Don’t marry that man!

It has been raining for over 40 minutes…Well not actual rain, yet not drizzles. Somewhere in between. Segilola lit a cigarette, what she considered to be her only vice since it was harming her health. She is a doctor and she knows what is good for her but she just would not do it. She took a slow, long drag and inhaled to the bottom of her lungs, held it there for about 6 seconds and then did a slow nose/mouth exhale. She loved the way it made her feel woozy, then dizzy. The sound of her phone ringing brought her out of her reverie.

“Hi dear”, she answered, attempting to sound cheerful.

It was Onome calling… Onome Makinde or was it Akindele, whatever, Onome was a pretty messed up girl and was her kinda ex-friend trying to make a come-back. Her story buttressed Segilola’s resolution never to get married. What exactly is the reason why people get married? What is the point of subjecting oneself to a lifetime of either boredom or regret. The thought of being with one person forever was one Segilola refused to even consider. The only way she would ever agree to marriage is if she finds a man who was okay with an open relationship. You can do your thing. I can do my thing. But please let us not pretend we are faithful to each other. It was not just about the sex, it was the thrill of meeting a new man, fronting for a bit or brazenly seducing him till he gave in. In marriage, all that is lost. You are with the same man, kissing the same lips, shagging the same man forever. She shuddered at the thought.

What irritated her most was the lies. Men lie. These days, the women are worse. Would it not be better if both parties laid their cards on the table: we marry but you can do you and I do me.

“Segi, please are you home?”, Onome asked sounding a bit shaken.

“Where are you and what is the problem?” she quipped, taking 3 quick drags. This time, she exhaled immediately, slightly upset at the disturbance.

She was in no mood to receive any guest or play host in any form. She just wanted to be alone, read a book, smoke her fags. It was either she lied that she was not home or she appeared liked a bad friend by telling Onome she was unable to see her. She frowned, waiting for Onome’s response.

“I am at home. Can I come to yours now? Are you at home?”, she sounded impatient with Segilola’s evasiveness.

“Yeah, I am. You can come but what is the issue?”

“It’s Jide”, she mumbled between sniffles.

“Hmm, okay. Take it easy. I’ll be expecting you”, she said as she threw on some knickers and yesterday’s clothes and dragged herself to the living room to wait for her guest.

***

Source:http://www.gollyfolly.com

It was the exact story she expected to hear. Onome had snooped on Jide’s phone on Saturday and saw a text message from an unsaved number asking what the plan for that evening was. Refusing to accept it was a benign message, she promptly inputed the digits into her True Caller app and lo and behold it was a female name that showed up. At about 4 pm that same day, Jide had a second shower, got dressed to the nines, picked up his briefcase and the keys to his new car and announced that he was off to a business meeting.

With the information she had, she decided to probe. She asked him who he was meeting with and he responded that it was himself, Chinedu, his male colleague and a potential client, one Chief Eruwa. As soon he spoke those words, she confronted him angrily with her proof of a lie and announced that she was fully aware that he was meeting up with a girl whose name is …cant remember what she called her but she definitely mentioned the name to her husband.

Jide was half stunned, half angry and still proceeded to go out without saying a word. He didn’t come back home that Saturday and didn’t pick her calls either. Today, the next day, he showed up at 2pm still not saying a word. She screamed at him and in response, he slapped her and told her never to touch any of his phones or snoop on him again. Somewhere in their fight, he admitted seeing another woman who brings him peace unlike her. It was after that encounter that she picked up her phone to call Segilola.

***

Segilola soliloquised.

Onome has never been happy in her marriage. I am one of the few, if not only friend who told her not to marry Jide. I know, for a fact, that I am the only one who actually told her outrightly. The other two semi-bold girls had, at best, hinted at it. I damned the consequences against the warnings of mutual friends who said to leave her alone and pray for her that God will reveal to her that Jide is not the one for her. What is it with hypocritical Nigerians and prayer? You say to pray for a girl who is about to marry someone we all know is a loser and a cheat. How exactly is God to answer that prayer, pray tell?! To send Angel Gabriel to tell her in a dream not to marry him or to give her the strength to endure an unbearable marriage? Gosh!!!

