He has a Side Chick……


Side Chick, Mistress, The other woman; She is that girl who shares your man or worse enjoys your man more than you do. . She is the one your man pings early in the morning just to tell her “Good Morning Beautiful”. When he is with her, he is this cool guy who knows all the cool joints in town, they both sing along to Dorobucci on the radio. She is the one he takes along when he goes on business trips. It is just more convenient, she doesn’t have to think of who to leave her children with, besides she is more fun, she is the one he does acrobatic sex with, the girl who has enough time and energy to match his libido. You on the other hand are the wife, the one he has “married sex” with – the ” flam-bam-bam-yawn-are we done yet” type.

Yes he comes home to you every night but how is that going? Does he still hold you close to him every night, do you guys still play and fight under covers or does he turn his back to you and acts like he is too deep asleep to notice you have been tapping him. Yes he still buys you stuff, bags, perfumes, dresses and stuff, that’s if you are lucky though but then he buys them to ease his conscience after he and the side chick has spent a whole day shopping or worse. If the side chick is the “nice” type, she makes him buy them for you. She goes “Baby, This perfume is nice, your wife will like it”, “She doesn’t need it.” he responds frowning because he is a bit uncomfortable his mistress is picking a gift for his wife but she prevails on him.

But then I have news for you, this side chick, she usually doesn’t want to take your place, She has a boyfriend or even a fiance and so has no desire to chase you away. No, it’s only learners that operate that way. The wise side chicks are comfortable being just that, they even add you as a friend on Facebook, and they follow you on Twitter (Trust me, you most of the time don’t know they are your rival). They like the pictures of your cherub faced children, when you post your hubby’s photo captioning it as world’s best husband and gushing about how you love him to bits. They comment on it, they go “Awww, I covet”. (Yes they really covet and errr, they are already getting the better deal).

Some will even buy presents for your kids on their birthdays. You may or may not know the gifts are from them, it all depends on how far gone your husband is in this game. He could act like he got the gift himself or tell you its from this friend or colleague of his; Mrs Lagbaja  she really likes the child as he is her son’s birthday mate. You even tell him to call so you can say thanks. Of course the Mrs Lagbaja or Mummy Tamedun is to make you not suspect. Saying Lara or Jennifer my friend wouldn’t have sounded so good.

It’s not like you are totally clueless, some days you ask yourself how come he no longer comments on your hairdo, other days you wonder why he seemed to be impatient or downright mean. It’s Saturday you need to cook three different soups so you could stock the freezer for the week, the floors need to be mopped, the bathrooms cleaned and yes you need to get to the market, not forgetting that you have to take Sisi to her ballet class and Bobo to his Violin lessons. Come evening, you are dog tired and depressed that you have just one more day in the weekend. You smell of Onion, Garlic, Breast milk and baby reflux. You need a hug, you go to dear husband in the Bedroom.

“I am so tired” you say. That’s an opening. You expect to hear “pele baby, why don’t you come lie down here for a while” Instead you hear “What’s that smell?” It’s so horrible, can’t you use a glove or something if you need to cut Garlic or Onions? jeez you can be so annoying.” You have an angry retort on your lips and if you are the no nonsense type, you let off, you give him a piece of your mind, “yada, yada yada”.

Finally your suspicions get the better of you. “I need to know”, you say, so you wait till he is fast asleep and pick his phone to check through (Meanwhile women who want to keep their sanity will not do this no matter the temptation). Your heart rate is 360 beats per minute, yet you can’t stop yourself. You go ahead and boom you get more than you bargained for. Not only is there a side chick, but they are so damn close, he discusses everything with her, he even tells her how much he hates seeing fishnet on your head, he tells her when your six month old had her first teeth, you wince when you read how he tells her he is preparing for work and she goes “Baby be careful o, don’t injure Big Joe with your zipper again, ayam not ready to starve for a week again o”.

You almost had a heart attack. Big Joe? That has to be his ….. “OMG, starve for a week, how often do they do it?” you thought fighting a sudden desire to go stab him to death. But wait oooo, when did he injure Big Joe that you his wife did not know? You check the date of the chat, it was about a week ago and that was when it dawned on you, “won ti gba oko mi” you murmur. “Yeh. I am a housekeeper and mother of his children. This lady is the wife.” Suddenly, it’s clear, you run your fingers through your hair trying to remember the last time you made love or the last time you even had a glimpse of his equipment – “Big Joe”. “O ti pe mehn!” You mumble. You had not made love in over 8 weeks and neither of you had missed it. As for Big Joe, it must be close to a year you saw it last. Lovemaking sorry “meeting your husband” became a middle of the night thing after your second child, no foreplay (ki lonjebe), he just runs his hand over your breasts and you get the message, you spread your legs , he climbs on you and it starts, you feel nothing abi small sha, you are just too fagged out.

