The words of Mrs Abdul keeps ringing in my ears.
“The key to keeping your man,” she had said haughtily when she heard of my dilemma, “is to make him feel like a man. My husband and I have been married for 25 years now and he has been faithful every minute of it. ”
Hardly words of comfort to a woman whose husband has run off with another woman. But here I am, ringing the bell to Mrs Abdul’s home. If Luke were here, he would have laughed at the irony of it all.
Oh Luke! He has been my lover, my best friend, my knight in shining armor for the past 5 years and I would do anything, give everything to have him back. I have prayed. I have fasted. I have followed to the letter those self-help books my friends swear by. I have prayed. I have gone for numerous counseling sessions. Oh, and did I mention I have prayed?
So now I have reached the end of the rope. I am tethering on the heights of desperation. I have come to seek advice from Mrs Abdul.
“Na who dey there?” The harsh voice of the gateman breaks through my reverie.
“It is me. Beatrice. Is Madam around?”
The gateman opens the gate partially and smiles, showing yellowed teeth and black gums.
“Mummy mummy, I no know say na you o. How Oga?’
Why, oh why do people do this?
“He is fine.” What else could I say?
“Ehnehn, Madam don travel go Ghana o. she get seminar for that side. She go stay there for like two weeks.”
This is the worst. I envision Luke in the arms of that godforsaken whore for two more weeks and I ask desperately.
“Shey Oga dey around?”
At least he should be able to do something. The gateman’s demeanor changes instantly and his eyes twinkle with mirth. He looks around as though he is being watched by unseen people. Leaning in, he says conspiratively.
“Oga don go out o. Anytime Madam travel like this, na so Oga go waka go Unilag go meet him girls. Na for one yeye hotel he dey sleep with those yeye girls. na so him dey do for the past 5 years wey I dey here o.”
My mood lifts instantly and I feel better than I have in a long time. Misery, meet company. Turning to leave, I call out to the gateman.
“Thank you.”
I say. And I mean it.
Tife Sanusi 