In my opinion, my telling her was the answer to someone else’s prayers for her. 2 months to her wedding, I sat her down and as kindly as I could, told her right to her face that Jide does not have the ability to make her happy and in fact worst still, he would bring her misery. She screamed at me and promptly dropped me off her bridesmaids list. She refunded the N60,000 I had paid for bridesmaid’s dress, make up and accessories and sent me a text that she believes guests at a wedding should be those who wished the couple well not prophets/prophetesses of doom who believed their marriage will fail and in view of that, she would appreciate if I did not attend.

I was hurt. I was disappointed. I had thought Onome to be a pragmatic and reasonable person who can handle truths, however bitter. I was so wrong. Thankfully, my brother’s son chose that period to make an unexpected and early arrival into the world after 7 months gestation, so I spent that period by his wife’s bedside in faraway Medical Centre Arlington, Texas. That is the only way I was able to avoid too many questions as regards my non-attendance. She took me off her BBM as well but we have loads of mutual friends and Jide is a typical “Lagos bobo” so their engagement and wedding pictures were all over social media and my BBM updates as well. I saw the other bridesmaids looking resplendent in the fabric and style I had chosen. I’m glad she was not childish enough to change it.

Onome looked beautiful in both her traditional Urhobo and Yoruba attires. Everyone looked great but I was sick to my stomach when I saw updates from our friends saying things like “Happy Married Life to the most amazing couple”. “I know your marriage will be awesome”. Even Bisi, a bridesmaid, who the week before had told me Onome was making mistake, wrote a long epistle on her instagram page about how great they are together. Hypocrites!

Two months into their marriage, I bumped into Onome in Balogun market. She looked into my eyes and kept walking. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to go after her in the crazy busy market and anyone who knows me knows I’m too stubborn to apologise for a good deed of mine and I have no tolerance for bad behaviour so I hissed and carried on with my fabric shopping. Just 2 weeks after our Balogun market encounter, we met again, this time, at a spa. I met her there waiting her turn but I had pre-booked so as soon as I walked in, I was attended to and ushered into the room for my spa treatment. She looked upset but the receptionist was quick to tell her that walk-ins generally have less priority in comparison to those who had booked and paid beforehand. We never saw again at the spa but that night, she sent me a WhatsApp message saying it was nice to see me. I didn’t respond immediately and waited about 2 hours after reading and sent her a smiling smiley, the one with no teeth. She wasn’t worth the teeth.

The next day, she called and sensing my coldness, said she was coming to mine. I was tempted to tell her I was unavailable but concluded instead that she was not worth my lie. She showed up 10 minutes after and within a few minutes, opened up to me. She cried and cried, telling me I was right and that her marriage had been hell. According to her, two weeks after they returned from honeymoon at the Maldives, Jide resumed hanging out with the boys and clubbing. She didn’t think much of it until she saw a condom in his wallet. She asked him about it and he claimed his friend put it in there and that he was even more shocked than she was to see it. Thank God he uses condoms, I thought to myself.

I didn’t need all that explanation to be honest. I personally have caught Jide in compromising positions at the club many a Friday night. He was a cheat and didn’t even try hiding it. I don’t even know why Onome accepted his proposal. It takes a lady of little or no self esteem to think its okay to be married to such a man and cry when accepting the ring that should have been flung in his face! Up until the day he proposed (and possibly after), he was in serious relationships with at least 3 other girls, so serious that in the eye of external observers, any of his girls could have been proposed to. When he gave Onome that ring, it was as though she won the race because, trust me, there were other contenders. One of the other competitors is known to be a good girl, a young Ibo girl who was reputed to be a virgin but whose parents were both pastors, slightly tribalistic and just would not accept a Yoruba boy whose parents were both politicians, chiefs and non-church goers (what a lethal combo, they must have thought!). They just would not allow it. So Onome was the next best thing and she got the ring.

I gently patted Onome’s back as the tears rolled down. She had wept and sobbed and now was exhausted. The only advice I have is a divorce! Onome was just 28 and many people in happy marriages today had not even met their spouses at that age. Unfortunately, as crazy as I am, I wouldn’t even dare offer that advice. I decided to follow the crowd and speak those words I absolutely have no belief in: “pray and fast, he will change”. Those were the words she said even her mother had spoken to her. Her mother had reminded her of how she had suffered so much in her marriage too and that no one ever has a problem-free home. Her mother had said that all her friends who appear happy all the time in photos etc are pretenders whose true and unedited stories if she heard would make her thank her God that all Jide was doing was cheating and giving her the occasional slap.

