A Short Story: Of Wives, Lovers and Fools by Safa Al-Hassan

There was a time when I thought I had everything figured out. A good job, women falling at my feet, and money flowing like palm wine during a village festival. But somewhere along the line, I lost control of my life. Now, as I sit in my small, dark apartment in Ojuelegba, waiting for NEPA to restore power, I can’t help but feel like everything has been snatched away from me.

Maybe it was karma. Maybe I deserved it. After all, I treated everyone like they were dispensable. Sandra, Uju, Franka. All of them were tools, really. Pieces on a chessboard I moved around at will, thinking I was the grandmaster of life. And now, here I am, with no job, no family, and no real home to speak of. It is Biliki who is on my mind tonight. That small girl I thought I could bend to my will. She should be here, begging me to come back, but instead, she is probably laughing with her mother, saying I am mad for thinking she would take care of my blind, sick mother.

I am not mad. No, no, I am not even delusional. I just… I just want things to go back to how they were. To when I was important. To when people looked up to me and whispered, “There goes Odogwu,” like I was some kind of hero. Now nobody whispers my name anymore. Even the little girls selling oranges at the junction don’t look twice at me. I used to be something. I was a man of power, of status. But all that is left now is the echo of a man who doesn’t quite recognise himself. Sometimes, when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I can’t help but notice the wrinkles around my eyes, the sag in my jawline. I am not who I used to be. There is a bitterness that has settled in me, a kind of permanent anger that I can’t shake off.

"I love you, Biliki, please don't do this to me." That was the last thing I said before she hung up the phone. Biliki and I have been dating for a month now, and I have been trying to convince her to accept the fact that I will be bringing my ailing mother to live with us. She doesn’t understand that as the breadwinner, my mother’s care is my responsibility. Yes, I have been living a carefree life for the past two decades, jumping from woman to woman and collecting baby mamas like trophies, but this time, I want to get it right by marrying Biliki. There’s just something about her that tells me she is a proper wife material. She will worship the ground I walk on, wipe my shoes, and treat me like the king I am. I will rule over her.

Unlike the other women I have been with, Bibi, as I call her, is naïve and undemanding. She is also the type who won’t be asking for money anyhow like my second baby mama, Uju. That one, when I was dating her, she kept reminding me of this popular saying: “Igbo man and money na five and six.” That girl sucked me dry. It is like she had a secret radar that could detect money in my wallet, because anytime I had cash, she knew. Small play we played, she carry belle. I was pissed. She didn’t even tell me on time and when she did, she refused to terminate it. That evil girl gave me my first son, Kenechukwu. Two years later, she had my second son, Uche. Don’t even ask me how it happened because I don’t understand either.

My first baby mama, is my ex-wife, Sandra. Well, since we are no longer married, she’s been demoted to just ‘the mother of my children.’ Sandra was my childhood sweetheart. We attended St. Andrew’s in Onitsha together. The good old days. What drew me to her was her curvy body. Unlike most of our mates, Sandra was tall like a model, swaying her hips with so much grace. We used to hide behind her uncle, Mazi Ikenna’s, udala tree just to steal a kiss. The day she slipped her hand into my trousers was the day I vowed to marry her. Butterflies were just doing anyhow in my belly back then.We got married and had our first child, Blessing. That child, as her name implies, brought me good luck. After her birth, I got my first job at the refinery in Port Harcourt. Finally, my engineering degree was useful. The only downside was that I had to leave my family in Onitsha, but the money was good, and I was able to take care of them like a responsible man. After Blessing’s birth, Sandra started adding weight. I don't know if it’s because she was enjoying my money, but she was moving towards obesity. Whenever I brought it up, it caused fights. I even suggested she find a job. She learned to sew once, so she could at least shake body a little and bring in small change. I wasn’t even complaining about taking care of her, but if she moved around more, maybe she would lose that belly fat, double chin, and that neck ring I now hated. But no, she would shrug it off. To make matters worse, I would later find her devouring a mountain of fufu late at night like some kind of monster. I began to hate her.

Whenever I mentioned her weight, that was the end, no action for me that night. She would lock her legs and frown her face like somebody that smelt shit, even in her sleep. And let's not even talk about the locust beans and Maggi smell oozing from her. To add insult to injury she now nags and barks like a dog. I have had enough. I started spending more time in Port Harcourt and barely came home. I sent her money and she didn’t seem to mind. What a lazy and shameless woman. Just so you know, any woman that is not able to take care of her husband is shameless. Our fights got so bad that our neighbour, Papa Nonso, had to come and separate us one night. If not for him, I would have broken that her sharp mouth. Sharp mouth she used to insult me and call me impotent. I continued managing the marriage for another year, but we grew further apart. I didn’t even care anymore, because I had some small girls in Port Harcourt giving me sweet loving. Sometimes, I felt guilty, but what can i do? It wasn’t my fault. That woman is wicked. Do you know she turned her whole family against me? She even went and poured gallons of lies to our Reverend, telling him I was promiscuous and wasn’t taking care of her and my daughter, Blessing.