It hurts but what can be done? You think of giving him a giving him a big slap on the back to rouse him and demand explanations, but you realize you don’t want that confrontation. Tell Mama? Oh no, you don’t want to do that. No third parties remember. Then you remember someone who wouldn’t tell anybody else; Google! You open the Google search and type “He is cheating, what to do”. There is so much information. Wow!” You say feeling some relief that it’s not just you. Millions of women are in your shoes, there is so much advice to choose from but in the end, it is you who decide on what to do.

First you reply the last message she sent to your husband. It came in after he slept so unread. She tells him to dream of her as she will of him. She says she would be expecting him by 11.am the next day. You reply her “He sure would dream of you darling. However please don’t expect him by 11 tomorrow, he might be late. He has an errand to run for his wife at that same time. Have a nice night dearie.” Your teeth is clenched as you type, yet you derive some satisfaction. This way he will know you know.

So what next? Its morning and you wait for him to say something, you wait to see if he will confront you, but he says nothing. You watch out of the corner of your eyes as he watches you when he thinks you are too preoccupied to notice. Its 10 a.m and he is yet to yake his bath.10.30 am and still he is on the bed. You don’t offer him food even though you made his own portion. You wait till 11 am and tells him you need to talk to him. He doesn’t respond so you start anyway. You talk about how things had to change, that you need to shed and or share some responsibilities. Henceforth, ballet practice and Violin practice will be his call. Yes, he thought house helps were unnecessary but you need one and intend to get right away, this person will resume at 7am everyday and close at 7pm.  Friday nights would be date nights, you two alone anywhere but the house. You intend to go on summer vacation, Seychelles to be precise and he would be coming along. He listens to everything you say and at the end he says. “I am ready to do all you want”. I am sorry Babe”. But you say nothing.


The Mistress and Her Conscience





The voice had been clear as it always was and as it usually did, it came in her dreams; the one where she finds herself floating over a bush of tulips.  The message had been simple and clear delivered in a chorus of a thousand butterflies;  her rival was restless they said. Mofe didn’t need anything more than that to know what her action should be.

Standing in the red room later that morning she gathered her  robe with one hand and peered into the floor-to-ceiling high mirror, a sneer on her face.


“Some girls don’t spend their entire life preparing to be someone’s wife. Why is that so hard for some people to comprehend?” Mofe said aloud to herself hissing as she watched the woman cross the busy Ojota expressway.

“Hmm, it’s funny that you always say that Mofe. If you don’t really need a man why do you date them?”

“Mofetade leave me alone, I’m trying to concentrate here.” Mofe replied her inner voice. She didn’t believe in alter egos. She would always maintain that Mofetade wasn’t her alter ego. She was just her conscience, one she rarely listened to. To the world she was Mofe; fearless, wild and uncontrollable. But to herself, she was partly Mofetade and partly Mofe. Mofetade was gentler, upright and had the fear of God. The only thing was Mofe  ruled the body while Mofetade stayed in the background.


Mofe watched the woman wondering why she wouldn’t take the pedestrian bridge. She could never understand why anyone would choose to cross multiple lanes when there is a pedestrian bridge. It occurred to her that it was odd that the woman wasn’t driving and then she laughed as she watched her enter a Mercedes Benz jeep with tinted windows.

So the medical doctor’s wife decided to take my lover’s wife to a native doctor’s place. She thought, picking up the cup of tea on the side table.

“Some people never mind their business. It is true that their husbands are best friends and that the wives too are quite close. But I still don’t think she had a right to meddle in this.”

“If I decide to give her an illness to keep her busy, you will say I’m wicked ooo. Abi Mofetade won’t you?” She waited for her other self to talk but there was silence. Shrugging, she continued sipping her tea.


She knew the tea would break the connection but she felt she had seen enough.  She knew where her rival was going and who was taking her. She left the room and headed for her bedroom, she removed her red robe, the yellow turban on her head and the divination beads around her neck. She stepped into the Jacuzzi in her room; a luxury that came with dating Owonikoko.

It wasn’t that she had been poor before she met Owonikoko; she had been comfortable courtesy of Fowosere, the shipping magnate she was dating then. She had dumped Fowosere the moment she met Owonikoko.