If her own mother can advocate staying in agony who am I to suggest otherwise. Had they been in my kind of idea of marriage, no one would be hurt as there are no such expectations of fidelity. Her mother had agreed with her that they would not tell her dad but would commence on a seven day fasting and prayer session. She asked if I would join my faith with theirs. “No problem”, I responded fully aware that I would be breaking each day’s fast with my 9:30 am breakfast. No time!!!

***

These questions play around in my head:

+ Should you tell your female friend she is about to make a terrible decision by marrying a certain man or do you keep quiet hoping she will either find out through some other means or for her sake, the man will change?

+ As a woman, would you want to be told that your fiancé is a cheat just a few months to the wedding?

+ As a parent, all the vendors have been paid and IVs sent, but you discover your son in law to be is a philanderer. Would you pray it away or face the situation head on and advise your baby girl to move on?

Let’s muse!

Temiville.xoxo

For the sake of ‘Peace’- Parts 2 and 3

Hi guys,

Howdy? Hope you’re all well. Job hunting is going good and I’m really excited that something great is around the corner in Jesus’ name! Thank you for all your kind words. God bless you all.x

Here are Parts 2  and 3 of For the sake of Peace. I have had people call my phone asking me to publish the second part. It took a while because I thought it best to publish two parts at once to compensate for the delay. I honestly hope we learn a thing or two from this. It is lengthier than the first one as much of the story unfolds here.

My good friend put this on her status a few days ago, ‘Better to be single and happy than married and miserable’. Ladies (and gentlemen), please keep that in mind whenever you feel a tinge of envy or pain that all your friends are getting married or engaged and you are all alone. Marriage is too important to be messed with or entered into without caution. Get excited, not for that one day, but for the future ahead, the real deal, the Marriage.

Another good friend, Ufoma (CEO, Rubies n Emerald, an event planning company) told me a great wedding can take up to a year planning. That is a 6-10 hour event. How much more should we take in planning a marriage, which we pray will last forever. Go figure!

Please read and learn.

Love lots,

Temiville.xoxo

Marrying you, Dipo was a mistake I knowingly made. It’s like a young girl letting that boy run his hands down her blouse. As his fingers descend, she knows it’s wrong, she knows she should stop him but she lets him go on anyway; not because of any pleasure she feels but because she just wants to go ahead. Now I know it to be self destruct. Oladipo Richard Adeyele, marrying you was an exercise in self destruction.

Surprisingly, the first 6 months as Mrs. Oladipo R. Adeyele were blissful. I changed my display name to that and our perfect wedding photo was constantly my DP. I felt bliss. Thinking back now, I felt that way because I had no expectations whatsoever. Wrong! I had expectations alright. I expected you to start cheating within the first month. Darn, I even knew one of your exes who had the nerve to show up at our wedding in the tightest, boob baring bandage dress I have ever seen, grinding with one of the groomsmen whilst you, my husband looked on, mesmerized then jealous by her show of shame.

Dipo, you surprised me. You see, dear readers, Dipo was not a great or loving man but he let me be. He would eat whatever I served and say a polite thanks. He would text me ‘I’m running late’ if he would be home after 9pm. He would compliment my homemaking efforts before his friends and family. He would gobble down my ogbono experiment which recipe I got from the Facebook page- So you think you can cook. The sex with him was mechanical, efficient, machine like, ritualistic- kiss, fondle, sex – in that order- nothing like I’d hoped but it was okay and at least, got me pregnant in the 10th month of our marriage.

My dream had come true! Finally, he would pet me, cuddle me or at least cuddle my bump. I had finally gotten the glue to bind us in love. I was already 3 months pregnant before noticing. I was one of those medical mysteries because I still saw my period during the first 2 months of my pregnancy so though I had gained a bit of weight, I had attributed it to my many trips to Ice-cream Factory. I was slower and easily tired,  but I zeroed my mind that it could never be down to pregnancy. It was my mother in law who practically forced me to get tested. I called Dipo so excitedly as I left the clinic. Oladipo, you were so excited! You screamed. I’d never been the source of so much joy from you and I was so proud of myself. I grinned from ear to ear like a Chesire cat as I drove back to work.

