Jite

The idea of giving her a note sounded like what a coward would do and I had a feeling that Omoboye would feel the same way. Why do I find it so hard to talk to Omoboye about stuff? I wondered as I slipped the letter in my pocket. I knew it would be better to say those things to her face but I didn’t want to see the disbelief and distrust in her eyes. I could only hope that when she read it, she would think about it and believe me.

****

I wanted to burn the pictures along with Jite’s box but I felt that would be too dramatic. My mind was in turmoil and the unanswered questions kept revolving, who is Skipper and what was the urgent thing she needed to discuss with Jite. After over an hour of thinking about Skipper, I decided to leave the house. I didn’t want to face Jite not with the way I was feeling.

I also wanted him to suffer, wondering what could be going on in my mind.

I packed a bag and left for my Parents’ place. I knew Mom would want to ask why I wanted to sleep over at their place and I had a story ready. Jite was out of town.

****

Jite,

I would be at my Parents’s place. I will tell Mom you travelled. It shouldn’t be for long. I need to clear my head. We should talk when I get back. I will appreciate if you don’t come to the house or try to tell Mom what is really happening.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Take Care

I read the note for the third time and afterwards placed the one I drafted for her beside it. I wrote her a note, she wrote me a note. Only hers got delivered while mine couldn’t reach her. Are things this bad? I wondered. Why would Omoboye leave my house to clear her head in her father’s house? Did she not know how wrong that was? Every responsible and wise woman knows how wrong it is to leave her husband alone for any reason. I felt anger well up in me as I looked around the house, checking for things she might have packed to help give a clue on how long she might be gone. The wardrobe looked untouched; I could barely notice that anything was missing. That is good. I thought hopeful that it would be for a few days.

****

Being at my Parents’s place wasn’t fun, it was the reason I stopped living with them after graduating from the university. My mother was too bossy, too judgmental.

She had snorted when I told her Jite was out of town and I didn’t want to stay alone murmuring something about how the matter that a man says Baba must not hear would eventually be settled by Baba. I had ignored her, pretending I didn’t hear her words.

I stumbled on “I didn’t know I was pregnant” the day I got to my parents’ place. Mum usually slept before 9pm and that gets reduced to 8pm on days when Dad wasn’t around which was usually five days in a week given that he worked in Ibadan. After Mom slept, I saw a movie until 11pm and turned in for the night but I couldn’t sleep, I kept tossing around.

At first I thought it was because the air conditioning was too much but I later realized it was something different, something that brought tears to my eyes. I was missing my husband. It’s amazing how something you have done all your life suddenly becomes alien. Before marriage, I had slept alone without any discomfort but there I was without my husband for just one night and all I could think of was how soothing it would be to have him beside me.

After two hours of trying for sleep, I went back to the sitting room. I scanned the stations to see if there was any program that would interest me.  It was while checking through  the channels that I saw “I didn’t know I was pregnant”. The cases the program featured were a bit different from mine but it was still similar in a way. These were women who didn’t know they were pregnant until the day they started having contractions. One of the cases I watched that night was someone whose baby just dropped on the floor of their sitting room. I was excited. Perhaps I was pregnant after all. The only difference was I suspected I was pregnant while they never had a clue. anorexia

Their stomach size didn’t increase while mine was increasing. They didn’t have symptoms while I was having symptoms but still I was glad to see the programme. Perhaps my contractions would just start one day and my baby will drop too. If I was pregnant, it would be around two months. That is too early for other people to notice, isn’t it?  I thought excitedly. I slept happy after that confident that I was truly pregnant and ignoring the tiny part of me that was still in doubt.

****

I didn’t talk to Omoboye until the third day after she left the house. It wasn’t because I wanted to honor her wishes and not call. It was because I couldn’t. Her phones were switched off and I know she would be upset if I called her Mom. I knew very well how much she hated people thinking there was anything wrong with her life. When the call went through, I didn’t ask why she switched off or why she didn’t contact me, I just asked how she was doing.

She assured me she was fine and would be home soon.

“Jite, I feel much better now. She said. I should be home in two days time. There is so much we need to talk about when we see. I have some questions I need answers to.”

“How about I come to your Mum’s place?”

“No, you can’t do that. She would wonder why. She already suspects that we have issues.”

“Okay. I understand. But Boye, why don’t you just come home today. I have missed you so much. This house is empty without you.”

“I hear you Jite but I would like to stay for two more days. However, there is an option. You could come around late this night and say you had to cut short your trip. Make sure it’s really late so that we can say we would rather sleep over instead of going back to the house.”

“That’s okay with me Boye. I can do that.”

“Jite” She called in a tone that made my heart skip a beat.

“Yes love”. I answered half hoping she would say I love you.

“We would be sleeping in separate rooms and don’t ask me why.”

With that she dropped the call, I didn’t have a chance to respond, not that I would have said anything. I was still very worried about her state of mind and was prepared to do anything it would take to make her happy.

****

After Jite and I spoke, I decided it was time to talk to Boladale. Although I hadn’t deleted her contact on my Blackberry messenger and phone, I wasn’t picking her calls; neither was I acknowledging her messages.