 ‘‘Shipping money isn’t the same as oil money”

That was what she had told Fowosere when he dared to ask why she was breaking up with him. He ruined it all by saying he had been intending to marry her as a second wife. She had snorted and gifted him with a condescending look saying;

‘‘Who says I want to marry you Fowosere?

“You think I want to be a second wife or any one’s wife for that matter?

“You think I won’t be married if I had wanted to be?”

“Has it crossed your mind that perhaps I love being a mistress?”

“And why is your mouth open? You never thought I could do better?”

At that Fowosere had closed his mouth and left the apartment. He never came back neither did he contact her again. He never asked for the cars he had bought for her, the pent house that was registered in her name. Mofe knew he wouldn’t, when she was through with a man she made sure the man forgets she ever existed.


“It’s been two years now” she thought as she soaked in the cool scented water of the Jacuzzi. “Two years and I have no regrets”. Two houses in Ikeja G.R.A, two in her home town, Owonikoko had even made her a board member of his company. She had so much already and she wasn’t even through with Owonikoko. She thought of Owonikoko’s wife and her present preoccupation with destroying her relationship with Owonikoko.

“No one told that woman she didn’t need to bother”, she thought laughing heartily to herself. ‘‘Who wants her husband?” she asked aloud.

Mofe thought of how desperate the woman must be to have even thought of going to a native doctor’s place.

“You are dating her husband, why won’t she be jittery and desperate?” Mofetade said

“Mofetade wait”, I am easy going you know that. I have no desire to take their husbands.” “You know that also.” “I only render a service, make their husbands happy and I get to live a comfortable life in return.” “Why should that bother any woman but of course they just assume that I want to marry their husband, they are too narrow minded to realize that there are people like me whose life plan has no husband or children in it.” “Who says you are incomplete without both?”

“Mofe, that won’t make sense to any woman.” “They don’t care if you want to marry their husbands.” “That you are dating them is enough pain.”


She exclaimed raising her palms up as if there was an actual person in the room with her. “How can they find that painful?”

“I am only doing something that myself and their lecherous husbands find mutually beneficial. It’s not like I go out of my way to look for their husbands, do I? It’s not my fault that they find me irresistible. I am the ideal African woman their husbands have fantasized about all their lives. While they keep dieting to look slim, I stay voluptuous and only make sure my stomach is as flat as a milling stone.


“Hmm, Mofe it’s because of women like you that they do all that dieting o.” her inner voice countered.

“See, I maintain that it’s not my fault. I certainly know how to make a man happy better than those miserable wives who view lovemaking with their husbands as a chore. When they come to me, I make each session better than the last, I satisfy all their fantasies, no holds barred.”

“Well Mofe, your mind is made up that you are doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, I’m doing the right thing” Mofe replied herself.


 She got out of the Jacuzzi, dried her body. She selected another robe, tied a red turban with gold sequins and then put the Jigida beads back on her neck and waist. It was time to go back to the red room – her seeing room. She had furnished the room in fiery red. The couch, the cabinet that contained her divination tools, the rug on the floor, the wall papers even the curtains. She sat on her couch and applied the black eye powder.

As always, it took only a minute after she had murmured the name of the person she wanted to see for the image to appear in the mirror.

 A well furnished room. The native doctor dressed in a green damask agbada; sitting on a throne like chair. “Nollywood needs to see this’’ Mofe thought. She had always wondered where they got the notion that all native doctors lived in hovels and had divination rooms decorated with skulls and bones.

Owonikoko’s wife and her friend were seated on a settee directly opposite the man.

“What do you want us to do with her?”

 “Do you want her to die or go mad?”

 “No sir, I don’t.” Owonikoko’s wife replied in a shaky voice.

 “I just want her to leave my husband and never go back to him.”

 “I can do that”, he replied.

 Mofe stood up irritated; she walked to the wash hand basin and rinsed the eye powder off. She looked at the wooden figure and the toy car she had set aside that morning, trying to make a decision. She wondered if it was necessary to still knock them together.

“Show mercy”, Mofe her inner voice said. “She didn’t want to harm you, you shouldn’t harm her too.”

“Okay” she answered. I won’t harm her she said putting the effigy that represented Owonikoko’s wife and the toy car that represented her transportation back into the drawer.

“I won’t destroy it yet” she decided. “I might still need it later”. “But leaving Owonikoko, of course that’s not going to happen soon.”

“Shiorr.” Mofetade hissed

“Na you sabi.” Mofe said ignoring her conscience.

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