One day, at 4 months gone, you snapped at me as I got ready to go to your office dinner, ‘can you not find something else to wear?! Your folds are all over the place, Sade in my office is 7 months pregnant and rolls are not hanging everywhere, do something about it woman, I don’t do obesity!’  I didn’t know that tears had started rolling down until I tasted the saltiness. Everyone else had said I was looking fit and great in pregnancy. They said I glowed. But I only believed your words. As I grew bigger, I’d get changed in the bathroom before coming out. I’d wear Body Magic. I didn’t want you to see the ‘rolls and folds’.

Nkechi, my friend was also pregnant and spoke of still having sex with her husband and still being just as desirable to him. She made me blush at her tales of their escapades in and out of bed. Dipo, you and I had stopped engaging in anything remotely related to lovemaking at 4 and a half months into my pregnancy. I felt ugly, disgusting, fat. And so I started using slimming products. I looked for the most drastic in result I could find. I read the instructions carefully and there it was- a healthy, herbal, natural slimming aid. It must be safe, I thought to myself. Within the first 2 weeks, I lost weight enough for you, Dipo, to notice and comment on. I was giddy with joy. Yay! I’d be just like Victoria Beckham and look so slim immediately after child birth. I decided to increase the dosage and it worked. The folds reduced, my thighs had that gap between them, my neck had a hollow. I only had vegetables, fruit and the shake that came with the slimming package. After a month of using, in my 6th month, we had sex, at your instance. I was looking great. That night, I gained your attention. That night, I lost our son.

You wept on the hospital floor. I was numb. The doctor, an elderly family friend, was merciless. I thought it was unprofessional to outrightly blame a woman for her own miscarriage. The doctor threw professionalism to the wind and blamed me for not eating right. My weight was not commensurate with how far along I was given my last statistics when I saw her. I weighed less than I did 3 months before and only had a bump and not as much body to show for my pregnancy. I dared not confess that I was also on drugs to stay slim. She probably would have slapped me there and then. Rightly too. I wanted to kick myself.

On our drive home, you were quiet. I tried to play the victim and would periodically hold on to my belly as though in pain just to get you to touch me and comfort me. Darn! I was the one who had lost her child. But you were having none of it and all you said was, ‘if you need to see the doctor, lemme turn back’. I knew I had lost the battle.

3 months after the miscarriage, on the exact day our son would have turned one week old, I saw the first sign of your infidelity. You received a call, smiled when you saw who was calling and walked out to receive it. You were on the phone for 45 minutes, laughing intermittently.  I knew I was in trouble.

You came back to the house, went straight to our room, had a second bath and got dressed in your best casual native attire, your newest sandals and perfume, took the keys to the new car and mumbled, ‘I’m going out and don’t keep the keys in the lock ’cause I’ll let myself in’. I knew it was over.

I waited for you. My favorite show was on but all I saw were the blurry figures on the screen through my tears. I had finished a whole bottle of white wine. I turn to alcohol when sad. That night, I was worse than sad, I was depressed. It was as though I was waiting for the inevitable sentence of death on my marriage. At 1:15am, you walked in. You were sober and looked happy until you saw me. I brought your straight face out. As much as I wanted and was almost physically itching to, I dared not ask where you had been for two reasons: 1. Early on in our relationship, you had warned me never to inquire as to your whereabouts unless you willingly offered an explanation. 2. I was scared you would be honest and tell me where exactly you had been and the answer would break me. I’d rather not know for sure. So through my post drunken state, I said, ‘welcome, should I bring your food?’.

There was no food but I just wanted to act normal and I was certain you would say no. To my shock, you said yes and proceeded to change the station to watch the replay of your favorite teams’ match screaming at each goal, missed or scored. That confirmed one thing- you had spent the evening and night with someone who didn’t care for football and you sacrificed such a big match for them. You were certainly not with one of the boys, certainly not. I was able to whip up something for you, quickly enough for you not to suspect I’d just started cooking it. You ate it, totally fixated on the tv screen, totally ignoring me. Quietly, I walked to the room and slept off. The time was 2:46 am.