When December came, I decided to give the marriage one last shot. I had just been promoted at work, so maybe it was the excitement that pushed me to buy Sandra some wrappers and lace fabrics when I came home. She was so happy. We danced and I sprayed her money. It had been ages since I felt that kind of joy. “My Odogwu, come and eat,” she would say, cheerfully. The meat in my soup started to increase and the nights… Ah! That woman took me to heaven. The day I was set to leave, she whispered that we were having another baby. I was glad.

After our second child Thank God was born, Sandra didn’t speak to me for a whole month because she didn’t like the name i gave my daughter. I don’t understand her strong head. “What is your problem, woman?” I blurted out. She would rather call our child Nneka, her Igbo name, than call her Thank God. But anyway, that is her problem. As for me, I didn’t see anything wrong with the name. After all, it is only by God’s glory that we even survived her pregnancy. Our marriage was crumbling again, and this time, it was heading for disaster. I avoided her like the plague. To punish her, I stopped sending as much money. The small I sent was enough for the children; as for her, she could drown for all I cared. She turned me into this bitter man. I flirted openly, kept girls on the side, and spent weekends touring hotels. That is how Uju got pregnant. Some hypocrites must have spilled the beans to my wife. After Sandra found out, she packed her things and left with our two kids. I wasn’t bothered. The only pain was losing my daughters. The Umunna came to mediate, and we agreed that she would raise them, and I would send money for school fees. As for Sandra, if she likes, she can remain an unkempt, single and aging hippopotamus, her loss, not mine. I am not begging her.

Then I moved on to Uju. I thought I had hit the jackpot, but that one turned out to be an even bigger witch than Sandra. She was good at only two things: cooking food and, well, 'other things.' When I tried to punish her the same way I did Sandra, she threatened me with a broken Coke bottle. That’s when I knew she belonged in the gutter. I have always suspected her flawless beauty. That girl is an obanje.

After that, I swore off relationships. These women were devils, and I was done with all their drama. The two I had already were enough to send me to an early grave. But just as I thought I had seen it all, I met Franka, my boss’s daughter. She had just started NYSC at the company. Her skin was like butter, and my eyes could not ignore her finely shaped buttocks hugged nicely by her trousers. I knew I had to have her. Even though she had a boyfriend, a sickly Hausa boy I mockingly called ‘Aboki’. I bided my time and waited patiently for her. Eventually, her father forced her to break up with the boy because of tribal differences, and that is when I swooped in. I played the good friend role. I made her life easier at work and made her laugh until she was head over heels in love with me. That is how my downfall began. She got pregnant, and her parents bundled her off abroad. I lost my job, and now years has passed, I am 49, with no children to my name, no stable income, I’m filled with regret. It is not my fault though. It’s the women. Sandra is now married to Ichie Ogbunigwe, some mansion-building mogul. I heard Sandra and my daughters have been vacationing in the US. That is the last straw. Another man is raising my children.

This is why I decided to marry Biliki and start afresh. My mother is ill in Onitsha, blind in one eye, and my sisters are married and gone. I want Biliki to take care of her. That girl is a good target. She is industrious, obedient, and from a humble background. She is the perfect one to clean up this mess. The day I asked her to sit with me after delivering my akara, I told her my grand plans for our future, even mentioning my mother moving in with us. I promised her heaven and earth, children, a better life, everything. But I didn’t notice when she started avoiding me afterwards. Even her mother began answering my greetings half-heartedly. How dare they! I am a graduate who once worked at a refinery, and they are just akara sellers.

I called Biliki, and when she picked up, I denied everything she accused me of saying. “No, you must have heard me wrong. I said my mother would visit once in a while.” But the girl hung up. She dodged a bullet. Ha! Good for her. These bush girls can’t even appreciate a good man when they see one.

Right now, I cannot stop thinking about how Sandra used to laugh. That loud, obnoxious laugh that annoyed me to no end. I miss it now. The way she would pull me into the kitchen and make me taste the soup she was cooking. She would always ask, “How is it?” with that cheeky smile on her face, and I would say, “It doesn't have enough pepper.” Every time. Even if it was perfect. It was my way of keeping her on edge. It was important to remind her that I was in control. That I called the shots. But now, when I make my own soup, I can’t taste anything. No matter how much pepper I add, it is bland. Just like my life.

Sometimes, I dream about my daughters Blessing and Thank God. I see them running around the compound, laughing and calling out for me. But in the dream, I never reach them. There is always something blocking my path. A wall, a gate, something I cannot get through. And when I wake up, the emptiness hits me like a slap. I think about calling them, but I don’t. What would I even say? “Hello, it’s your father. The man who abandoned you. The man who wasn’t there when you needed him most.” Even Uju, as crazy as she was, gave me something. I wonder what she has done with my children. One thing is for sure though: she will poison their innocent minds against me. Her madness was at least something I could predict. She would scream, throw things, threaten me with bottles, but I always knew what was coming next. Now, there is just silence. No fights, no drama. Just me, alone in this cramped room, surrounded by memories I would rather forget. But memories don’t forget you. I used to think I was indestructible. That nothing and no one could break me. But now, I realise I’ve been breaking for years, bit by bit, without even noticing. And the worst part is that no one cares. No one is coming to save me. Not Biliki, not Sandra, not my children. I built this mess, and now, I am trapped in it.