I called her up that afternoon and informed her I would like to see her. She asked if I would like to come to her office and I said I would prefer if we met at a Sweet Sensation outlet close to her office.

She hugged me as soon as she saw me and I hugged her back. It was a bit awkward but I smiled at her. I needed her to think we were cool.

“Babe, what’s up? How is married life? I don’t even need to ask, I can see you are glowing.” She added.

Something about our friendship had changed. Before the pregnancy issue Boladale and I could talk for hours about just anything but there we were acting like two siblings who were meeting for the first time.

“I am fine Bola. I am sorry I wasn’t picking your calls, I was just so annoyed with you but I am past that now. I don’t want to sacrifice our friendship because of something so trivial.”

“Thank you Boye. Thank you. This makes me feel so better.”

“It’s okay. No problems at all.”

“Boye, I didn’t tell you everything the other day. I want to tell you now but promise me you would forgive me.”

“Bola, I can’t make a promise when I don’t know what’s involved.”

“Omoboye, please promise me.”

“Boladale I can’t promise you.”

“Hmm, either way I just have to say it. I have to lift this terrible burden off my shoulders. When I am done saying this, Boye you can kill me and I would deserve it.”

“Boladale, what is it that you have to say?” I asked in an impatient voice.

“Remember, when I said the father of my unborn baby is a married colleague, I didn’t mention that he is someone close to you. Someone very close to you.”

I shivered, a sudden cold enveloping me. It was as though a bucket of chilled water was poured on me. “Someone close to me, someone very close to me. Someone that is your colleague” I murmured.

“No, Boladale.” I shrieked, flying out of my seat as comprehension set in.

Some Women Cheat Like It’s a Sport….

HAIR

 Me I don’t do that kind of slow motion ooo. See these things are not that hard, you do what you have to do, clean up and go back home to cook for your husband. The thing no dey read meter my sister.”

****

The other day I was at a salon to make my hair and this woman came in all made up and pretty. She seemed to be a friend to the salon owner and it was apparent she didn’t come to make her hair as she had on a relatively new hairdo. I can’t remember how the conversation turned to cheating but the first thing that attracted my attention was;

“Iwo lo slack ooo….o smart rara. Me I don’t do that kind of slow motion ooo. See these things are not that hard, you do what you have to do, clean up and go back home to cook for your husband. The thing no dey read meter my sister.”

WHAT!!! I exclaimed inwardly at the “clean up and go back home to cook for your husband. The thing no dey read meter my sister.” I immediately paid rapt attention to the discussion.

“Hmm, ekun.” The owner of the salon hailed. “You know sey you get mind.”

“It’s not about mind. There is no big deal really. These men do these things too and who says we can’t get our own pleasures when we need to. All you need to do is be smart, ensure you are not caught. You are only guilty when you are caught.’’

“But me my reason for contemplating it is money ooo.”

“It’s not just about money. My dear. You know I don’t do it for money, it’s not like I don’t have more than I need but sometimes you need love more than money and most of these our men don’t know that. They rarely think of fulfilling our emotional needs so we have to be responsible for our happiness and grab it from wherever we can get it.’’

 

She moved towards the Salon owner and whispered something in her ear. It was hard to hear but I strained my ear, I did not want to miss any part of the gist.

“You know Raji now, ehn Raji.” she repeated at the look of surprise that came over the stylist. “He is the current one.” She added going back to her chair and laughing at the shocked look on her friend’s face.

“But I thought he was history.’’ The Salon owner said

“Yeah, that was until we met at Silverbird two months ago after over five years. See I’m chopping life ooo. Mo’n jaye ori mi. I am a young woman now; you want me to start gathering cob webs?”

 She stood up and checked herself out in the salon mirror making a mock parade. She was beautiful really with shining dark skin, you couldn’t say she was fat and you could not say she was slim either.

“My sister first love is important in a woman’s life. Even if you have not been cheating on your husband before, the day you meet your first love again it all changes ooo. I tell you.”

“Hmm”, the Salon owner replied.

“So me, I am just having fun ooo. Oga does his own and I do my own too. God no go vex.”

“But just be careful oo, so he doesn’t know.”

“How will he know? He trusts me so much. Even if someone tells him, he won’t believe. I have never given him any reason to doubt me, so he can’t.”

“Hmmm, ore sha connect me ehn, help your sister. I need to upgrade my shop. Don’t you want to see air conditioners here?”

“Na you dey slack na, when you are ready let me know. Meanwhile I have to leave soon to prepare Oga’s dinner, besides the school bus would have also dropped the children by now.”

There were two other ladies in the room; a lady whose hair was being relaxed and the apprentice working on her hair. The lady would shake her head in disgust from time to time spilling relaxer crème all over the arm of her chair. The apprentice however seemed to be enjoying the conversation and would hail the woman intermittently. Mummy Dolapo!!! Eyato si won jare. You are special.

I left the salon in deep thought; several thoughts and questions on my mind.

            i.   So I have been so naïve to believe women don’t really cheat 

            ii.  How hard is it to cheat really?

            iii.  How can one prevent a partner from cheating?

 

 Hmmmm….it is well.

 

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