Living a lie is hard. You know your man is cheating, you might even have finally put a face on the bitch’s name. But there you are, playing the dutiful wife. In your mind, it’s better to be an innocent victim, a cheated-on Mrs than have an openly failed marriage. You forget that in both situations, the marriage has failed openly.

Dipo got bolder and bolder. He would stay away for weekends claiming he was away on business trips to Abuja, Ibadan, Akure, Kaduna. He forgot who I am. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I am a master sleuth, always have been, always will be. I know everything or can at least find out. In Uni, I’d help my girlfriends find out if their men were cheating by just listening to the stories they tell. I knew which boyfriend was outrightly cheating and which was just bored.

Dipo forgot that we put a tracking device on all our 3 cars and with a click, I’d know exactly where the car was located. Through the tracker, I discovered that his mistress was living in Akute, in the outskirts of Lagos. I found out that he would leave his work at 5pm everyday, pick her up and head to hers together. I’m not sure if he would drive behind her or actually pick her up but he was a man of routine and he stuck to this pattern during the week. On Fridays, the car was usually around the Island till 11/12pm before making the journey to Akute where he would sleep. These days, it was on the Island till Saturday which means they thought better of driving in the dangers of the night and just decided to stay in a hotel. Unfailingly, by 12 noon on Saturday, the car would make the journey to Akute. The check out time for most hotels is 12 noon.

My first reaction to Dipo’s cheating was pain, then sadness, then anger. I wished he had a string of girlfriends. That way, I was assured he gave his heart to no one else. But with just one person in his life, it was clear he was in love with her. That was the main problem. It is easier to salvage a marriage where a party gives just their body away. It is very hard where the heart has also been taken away.

My second main reaction was to seek revenge. I called up an ex boyfriend of mine, ‘just to check up’. I even agreed to meet up with him, ready to give in if he made the move. I thought to myself that if I slept with someone too, we would be even and I wouldn’t feel this much hurt and pain. Thank God it was Seun I chose. I had dated Seun in Year 1 in LASU. We broke up and then had a moment during our Masters year. He was eager to rekindle our love and wasn’t detracted by the fact that I had met someone else. His reasoning was that since I wasn’t married, then I could move on. He’d travel from Dundee to Leicester on the Megabus just to see me and hand-deliver now wilting flowers to me. It was exhilarating but I was strong and in order not to succumb, I stopped picking his calls or responding to his messages.

It was hard at first. Those who had met him the two times he came visiting loved his pleasant and fun nature. He once lifted me up in the city centre much to the delight of my friends and the disapproving looks of some stuck up British people. You see, it was so easy to like Seun. For my friends, they preferred him to the so called boyfriend they had never seen and hardly saw me speak to on the phone simply because he made an effort. Whenever Dipo came to the UK, I’d have to leave school and go to wherever he was. He never ever stepped into Leicester. I always defended him by saying since he had come all the way from Nigeria, the least I could do was to get my butt off to London.

I was Suzy the Seductress the day Seun and I met up but Seun had become born again and was now a Pastor, well not really a Pastor but a counsellor in his church. I guess the Holy Spirit does reveal stuff because he saw through it all. ‘Gbekeleoluwa, why are you doing this?’, he asked as I flirtatiously flicked my Peruvian hair away from my eyes.

Earlier that day, I had tracked Dipo’s car. It was on its way to Akute and had just gone past Ojodu-Berger. I reminisced on how Dipo would complain and complain about the distance whenever I suggested that we visit my parents in Okota. The very same man was now making daily trips to Akute which is pretty much in Ogun state! That was what sealed my resolve to commit attempted cheating. I wore my hottest skinny jeans, a sheer top and my only Louboutins (yeah, I once caught Dipo admiring a girl in Loubs and thought to invest in the N100,000 red soles and nope, he never for once noticed them!). I applied my make up like I was going for a modeling competition, each lid was well mascara-ed, brows shapened and well highlighted, lips as red as scarlet, cheeks tinted with blush. I was well made up yet it was subtle and classy. I admired myself as I got into my car. I took a few selfies and uploaded one on my DP with a message that read, ” Off to have fun *wide grin* *dancing smiley* ” hoping to God Dipo would notice and ask where I was off to. Lord knows any form of love from him right then would have stopped me. Within 10 minutes of the drive from our Nicon Towers home to the restaurant off Bourdillon, I had received 11 BBMs, some admiring me, others asking where was off to. None was from Dipo.

Like I said, Seun saw through it all and refused to encourage or participate in my decision to commit adultery. He paid for the food and told me that for the sake of God and his love for Him, he had to leave. In his words, ‘Gbeke, I’m literally pulling a Joseph here. It’s either I flee now or I fall. I will be praying for you. Your home will be healed and you will laugh again. Don’t call on any man, call on Jesus. All things are possible’. He got up and walked away. There I was with more food than I could consume. I had no a appetite either. I watched as the waiter counted the 18 notes of N1000 asking if all is well. ‘Yes, I’m fine’ I replied. Another date gone bad, he must have thought. Little did he know. I took my bag and walked into my car, turned on the ignition and the AC. Using the Johnson baby wipes that is always in my car, I wiped off every trace of make up from off my face and drove home.

Today, as I write, I place a curse on everyone, who, knowing full well that a person is married, assists in any way, shape, form, manner, however grand or minute, in defiling the marriage bed and causing them to break their vows. May it never be well with them. May they suffer irreparable loss. May they ask and never receive. May they seek and not find. May they knock and may the door remain firmly shut against them. May their children suffer heartbreak. May the disease of the Egyptians fall on them. May the curses of Deuteronomy 28 from verse 15 to 68 be theirs. I also extend this prayer to everyone aiding and abetting them, to their friends who encourage or even condone such acts, who call you and another woman too ‘our wife’, like Dipo’s friend, Sanmi who hooked him up with his mistress. Sanmi, may you look for peace in your home and not find it. Sanmi, I pray that one day, you will find out that your 2 lovely boys belong to your driver and gateman respectively. Sanmi, as you have put asunder, may God close His ears to your cries and cover His eyes to your pains. Amen.

 *

Nkechi came visiting yesterday. I told her everything. Things I have not been able to voice out, even to myself. I spoke it all. She cried and then prayed with me and invited me to her church. Oh, did I mention that going to church has become a drag? Seeing couples holding hands in prayer of agreement and dancing together, laughing etc just makes me remember the void in my life then sickens me to my stomach. So gradually, I stopped going.

I have now decided to go along with her to her Church to pray for a change. I’m not going to hold my breath but I will try and believe that change will come. I will try to resurrect my dead marriage. I will try to bring back the love. I will return to God and ask that He saves me. I’m only 29 and already going through marital turmoil. It really is not a walk in the park.

I have taken time to report the situation because I was scared of baring it all. But I now know I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. I tried my best for my home. I did all in the books. I tried to be sexy for my man. By the way, I’m now a size 8 up and 10 down. I would cook and cook and do all I could. Today, it was lasagne, tomorrow it would be ofada rice and stew? Dinner was going to stay fun and unpredictable, I had vowed. On Sundays and Saturdays, it would be the full English breakfast or ‘akara’ made to perfection or the pancakes in the Roman fashion that Fadeke taught me. I was a perfect Hannah the Homemaker and Catherine the Cook. I was also Sasha the sexy fierce vixen in bed, contorting myself till my neck almost snapped. I did absolutely everything, I did all. All but one. I married the wrong man. I was using the right techniques on the wrong product. I went against all I knew was right. I married someone who valued neither my presence nor my absence. I didn’t marry my friend. I didn’t let God choose, I chose and forced Him to approve. I saw the signs before marriage and went ahead. Even after the marriage, I ‘worked’ at it, I never prayed about it. I thought I could make Dipo love me by the things I did. It never works. It’s never in you to make a person love you, never. I’m sure we ladies all have instances of that ‘pest’ who liked us no matter how much we insulted and ignored him. That just goes to show that love is not earned.

I have been listening to sermons on restoration. If all these happened during the courtship, I’d have left the relationship, but I am married now. So from all the counsel I have received, I now know God will have to turn my mess around. Marrying Dipo might not have been His perfect will. It might have been His permissive will but I am married and because God hates divorce (see Malachi 2:16), I will do what I can to invite Him into my home to fix my mess.

*

Watch out for the Part 4 and how things end…